Chapter 11 His Wife #2
With a sharp, startled gasp, he bolted upright, his eyes snapping open. Sweat drenched his forehead, sliding down his temples. His heart was pounding uncontrollably, the echoes of his dream still clawing at him.
Mia.
Lying on the ground, her body covered in blood. The image hit him like a blow to the chest. A strange, choking fear coiled in his heart.
Fear for her.
Without thinking, he snatched his phone from the bedside table, his hands trembling as he dialed William’s number. The clock on the wall showed two in the morning.
William picked up on the second ring, his voice thick with sleep. “Mr. Sinclair? Is everything alright?”
“Mia,” James rasped, his voice tense. “Did she call you again?”
There was a short pause. Then William answered, more awake now, “No, Mr. Sinclair. Ever since that night, she hasn’t contacted you again.”
James’s jaw tightened. His breathing turned rough, almost erratic. The fear and panic from his nightmare clawed up his chest again, making it hard to breathe.
He ground his teeth, fury flickering behind his eyes. “This woman… she’s becoming more and more defiant!” His eyes darkened, a cold glint slicing through his expression. “Track her location,” he barked, his tone sharp as glass. “Find her and drag her back home!”
There was a brief silence on the other end before William, now fully alert, replied, “Understood. Is there anything you’d like me to tell her when I find her and ask her to return?”
James exhaled heavily, running a hand through his damp hair. He forced his voice to calm, though it still carried restrained anger. “Tell her… as long as she comes home,” a shuddering breath left his lips, his voice soft, “I’ll give her as much money as she wants.”
He ended the call abruptly, the phone slipping from his fingers onto the bed. For a long moment, he sat there. The darkness of the room seemed to close in on him.
The next few days passed in a blur. James went to his office every morning, but his mind was elsewhere.
Files lay open on his desk, unread. His pen hovered over documents he couldn’t focus on.
Every time he closed his eyes, the same haunting image returned—Mia, lifeless and bleeding, making him restless and unfocused.
As the clock struck nine, he left the office and drove to Luxe, one of the city’s most exclusive nightclubs.
Inside, the air pulsed with deep music and flashing lights.
The bar gleamed under soft golden fixtures, the polished counter lined with crystal glasses and bottles that caught the light like diamonds.
Though the place was known for its exclusivity, tonight it wasn’t overcrowded — just a tasteful buzz of people in designer suits and glittering dresses.
Waiters glided smoothly through the space, their trays balancing champagne flutes and vodka shots.
Beyond the main bar, the noise dimmed, shadows stretching across the darker corners where private conversations and secret deals thrived.
Black walls, plush leather couches, and dim overhead lights gave the place an intoxicating, mysterious air.
In the VIP section, it was quieter — a space of muted elegance, reserved for the city’s most powerful men. Expensive bottles sat half-empty on glass tables, surrounded by low laughter and the faint scent of cigars.
James sat among them, poised and silent, his sharp eyes cutting through the haze of light and smoke. On one side, Gabriel lounged comfortably, a stunning woman perched on his lap, giggling at whatever he whispered in her ear.
On the other side, Neil sat quietly, his gaze occasionally flicking toward James, studying him with cautious attention.
Two hours passed. James barely spoke a word. His fingers drummed restlessly against the glass before he finally downed the last of his fourth whiskey. The phone on the table buzzed, and William’s name flashed across the screen.
James snatched it up immediately. “Did you find Mia?” he demanded, his tone sharp with impatience.
William’s voice came through. “Mr. Sinclair, there’s no trace of Mrs. Sinclair anywhere in the city.”
The muscles in James’s jaw twitched. His fingers clenched around the phone, knuckles pale.
Then, with a sharp movement, he slammed it down on the table.
The loud clang silenced even the music for a moment.
Everyone nearby turned toward him, but after a brief pause, went back to their conversations. ”
James’s expression was rigid, eyes dark and burning with fury. He leaned back against the couch, one arm stretched along the backrest, his body tense.
Neil frowned, putting his drink down.
“Did you find Mia?” James’s eyes turned to him.
Neil straightened and replied, “I’ve asked my men to trace her. So far, nothing.”
James’s lips curled into a grim line. He grabbed another glass of whiskey, downing it in one go.
Neil came to sit beside him on the couch. He had noticed how tense James had been these past few days. Usually, James was the kind of man who kept his emotions tightly in check, but lately, everything about him had been unraveling, especially his temper. Each passing day seemed to push him further.
Neil let out a low sigh. He reached forward, took the empty glass from James’s hand, and placed it back on the table.
“You’ve had enough,” he muttered, but before he could say more, James reached for another glass, poured the whiskey himself, and downed it in one go carelessly, like it was water.
Neil leaned forward and said carefully, “If you care about Mia, then go get her yourself. Pacify her. Bring her back. If you regret the divorce, stop waiting for her to return on her own.”
At once, James’s eyes flashed dangerously. His jaw tightened as he glared at Neil, his face dark with arrogance and fury.
“Regret?” he repeated, his tone harsh, almost mocking.
He leaned back on the couch, lips curling into a cold smirk.
“Neil, I own five companies. I’m the head of one of the biggest empires in the country.
Do you really think I need to bow my head to a woman whose family sold her off to me for money? ”
He leaned forward, his tone cutting. “I will never regret it.”
But as he poured another drink, his hand trembled slightly.
The word divorce echoed in his mind like a thousand burning needles.
His chest felt raw. The memory of the day she walked out—her calm eyes, her silence, the way her back looked as she left—came crashing down on him.
Every time he thought of that day she walked out of his house, his throat tightened. That dream had only made it worse.
He gritted his teeth and drank again, drowning everything he felt in whiskey until the warmth turned into poison. Glass after glass, his anger grew with every swallow.
Neil let out a frustrated breath and tried to keep calm. Just as he was about to speak again, his phone buzzed.
He picked it up, holding it to his ear casually. But within seconds, his eyes widened. “Are you serious?” he asked sharply, springing to his feet so fast the couch scraped against the floor.
James’s brows furrowed as his head turned toward him. “What’s going on?”
Neil ended the call, his tone serious now. “I found out where Mia is,” he said.