Chapter 30
Benedict
I’ve walked every hallway, checked every room twice, called her name until my throat feels raw. And still—no Maddie. No trace of her soft laugh echoing back to me, no trail of vanilla-strawberry perfume lingering in the air like it always does when she’s been bustling about.
Panic presses in at the edges of my ribs, squeezing tight.
I tell myself not to overreact. She’s probably sitting out on the patio, soaking in the night. Or down by the preserve, staring into the cottonwoods. Just the thought makes me anxious and exasperated; my little wife, always testing the boundaries.
Maybe she’ll be in the library, curled into that ridiculous armchair she insists is “hers,” even though it’s been in this house for three decades.
But I’ve already checked those places.
She’s not here.
I stride toward Hugh’s office, nearly colliding with him in the hallway. He’s carrying a sheaf of papers, his face unusually pale.
“Mr. Bronson—”
“Where is she?” My voice is sharper than I mean it to be. It cuts through the air, an accusation.
Hugh swallows, glances away. He looks guilty, which turns my simmering panic into something far hotter.
“What do you know?” I demand.
“She… she asked me to schedule the jet for her,” Hugh admits quietly. “To Philadelphia.”
For a moment I don’t understand the words. They don’t make sense in sequence. Philadelphia? Maddie has no reason to be there. She has no family, no business connection, no—
“Why the hell would she—”
“She made it sound like you’d approved it,” Hugh rushes, shame twisting his features.
All these years working at my side, and I’ve never seen him like this.
“Said you wanted her to take some time. I… I believed her. I’m sorry, Ben.
I should’ve checked with you. I only realized when one of the maids said you’re tearing the house apart. I should’ve—”
The air leaves my lungs in a violent rush. My vision narrows to a pinpoint, the hallway closing in around me as night does the same.
It’s almost nine p.m., and the sun is setting.
She’s gone.
She’s gone, and I didn’t even know. Just this morning she told me she needed space. But Philadelphia? My hand braces against the wall, palm pressed to cool plaster as if I need proof the world hasn’t dissolved beneath me.
“Her flight?” The words scrape out of me like gravel.
“It left about an hour ago,” Hugh says softly. “She’s well on her way there. Ben, I swear, I thought you knew.”
It takes everything in me not to roar at him, not to put my fist through the wall. But none of this is his fault. The fault is mine. Mine for pushing her so far she thought she had to lie. Mine for making her believe she couldn’t tell me what she needed.
And underneath all that—fear.
Raw, suffocating fear.
She’s five months pregnant. Five months, and boarding a plane without me at her side. My chest constricts, a dozen worst-case scenarios flooding me. What if something happens mid-flight? What if she goes into early labor? What if—
I grip the wall harder, fingertips tingling with the force of it.
“Ben—” Hugh’s voice is uncertain. “It’s safe. Women fly at this stage all the time. She’s five months; the doctors clear it—”
“I don’t give a damn what’s considered safe,” I snap. “She’s my wife. Carrying my child. And she’s out there alone.”
Silence.
I drag my hand through my hair, rough and violent. It doesn’t help. The pressure only builds, climbing higher in my chest, up my throat until I feel like I might choke on it.
We haven’t even chosen a name.
The thought slams into me, sharp and senseless. But it sticks. We’ve skirted the topic, teased around it when she touched her stomach and smiled, but we never settled. Never carved letters into permanence.
If something happens to her—if something happens to them—I won’t even have a name to whisper when I grieve.
The panic spirals. I can’t catch my breath.
I need air. Space. Something to ground me before I unravel completely.
My feet are already moving before I realize where I’m headed.
Out the front door, across the cobblestones slick with a sudden summer shower, into the car.
The engine growls, headlights slicing through twilight and fat raindrops as I take the familiar road toward the cottage at the far edge of the property.
Caroline.
If anyone can stop me from tearing myself apart, it’s my sister.
The drive feels endless, though it’s barely ten minutes. Trees blur past, dark silhouettes against the indigo sky. My hands are clenched on the wheel so tightly the leather creaks.
When I finally pull up, the cottage is warm-lit, smoke curling from the chimney. Normal. Stable. A world apart from the hurricane in my chest.
I slam the car door, stride up the steps, and pound on the front door.
It swings open to reveal Leo, hair a mess, headphones slung around his neck. Music bleeds faintly from them, some thumping beat I don’t recognize. His eyes go wide.
“Uncle Ben?” He pulls the headphones off, blinking. “Uh… you okay?”
No.
“Where’s your mother?” I push past him before he can answer.
The cottage smells like woodsmoke and something sweet—Caroline’s baking again. She’s at the kitchen counter, sliding cookies off a tray. She turns at the sound of the door, brows lifting.
“Ben. What’s wrong?”
“Maddie’s gone.” My voice cracks on the word.
Caroline sets the tray down, wipes her hands on a dish towel. She doesn’t look shocked. Concerned, yes, but not surprised.
“She asked Hugh to schedule the jet for her,” I say, pacing the length of the living room. “To Philadelphia. She made it sound like I’d agreed. Hugh thought it was fine. But I didn’t—I didn’t know. She just… left.”
Caroline studies me, calm as ever, arms folded loosely. “All right. Take a breath.”
“I can’t take a damn breath.” My chest heaves. “She’s five months pregnant, Caroline. She’s flying alone. What if something happens? What if—”
“Ben.” Her tone sharpens, just enough to cut through my spiral. “Sit.”
I glare, but she holds my gaze until I obey, collapsing into one of her armchairs. My hands flex restlessly, like they don’t know what to do without steering wheels or fists to clench.
Caroline sits opposite me, unhurried. “It’s safe for her to fly right now. Perfectly safe. If she asked for space, it’s because she needs it. And you need to respect that.”
Respect. The word tastes bitter.
“She shouldn’t have to leave to feel safe,” I mutter.
“No,” Caroline agrees softly. “But maybe she needed to leave to feel heard.”
The words strike deeper than I want them to.
“What happened?” she asks, the words neutral.
I drag my hand down my face. “You don’t understand. She texted someone. Some guy named Jack.”
Caroline’s lips purse, but she doesn’t flinch. “And?”
“And it sounded like there was something there, something secret. I don’t know how to explain it.
Maddie has texted him a few times over the months, since we married.
It’s not much, and it’s vague, but there’s something…
I can’t stop thinking… That she’s in love with someone else.
Why else would she run halfway across the country? ”
For the first time, Caroline laughs. Not cruelly, but warm, exasperated.
“Oh, Ben. You idiot.”
I bristle. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It’s obvious she’s in love with you.” Caroline leans forward, eyes sharp with certainty.
“Anyone with eyes can see it. And you, I’m assuming, are just as in love with her, but you’re fighting it.
Trying to act like this is still just a contract.
She’s probably doubting you. Wondering if you can love her back.
Wondering if she’s just a business deal, or a body to carry your heir. ”
“There’s no way,” I whisper, barely noticing that Leo has gone still somewhere behind us, listening, “there’s no way she doesn’t know…
” But even now I can’t finish the sentence.
Can’t say that I’m in love with her. That she’s everything.
Instead, I say: “The way I look at her alone should tell her.”
Caroline rolls her eyes, reminiscent of the rebellious teen she was, infuriating our father and worrying our mother. “Sure. But have you told her?”
The accusation lands like a blow because it’s true.
I’ve pushed her away. Kept her at arm’s length, too afraid of what it means to let her all the way in. I’ve told myself it’s for her protection, for the baby’s, but maybe it’s just cowardice.
“She said she wished Jack was there,” I confess, voice hoarse.
“And you’ve wished Georgiana was still here,” Caroline shoots back. “We all say things in moments of panic. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you. It means she’s scared. Just like you. And that she’s looking for someone to reassure her.”
I drop my head into my hands. The weight of it all presses down, crushing.
“What if I’ve ruined it?” The words scrape out. “What if she never comes back?”
Caroline reaches over, squeezes my knee. “Then you fight for her. But not tonight. Not tomorrow. Give her time. Three days. If she wanted to leave forever, she would’ve said so. Trust her enough to breathe.”
Three days.
Three days without her laughter echoing in these halls. Three days without her hand brushing mine in the dark. Three days without feeling the subtle kicks of our child beneath her skin when she pulls my hand to her stomach.
Three days of hell.
But if it’s what she needs—if it proves to her that I trust her—I’ll do it.
I lift my head, meet Caroline’s steady gaze.
“Three days,” I echo.
She nods, satisfied.
Leo appears in the doorway, looking awkward. “Uh… anyone want a cookie?”
For the first time tonight, a broken laugh tears out of me.