Chapter 10
Jordan
I get back to the mansion and key open the door.
It’s oddly silent inside, but maybe it’s because the staff’s off for the day.
We’ve started giving them random holidays because Juliette and I prize our privacy.
Besides, there’s only two of us, and we don’t need an army of household help hovering over us every hour of every day.
But the silence continues as I make my way upstairs.
“Juliette?” I call. “I’m home.”
Usually, I can hear the curvy girl in some way, shape, or form.
Sometimes she’s curled up in the library, reading a book, or she’ll be listening to jazz in our study.
Other days, she’s in the pool out back, and I enter the master suite before striding over to the window.
But there’s no ivory figure slicing through the water, and I’m stumped.
What the hell? Is she out for a run? Pruning some of the roses in the garden?
Gone out for a coffee? But it’s 8 p.m., and she doesn’t drink coffee this late in the day. What the fuck?
My heart begins to hammer as my ears ring.
Where the hell is the curvy girl? I pull open the closet door and that’s when my heart drops because Juliette’s side is empty.
Her half is a bunch of empty hangers, and where her shoes used to be lined up neatly against the wall, there’s blank space.
The closet looks haunted, to be honest, with only my suits and casual wear occupying the left half.
Fuck fuck fuck! Where could she have gone?
I clatter downstairs, my mind racing furiously.
Juliette doesn’t have her own apartment because I convinced her to give it up.
Her lease was coming due, and I suppose we were optimistic about getting pregnant.
She figured she’d find a way to stay here somehow, and my house was as good as any.
Not only that, but I was fucking her non-stop, and I demanded access to her curves 24/7.
But where could she go? I try to remember the names of some of her girlfriends, but in my panicked state, I can’t recall a single one.
We’ve been so intent on fucking that I’ve never met any in person, either, so I have no way of reaching out to an acquaintance.
There’s a sharp pain in my chest and I wonder if I’m having a heart attack.
Oh shit. I stagger to the front door, only to hear the steps of my butler approaching.
“Sir?” Stevenson asks, his expression concerned. “Are you alright?”
“I thought you were off for the day,” I gasp, clutching at my chest. The middle-aged man ignores my comment, his eyes alarmed.
“Sir, you’re having a medical emergency. Let me call 9-1-1.”
But I stop him.
“No, I’m fine,” I wheeze, trying to smile despite the pain. Holy fuck, it feels like there’s an elephant crouching on my torso. What the hell! Am I dying?
But Stevenson’s already reaching for his phone when I knock it out of his hand.
“Stevenson,” I wheeze. “Where’s Juliette?”
His expression is frozen.
“She left earlier. About an hour ago.”
“To where?” I wheeze, about to faint from the pain. “Where did she go?”
“She said she was headed to the airport,” he responds. “Sir, let me call an ambulance!”
But using my last ounce of strength, I push the poor butler aside and fling myself out of the house. Unfortunately, my heart has given out. I’m weak, barely able to breathe, and fall to my knees on the circular driveway.
“Juliette!” I scream, clutching my chest. “NO!” Then, all goes dark.