Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
nathaniel
I sense something amiss the moment I step into the penthouse, but I shake it off, telling myself that the quiet likely means Olivia fell back asleep. She did say she had a headache, after all.
Shutting the door behind me, I balance the paper bag of painkillers and the small white box from The Nook in one hand and cross the entryway.
The faint scent of lilies and bergamot still lingers in the air, remnants of Olivia’s favorite perfume.
It curls around me, warm and familiar, and I let it settle my nerves for a moment.
I stood in line at The Nook longer than I would have preferred just to get her that blueberry muffin. I didn’t like the idea of leaving her alone, but she so rarely requested anything of me that there was no possibility that I would return empty-handed. Seeing her smile would be my reward.
The past few days have been difficult for Olivia, but I’ll fix it. I just need to remind her of how happy she can be with me. This weekend, I will shower her with everything I have—all my attention and every ounce of my affection, whatever it takes to reel her back in.
As I make my way to the kitchen to set everything down on the counter, I still can’t shake off the sense of unease.
I strain to listen, hoping to hear the faint rustle of fabric or the soft pad of her footsteps.
But there’s nothing. Just the steady hum of the refrigerator and the low tick of the clock mounted near the kitchen.
Something’s not right.
It’s ridiculous. She’s probably curled up in bed. She wouldn’t leave without telling me.
But my pulse doesn’t slow.
I cross the living room and head directly for the bedroom. The moment I step inside, my stomach twists.
The covers lay undisturbed, folded neatly at the corners, just as I left them.
I freeze in the doorway, the world narrowing to the empty expanse of linen in front of me. Then my gaze sweeps the room before landing on the nightstand, where I see it.
Her necklace.
No.
It lies coiled like a serpent beside the lamp, the diamond catching the light from the window. It shouldn’t be anywhere but her neck. I made her promise, and she has upheld it…until now.
My chest hollows out.
I step forward slowly, as if moving too fast would shatter the fragile hold I have on reality. My hand hovers above it, but I can’t bring myself to touch it.
She knows.
The realization is like a blow to the ribs, leaving me gasping. I feel the shift in my bones—the fragile line I’ve been toeing for months has finally snapped. She knows I’ve been watching.
I finally grasp the necklace, taking it with me as I sink onto the edge of the bed, my fingers closing around it in a fist. It feels heavier now, weighted with the truth I can’t escape.
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I have been careful—so careful. Every touch. Every glance. Every kiss. Measured to perfection so she’d never look too closely at the cracks beneath.
I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, fighting back the burn in my throat.
I don’t let go of the necklace. It remains looped between my fingers like a noose I tied myself.
I push up from the bed and call out, “Olivia!”
No answer.
I check the ensuite bathroom. The guest room. The gym. The terrace.
I open the closets like a man possessed, as though this is some kind of twisted game of hide-and-seek. But each room echoes back my silence, mocking me with its stillness.
She said she had a headache. That’s what I remind myself. Maybe she slipped out for a walk, a breath of fresh air. Maybe—maybe.
I return to the living room, pulse hammering as I lower myself onto the edge of the couch. I’m still holding the necklace. It cuts into my palm, cold and sharp. I press the chain to my lips like a prayer.
She’ll come back.
I pull out my phone and send her a message.
I’m back. I brought your muffin.
Where are you, baby?
I wait.
Then I notice that beneath the text, a red exclamation mark appears—Not Delivered.
My stomach churns.
I try calling once. The call doesn’t even ring—goes straight to voicemail.
I try again.
Nothing.
A third time.
My thumb hovers over the screen. I could leave a message. But what would I say? That I’m sorry? That I understand? I don’t. I can’t. I don’t know how to beg without unraveling, and if I unravel, she’ll stay away for good.
I open the clone. No incoming calls. No outgoing messages. No background app activity.
It’s not dead—it’s been powered off. Intentionally.
The distinction slices through me like a blade.
It feels like the ground beneath me is shifting. All that composure I’ve prided myself on fractures like glass. My lungs seize.
I stand abruptly and stalk back to the bedroom, where I tear through her side of the closet.
A jacket’s missing. So is her worn duffel—the one she used to keep at her dorm.
Her laptop isn’t on the desk. Her charger’s gone.
Her hairbrush, her skincare pouch, that soft green T-shirt she always wears after a shower—all missing.
She took enough to stay away. Not permanently, but long enough.
I sit on the bed, then immediately stand again. I can’t sit still. Every corner of this apartment feels wrong without her in it—like the walls are bearing witness to my failure.
She was still here this morning.
I pace the hallway, the dining area, the kitchen. I open the fridge and close it again. I go back to the couch. Sit. Stand. Sit again. I look at my phone. No new notifications.
I go to text her again.
Please tell me you’re okay.
Then I delete it.
She’s said she needed space before, and she’s always come back… I say it to comfort myself, but the words feel hollow.
I circle the living room with my phone clenched in my hand like a weapon I don’t know how to wield. I check the clone again. Refresh. Refresh. Nothing.
It feels personal now. She’s hiding from me.
I scroll through my contacts, thumb hovering over Carolyn’s name. She’d know something. If Olivia reached out to someone, it’d be her. But the thought of that conversation—the inevitability of her judgment—makes my stomach twist.
She’d tell Olivia I called.
That would drive the wedge deeper.
I’ll lose her for good.
My jaw tightens.
No. This is between us.
I won’t pull anyone else into this. Not yet.
I force myself to breathe. Think, Nathaniel.
She didn’t take much with her, so she couldn’t have gone far. She doesn’t intend to vanish. She’s probably somewhere close by. Maybe she’s reading at a cafe nearby, in search of somewhere quiet as she waits for the noise inside her to settle.
I can find her.
She’ll forgive me once she sees that I’m just worried. That I’m trying, and I’d do anything she asks of me.
This is not the end. It cannot be.
I tuck the necklace into my pocket and grab my keys.
I’ll just check. If she’s not ready to see me, I won’t approach.
It’s a lie, and I know it. But telling myself this grants me permission. It buys me time. If I don’t call it abandonment, maybe it won’t become that.
I step into the elevator, press the button for the garage, and let the doors close behind me.
I spend the afternoon circling the city like a man possessed.
Cafés. Bookstores. The parks she likes to walk through. Every corner of Halford’s campus. I scan faces through windows, pace sidewalks until dusk begins to bleed into the horizon. With each hour, my reasoning frays further.
She’ll have to come back eventually, I tell myself. She wouldn’t spend the night away. Not without telling me.
Not without meaning to.
But the sun dips, and the light dies, and she doesn’t come home.
By the time I drag myself back to the penthouse, I’m hollow with hope.
Somewhere inside me, a sick, fragile part still clings to the fantasy of unlocking the door and seeing her curled up on the couch—worn out, maybe, but home.
Maybe she’ll look up at me, tired but soft, and let me hold her like nothing has fractured between us.
Instead, I am greeted by the same darkness I left behind.
I don’t turn on the lights. I don’t move for a while. I just stand there, letting the disappointment crash over me like a silent tide. Cold. Immovable. All the worse because I saw it coming.
I punish myself with a brutal workout—deadlifts until my hands shake, sprints until I see stars—but the ache in my chest outlasts the pain in my limbs. I can’t sleep. Can’t quiet the questions. Can’t stop seeing her face when each time she told me she needed space.
By the time dawn begins to edge into the sky, I’ve given up trying to sleep.
I sit in the study, hunched over a cup of black coffee that’s long gone cold. My eyes sting. I haven’t blinked in too long. My fingers, however, are very much awake—curled tight around a velvet ring box that’s been taunting me since before the sun set.
I pop it open with my thumb.
The ruby catches the pale light from the desk lamp—dark red, bold, unapologetically rich. An emerald cut, flanked by marquise diamonds on either side like twin wings. The stones were steeped in legacy—the ruby from the Caldwell family jewels and the diamonds from my mother’s personal collection.
The ring wasn’t chosen for tradition or subtlety. It was chosen for her, and I wanted it to mean everything.
When I first opened this box and saw how perfect it was, I couldn’t breathe. I’d already rehearsed the moment a dozen times—her surprised laughter, her fingers trembling as I slid the ring onto her hand, her mouth forming yes before I even asked the question.
Now, all I can think is: What if I never get the chance?
I shut the lid with a snap and slide the box into the drawer with enough force to feel the desk shift under my palms.
When I turn back to the monitors, it’s not because I expect anything new. The cloned phone remains offline. The necklace doesn’t ping on any of the trackers. And for the past twelve hours, the apartment’s been still.
But then I catch movement.
My breath stutters. I blink, hard, then lean in.
She’s there.
The grainy black-and-white feed flickers with her form—Olivia, back in her dorm room.
I freeze. My coffee sloshes violently in my hand, forgotten.
I nearly knock it over in my scramble to magnify the frame.
I track her movements, my eyes glued to the screen, starved for the sight of her after a day of deprivation.
She’s pacing, rubbing her arms. I see the tension in her shoulders, the weariness in her steps. My heart kicks against my ribs.
She’s safe. She’s okay. She went back to the dorm.
A moment of relief—swift, sharp—gives way to a deeper dread as I keep watching.
Something shifts in her posture.
She scans the room. Slow. Suspicious.
No.
Her eyes lift upward, toward the ceiling.
I bolt upright.
She drags the desk chair across the floor. The scrape echoes faintly through the monitor feed, and I feel it in my teeth.
No, no, no.
She climbs. Reaches. Her hand moves toward the ceiling tile.
My pulse spikes violently.
She knows.
When her fingers brush the lens and recoil, I feel the full weight of it crash through me like a blow.
My vision narrows. The blood drains from my face. My hand flies to the drawer, yanking it open again to shove the ring box deeper, burying it beneath files, folders—anything.
I can’t stay here.
I’m on my feet before the thought fully forms. Jacket. Keys. Door. It’s all motion, blurred and frantic, my body operating faster than my mind can catch up.
I have to get to her.
Before she runs again. Before she shuts me out for good.
Before I lose the only thing in this world that matters.