Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Lucas
Ella never answered my calls again.
After she blocked me that night, rage burned through my chest like wildfire out of control. No woman had ever treated me this way. From the moment I hit puberty, I'd been surrounded by women who'd do anything for my attention, not cut me off like I was the goddamn plague.
But after two days of cooling off, the anger faded.
I realized I couldn't treat Ella like those revolving-door girlfriends.
She wasn't some disposable woman. She was my wife, legally registered, sworn before God to grow old with me, to be buried beside me when we died.
I should've given her more patience, more tolerance.
Not thrown in the towel over one setback.
I tried two more new numbers. Every call went nowhere. Eventually, I got nothing but that mechanical voicemail. That's when it hit me. Ella had probably changed all her contact information. I'd heard about women who burned everything after a breakup. Never thought Ella would do it to me.
My heart turned to ash.
I had one option left.
To pull it off, I waited until two a.m., making sure Mrs. Hughes and every servant in the manor had gone to bed. Then I crept downstairs like some kind of burglar, sneaking through my own goddamn house into the housekeeper's office behind the kitchen.
I didn't turn on the lights. Just used my phone's glow to search the bookshelf.
I could've asked Mrs. Hughes for Maya's number in the morning, but I couldn't stomach it.
The second I opened my mouth, those all-knowing eyes of hers would fill with pity—even for just a second, and that would be unbearable.
The thought of servants whispering behind my back about how "Mr. Rockefeller's reduced to hunting down his wife's whereabouts" would destroy what little authority I had left in this house.
I finally found the thick contact book. Mrs. Hughes, old-school as ever, kept everything handwritten.
I used to mock how outdated and inefficient that was.
Now it was my lifeline. I flipped to Maya's page, snapped a photo of the unfamiliar number, then slipped the book back exactly as I'd found it and escaped to the study.
Back at my desk, I stared at those digits on my screen, finger hovering over the call button. Couldn't press it.
What if Maya had gotten Ella's "instructions" too? What if she also refused my call or blocked me outright? Then I'd truly have no way to reach Ella.
I threw back a mouthful of whiskey. As the burn hit my skull, I jabbed the call button.
Even a one percent chance was worth taking.
"Hello? Who's this?" Maya's weak voice came through.
"Lucas Rockefeller." I exhaled with relief, volunteering my name.
Dead silence on the other end. So quiet I thought she'd hung up.
I pulled the phone away, checked the call timer. Still connected.
Then Maya's voice exploded.
"Lucas, you're an absolute piece of shit!"
Her words slapped me across the face. Anger surged in my chest, but I forced it down.
"Why are you this angry? I just want to know why Ella hasn't come home!"
"You have the nerve to ask why?" Maya was gasping. "Ella saw you with your assistant at the sanatorium, visiting Professor Williams... You betrayed your marriage, got another woman pregnant! What do you think Ella is? How could she possibly keep living at Rockefeller after that?"
I shot to my feet. Cigar ash scattered across the expensive marble, a mess of gray powder.
I'd imagined a thousand reasons for Ella leaving. Never this one.
"Pregnant?" I repeated the absurd word, forced myself to speak clearly. "Maya, listen. It's a misunderstanding. I took Vivian to see Professor Williams, but not for her, for her sister. Her sister had severe morning sickness; nothing was working..."
"Misunderstanding?" Maya cut me off with a bitter laugh dripping with contempt.
"Lucas, drop that arrogant act. If you hadn't been too close to her all along, if you'd ever given Ella the respect and protection a wife deserves, why wouldn't she trust you?
In this marriage, you only ever loved yourself! "
Click. Dial tone.
The call cut off brutally.
I stood frozen. The busy signal pounded my temples like a hammer.
I'd naively thought that if I just figured out why Ella left, everything would fix itself. Only now did I realize she hadn't fled on impulse. Her compliance, her silence—they'd been filled with disappointment in me.
She thought I didn't love her enough.
That I didn't protect her.
That I was too close to other women.
Our marriage had been hollowed out by misunderstanding after misunderstanding, and I'd noticed nothing until it collapsed.
I threw down my phone.
I finally understood. I could call a hundred times and never fix what was actually broken.
My head spun. For the first time in my life, I wanted desperately to ask for help. Maybe I should find a marriage counselor? A psychology professor?
I killed the thought immediately. What would they know? They'd spout textbook theories and formulaic advice that couldn't glue back together what Ella and I had. Besides, exposing my weakness to strangers would only make me feel more ridiculous and exhausted.
So I did the only thing I knew how to do. I buried myself in work.
Like the coward I was.
Problem was, work required focus. My focus? It had disappeared with Ella.
I could feel a black hole expanding inside me. First my concentration scattered. Then people started looking at me differently—with an emotion I'd never seen before. It took me several times to recognize it: pity.
It came to a head at noon when I passed the break room. I'd always known some employees gossiped during lunch. Never thought I'd be the topic.
"Did you hear? Mr. Rockefeller..."
My heart jolted. I stopped.
"Really? Mr. Rockefeller's getting divorced?" A young woman's voice, barely a whisper but crackling with gossip-hungry excitement.
"I heard it's true. Married two years, not even a kid..."
My fingers clenched on the doorframe. Perfect. My private life had become company entertainment.
"But I really don't understand," another voice chimed in, confused and regretful. "How could he let her go? I mean, Mrs. Rockefeller is literally a legend. Has anyone actually seen her?"
"Never! She didn't even show up to that top-tier charity gala last year.
Avoids all the socializing," the first voice dropped lower, full of admiration.
"But that's real class, isn't it? She doesn't need to show off in jewelry and flashbulbs.
People who've met her say she's beautiful, so gentle, doesn't need any of that social scene validation. "
"Yes! I saw that one blurry profile shot from their wedding in the paper," the young voice rushed to agree. "Even just a shadow, you could feel how wonderful she was. I thought, Mr. Rockefeller has great taste."
My breath caught. Yes. I'd had this perfect wife. And I'd lost her.
"Plus, she never came to the office bossing people around, never had any scandals," someone continued.
"Not like those trophy wives constantly buying press coverage.
Mrs. Rockefeller is every man's dream—quiet, reserved, protecting that home.
I always figured she must be incredibly strong inside, really refined. "
I leaned against the cold wall, a bizarrely complex emotion rising in my chest.
Pain mixed with... pride?
Yes. Pride.
Even now, with my marriage dragged into public gossip, hearing these people who'd never met Ella praise her sent an inexplicable thrill through me.
"So the problem's obviously on Mr. Rockefeller's end," the third voice concluded with irritating certainty. "I mean, you marry a woman this good and can't make it two years? That only means one thing."
"He screwed up," the young voice finished. "Royally screwed up."
A brief silence fell over the break room, followed by synchronized sighs.
"Men," someone summarized. "Sometimes they really don't know what they've got."
I stood behind the door, every muscle locked tight. I wanted to tell them they were wrong. The absurd part? I couldn't.
Because I really hadn't treasured Ella.
Ella was a flawless wife. She managed everything perfectly, never needed my help. I'd taken her contributions for granted until she'd been neglected one time too many and left.
I'd forgotten the most basic truth about relationships. No one's devotion is guaranteed. Ella gave out of love, out of duty as a wife. And I'd never once fulfilled my duty as a husband, never offered even one genuine thank you.
"Mr. Rockefeller?"
A clear voice suddenly rang out behind me.
The break room went silent.
I turned. A young HR assistant stood there, pure panic on her face.
The door flew open. Those three women went white as sheets. They looked at me, eyes full of terrified confusion, then squeezed past with their heads down, not daring to linger one second.
Before, I would've immediately hit the intercom and fired every gossip on the spot. At Rockefeller, discussing the boss's private life was a fireable offense.
This time, I didn't.
I suddenly realized I'd been at the top too long. Everyone around me was deferential. I only heard polished praise and compliance. Those harsh accusations just now, even as they undermined my authority, let me hear the truth for the first time.
I needed those voices.
If complete strangers could see Ella's worth while I stayed blind, the problem was clearly me.
That afternoon, a powerful board member tracked me down. He'd weathered decades alongside Grandfather and never respected me much as the successor. Usually, we maintained a polite distance, but today his wrinkled face showed undisguised displeasure.
"Lucas, the whole company's buzzing about your divorce," he said, hands planted on the desk. "What's your plan?"
"Those are baseless rumors." I forced down my anger. "I'll have HR investigate."