Chapter 7
“Damn it!” Adam growled, his fist slamming against the wall as the call cut off once again. He stared at his phone, his chest heaving with frustration. Blocked. She had actually blocked him.
He dialed again, only to hear the same robotic response: “The number you are trying to reach is unavailable.”
“Are you kidding me?!” His voice boomed through the empty hallways of the packhouse. He tried texting, but the
messages refused to send. Adam was seething now, pacing in circles like a caged wolf.
“This has to be one of her petty tricks,” he muttered under his breath. “She
always does this–acting out just to get my attention.”
But this time felt… different.
He stormed up the stairs, his heavy
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footsteps echoing through the quiet space. His mind raced, replaying every interaction they’d had recently.
Adam pushed open the door to their shared quarters, shoving it with enough force to make the hinges groan.
The bedroom was eerily still, stripped of its usual atmosphere. The bed was neatly made–a rarity for Amelia, who usually left it rumpled in her morning rush. The curtains were drawn open, letting the sunlight stream in, but the room felt cold,
lifeless.
Then his gaze shifted to the dresser.
It was empty.
He spun around, scanning the room for any sign of her, any indication this was at temporary stunt. But as his eyes landed on the bedside table, he froze.
A single piece of paper lay there, folded. neatly.
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Adam’s hands trembled as he picked it up and unfolded it. Amelia‘ s handwriting
stared back at him, clean and precise.
Divorce Agreement. Both with their signature on it.
“What the hell…” he murmured, his voice barely audible. His gaze darted to the signature line, and his stomach churned. His name was there, written in his own hand.
But he didn’t remember signing it.
For a long moment, Adam stood frozen, staring at the papers as though they were some cruel illusion. Then the anger hit him like a tidal wave. With a sharp growl, he tore the papers in half, then again, shredding them until they were nothing but fragments on the floor.
“This is just one of her little tricks,” he said to himself, his jaw tightening.
“She’ll be back. She always comes back.”
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Adam paced the room, fists clenching and unclenching. He was sure Amelia was just testing him, playing some game to get his attention. She loved him too much to leave.
She’d be back within days, begging to come home.
But the days passed.
At lunch one afternoon, his younger brother, Asher, joined him at the table. Asher was carefree, as always, leaning back in his chair with a mischievous grin.
“So,” Asher began, spearing a piece of steak with his fork, “when are you marrying Bridgette?”
Adam froze mid–bite, his sharp gaze snapping to his brother. “What?”
“Bridgette,” Asher repeated, as though it were obvious. “She’s been waiting for ages. And now that Amelia‘ s gone, it s not like there’s anything stopping you.”
Adam’s hand gripped the edge of the table. “What the hell are you talking
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about?”
Asher blinked, confused. “Amelia left,
didn’t she? I saw her leaving with her suitcase the other day. And I saw the divorce papers in your room.”
Adam’s heart sank, though he kept his expression stone cold. “How do you know about the papers?”
“I was curious, okay? It’s not like you were hiding them.” Asher shrugged. “But seriously, bro, if she’s gone, why not move on? Everyone knows Bridgette‘ s been waiting for you-”
Adam slammed his fist down on the table, silencing Asher. “Enough,” he growled. “She’s not gone. She s coming back.”
Asher held up his hands in surrender, muttering, “If you say so.
But Adam wasn’t so sure anymore. Ast soon as Asher left, he grabbed his phone and dialed Amelia‘ s number. The line rang once, twice, before an automated
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voice said, The number you have dialed is no longer in service.
His blood ran cold. He tried again, and again, only to meet the same response.
“Dammit,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. He tried mindlinking her next, reaching out through their shared connection–but it was blocked. The
emptiness in the link hit him harder than he expected.
She‘ d severed it.
If they were mates, it wouldn’t have been this way. A true mate bond was
unbreakable; it would‘ ve connected them no matter the distance. But they weren’t mates–he‘ d refused to accept her as his mate years ago, choosing to keep things… simpler.
Now, he regretted it.
“She’s really gone,” he whispered to himself, his chest tightening with a strange, unfamiliar pain. It didn’t make
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sense. Amelia loved him. She always had. Why would she leave now?
As if on cue, his phone buzzed. His mother’s name flashed on the screen.
Adam answered immediately. “Mom.”
“Adam,” Camille’s voice was calm but firm, as always. “I need you to come to the manor. There’s something we need to talk about.”
“Is this about Amelia?” he asked, his voice sharp with urgency.
“Just come,” she said, not giving him an answer. Then the line went dead.
Adam stared at his phone for a moment before grabbing his jacket. Whatever this was, it couldn’t be good.
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