Chapter 232:

The bed was made. The closet door was open.

He walked in.

The shelves that had held her rows of Hermès Birkins and Kellys were bare. The shoe racks, once filled with Louboutins, were empty.

Panic, cold and sharp, seized his chest.

He ran to the wall safe hidden behind the painting. He punched in the code.

Error.

She had changed it.

He ran to the drawer where he kept the emergency override key. It was gone.

He grabbed a heavy bronze statue from the dresser and smashed the keypad. He pried the door open with adrenaline-fueled strength.

Empty.

The cash stacks. The bearer bonds. The loose diamonds he had bought as an inflation hedge.

Gone.

And in the center of the empty safe, a single sheet of paper.

He picked it up. It was stationery from the Ritz Carlton.

Sterling,

You were always boring. At least the money was interesting.

Ciao,

Isabella

Sterling stared at the note. He laughed. It started as a chuckle and escalated into a high-pitched, manic cackle.

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She never loved him. Not for a second.

He collapsed onto the floor of the closet. He curled up in the fetal position, clutching the note.

Lance walked into the apartment. The door had been left unlocked.

He found Sterling in the closet.

“She’s gone, Sterling,” Lance said, holding a flight manifest printout he had managed to secure before his access was revoked. “Cayman Airways Flight 404. Departed two hours ago.”

Sterling looked up. His eyes were red, rimmed with madness.

“She took it all, Lance. Everything.”

“Aurora never asked for a penny,” Lance said.

The name hit Sterling like a physical blow.

Aurora.

He remembered her refusing his credit card. He remembered her wearing the same winter coat for three years so he could buy a better suit for interviews. He remembered her fixing his code at 3 AM, rubbing his back when he was stressed.

“I… I messed up,” Sterling whispered. The realization was a landslide, crushing him.

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