Chapter 6

I pulled the SIM card from my phone, my fingers steady despite the storm raging inside me.

Without hesitation, I tossed it into the airport trash can. Then, without looking back, I boarded the plane.

On the other side of the world, Atlas stood atop a secluded mountain estate, watching the sun dip below the horizon.

Beside him, Ivy smiled, her delicate fingers adjusting a loose strand of her hair.

Just as Atlas reached out to fix it for her, his phone rang. Annoyed, he pulled it out, his brows furrowing at the unfamiliar number. “Mr. Whitmore, your wife… she’s gone.”

His hand stilled midair. The warm glow of the sunset cast long shadows, but the sudden chill in his veins made him feel as if the temperature had dropped several degrees.

“Gone?” His voice was sharp, controlled. “What do you mean?”

The person on the other end hesitated, then spoke with clear apprehension.

“The nurses said she left in the middle of the night. And she left a document behind… You should see it for yourself.”

Atlas’s grip on his phone tightened. “What document?”

A pause—“a divorce agreement.”

The words landed like a physical blow. His chest constricted, his heartbeat a slow, forceful thud against his ribs.

He had to have misheard. Or maybe this was some kind of joke. Celeste wouldn’t do this.

Even if she was angry, even if she refused to apologize, she wouldn’t take things this far.

Beside him, Ivy’s expression flickered with something unreadable–something sharp and dangerous–but it disappeared in an instant.

his sleeve, her

innocence. “Let me come with you,

her, nodding once before turning on his heel and striding

settled onto his face, his usual controlled composure fraying

fingers brushing

she murmured. “I’m sure Celeste

22:33

Years of Love, Seven

69.3%

Chapter 6

in Atlas’s chest. His patience was

frown, he brushed

“Enough,” he muttered.

was silent. Ivy stared at him, unsettled. He had never rejected her touch before.

her attention to her phone, sending a quick

instantly. “Don’t worry. It’s been handled.”

suite, the tension

sat rigidly in his chair, his forehead damp

lost a patient–let alone the wife of Atlas Whitmore.

moment the door swung open, the atmosphere dropped several

in, his presence casting a heavy

director stood abruptly, wringing his hands. “Mr.

is she?” Atlas’s voice was dangerously quiet, a sharp contrast to the fury simmering beneath his skin.

hesitated before shakily handing him a thin stack of

words stared back at him, stark and unforgiving.

*Divorce Agreement*

edges of the paper bit into his fingers as he flipped to the

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