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

head just slightly, feigning innocence. “Let me come with you, Atlas.

nodding once before turning on his heel and striding down the mountain path.

onto his face, his usual

him, her delicate fingers brushing

she murmured. “I’m

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of Love, Seven Minutes

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Chapter 6

flared in Atlas’s chest. His patience was already worn thin, and Ivy’s touch only fueled

a sharp frown, he

“Enough,” he muttered.

Ivy stared at him, unsettled. He

turned her attention to her phone, sending a quick

instantly. “Don’t worry. It’s

hospital suite, the

director sat rigidly in his chair, his forehead damp with nervous

day that a hospital lost a patient–let alone the wife of Atlas

the door swung open, the atmosphere

casting a heavy weight over the room.

wringing

voice was dangerously quiet, a sharp

hesitated before shakily handing him a thin

stared back at him, stark

*Divorce Agreement*

the paper bit into his fingers as he flipped to the last page, and there it

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