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Faked Disappearance, Real Love's End Novel Cover

Faked Disappearance, Real Love's End

A month after my boyfriend "went missing," I unexpectedly bumped into him at a bar. He was completely unharmed, bragging to his friends. "My girlfriend is way too clingy, so I needed to teach her a lesson. Plus, my best bro Keegan is playing along." I didn't burst into tears, nor did I have a meltdown. Instead, I pretended I hadn't seen or heard a thing and quietly went home. When Beckham called Keegan for an update, I was straddling Keegan's lap. "Focus, honey. Don't get distracted." Keegan hung up the phone immediately. As for Beckham? Let him stay missing—forever missing from my world.
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Chapter 4

Holly Baxter's POV

I froze.

The air between us was thick with unspeakable tension, as if foreshadowing something. His naked desire, displayed so bluntly, changed everything.

Despite my shock, I found myself getting pulled deeper in.

Reason told me I should push him away—he was Beckham's friend.

While I was faking my grief, Keegan was the only one by my side. When I cried myself to sleep, he sat by my bed. When I couldn't eat, he brought me food.

I had always had my suspicions about Beckham's disappearance. His overprotective parents were acting abnormally calm, seemingly unwilling to involve the police. His friends were still living their lavish lives on social media.

That night at the bar, all those doubts became reality.

Even though I had discovered the truth, Keegan still didn't let me go. He held me, his chin resting on the top of my head. His closeness felt suffocating, yet strangely protective. He showed no sign of letting go, maintaining the intimate physical contact.

"Did you make dinner?" I asked, my voice laced with exhaustion.

"Yes, Holly. Your favorite. It's ready."

"Go heat it up," I said.

He released me immediately and headed to the kitchen without a word of protest.

After eating, I took off my sweater and tossed it to him. "Wash this, I'm too tired."

He hesitated. "May I?"

"I'm exhausted, I really don't have the energy."

With a faint smile, he picked up the sweater and walked toward the bathroom like a man bestowed with a great honor.

I knew he'd be busy. He did things meticulously, which bought me time. He had left his phone on the coffee table. I unlocked it effortlessly—he had never changed his passcode.

The first message thread I found was from "B-man." Beckham.

He had been using an anonymous account to stay in touch with the outside world during his "disappearance."

During the first few days, Beckham had checked in on me. "How's Holly doing? Still crying?" followed by a smiley emoji.

Beckham sent a message: "She's so annoying, always whining and crying. Thanks for keeping an eye on her."

Keegan responded: "When are you going to end this farce? If you don't like her, just break up."

Beckham replied: "Don't be stupid. I don't hate her. She's just doing too much. She needs to know her place. Kiara is right. Let her suffer a bit, and she'll learn to be more obedient."

Keegan didn't reply.

Suddenly, a group chat notification popped up. The name: "Princess Kiara and Her Three Servants."

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