The Final Score: When The Wife Walks Away

Blake POV

The penthouse was quiet.

Too quiet.

Usually, there was the low hum of the HVAC, the faint, rhythmic sound of Caroline typing in the study, or the scent of whatever fancy, complex candle she was burning.

Tonight, the air was sterile. It smelled like nothing.

"Caroline?"

I tossed my keys on the console table, the metal clattering loudly in the silence.

My head was pounding. A rhythmic throb behind my eyes.

Ariana had been hysterical. The flat tire had turned into a meltdown about her safety, which had quickly spiraled into a meltdown about the gallery. I had spent four hours calming her down.

I checked my phone.

Zero missed calls from Caroline.

That was odd. She usually called to nag me about being late, or at least to ask when I'd be home.

I walked into the kitchen.

It was spotless. Not a dish out of place.

I walked into the living room.

Empty.

A cold unease started to crawl up my spine.

I went to the master bedroom.

The bed was made. Military precision.

I opened the closet.

My side was full. Suits, shirts, shoes, all lined up perfectly.

Her side was... bare.

Not just messy. Stripped.

The hangers were gone. The shoes were gone. The jewelry box on the island was open and empty.

"Caroline!" I shouted, my voice echoing off the walls.

Panic, cold and sharp, pierced my chest.

My phone rang.

The sudden chime made me jump.

I answered it without looking, desperation seizing my throat.

"Where is she?" I barked.

"Blake?" Ariana's voice was small, trembling. "Who?"

"Caroline," I snapped. "Did she call you?"

"No," Ariana said, sniffling. "But... she threatened me earlier. Remember? At the dinner? Maybe she's planning something. Maybe she's trying to hurt me."

"Shut up, Ariana," I said.

I hung up.

I stared at the empty closet, the void where her life used to be.

This wasn't a tantrum.

Caroline didn't throw tantrums. She planned. She calculated.

She was an architect.

She didn't just leave. She demolished.

I ran to the study.

The desk was cleared. Her laptop was gone.

But on the leather chair, sitting squarely in the center, was a white envelope.

And a black book.