The Husband I Knew

Gabriel Romano finally sensed that something was wrong.

I heard his footsteps quicken behind me, felt the tension tighten in the air.

“Grace—wait.”

His voice wavered as he caught up. “Are you upset about last night? I didn’t mean to stay away. The family business exploded all at once, I had to deal with it personally…”

He reached for my arm, panic slipping into his tone.

“Please don’t be mad. Tell me what I can do. Whatever it takes to make you happy—just don’t shut me out. When you look at me like this, it scares me.”

I couldn’t listen to another lie.

I took a breath, forced my expression soft, even playful, and interrupted him.

“If you really want me to forgive you,” I said lightly, “then buy me a beach house. I want it under my name. You’ll need to sign.”

He didn’t hesitate.

“Of course,” he said instantly. “Anything you want. I’ll buy it. Whatever makes you happy.”

My eyes brightened—This was the moment.

I handed him the purchase documents, the divorce agreement discreetly sandwiched between the pages. I leaned close, guiding his hand, coaxing him gently as he signed.

He signed without question.

When he put the pen down and reached to flip through the papers, I quickly gathered them up, laughing.

“What?” I teased. “You’re not backing out because a hundred-million-dollar villa feels too expensive, are you?”

Even half-drunk, Gabriel Romano still possessed the instincts of a man who ruled both boardrooms and bloodlines.

I knew logic wouldn’t fool him.

Only emotion would.

And it worked.

He chuckled, let it go, and pulled me into his arms.

I almost laughed to myself.

I wondered what his expression would look like—when he finally realized the truth.

Later, I placed the signed divorce papers into the pink safe I had custom-made weeks ago.

I planned to leave it behind—wrapped neatly as a “gift.”

When everything was done, I curled up cross-legged beside the sofa where he slept heavily.

I began organizing every photo, every video Ella Reed had ever sent me.

The next morning, my new identity was finalized.

Anna Morgan.

I booked my flight for that night.

Less than an hour later, the front door slammed open.

Gabriel rushed in, his face pale, eyes frantic. Before I could react, he pulled me tightly into his arms.

He buried his face against my neck, his lips brushing my ear as his voice trembled.

“I don’t know why,” he whispered, “but my heart’s been racing all day. It feels like something important is about to disappear from my life. Grace… I missed you so much.”

He held me so tightly I could barely breathe.

I forced myself to push him away.

“You’re overthinking,” I said gently. “You’re just exhausted.”

I gave him the excuse.

He accepted it—but wouldn’t meet my eyes. Instead, he clutched my hand as if letting go would shatter him.

After a long pause, he spoke softly.

“I’ve cleared my schedule. I’m not going into the office today. I’ll stay home with you.”

My heart skipped.

Had he noticed something?

Before I could think it through, he spoke again.

“Grace… don’t push me away, okay?”

“Promise me—you’ll never leave me. Not in this lifetime.”

He looked at me intensely, hope burning in his eyes.

I frowned slightly, unsure how to respond.

I remembered the early days—when we were deeply in love.

He used to ask me the same thing, again and again.

And every time, I reassured him.

As long as you don’t betray me, I will stay.

“Grace,” he whispered, tears welling in his eyes, staring straight at me.

“What’s wrong? Why won’t you say anything?”

I lowered my gaze and sighed softly.

“Gabriel Romano,” I said quietly, “my answer hasn’t changed. As long as you don’t betray me, I will love you for the rest of my life.”

He didn’t press further.

Instead, he wrapped me tightly in his arms.

“I swear,” he said, voice low and firm, “I would never do anything to hurt you. I can’t bear the thought of losing you. I can’t.”

I almost laughed.

I couldn’t tell if those words were meant for me—or for himself.

Time ticked closer to my departure.

Yet he refused to leave my side.

I asked him to go buy fruit—he called his assistant instead.

I asked him to get porridge—he ordered delivery.

Frustration crept in.

Then his phone rang.

Once.Twice.Three times.

Finally, irritation crossed his face as he answered.

When he hung up, he walked toward me, conflicted.

“Grace… I—”

I looked up at him calmly.

“Go,” I said. “Handle your work. Staying home with me all day will only make you restless.”

Perhaps some instinct warned him.

Before leaving, he lingered—hesitant, repeatedly reminding me:

“Wait for me. I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

Seeing his reluctance, I stood and walked him to the door.

“Go,” I said softly. “I’ll be here.”

Only then did he drive away.

I watched his car disappear around the corner.

Then I turned back inside.

I placed the divorce agreement and my pregnancy report neatly together in the safe.

And sent him the password.

There’s a gift for you in the safe.

He replied instantly.

Okay, sweetheart. Wait for me. I’ll be home soon.

I didn’t respond.

By the time I boarded the plane, the video I had prepared had already been sent.

I removed the SIM card from my phone, snapped it in half, and dropped it into the trash.

Without looking back, I boarded the flight to France.

Thirty minutes later, a deafening explosion ripped through the night sky.

The airport loudspeakers crackled to life:

"Attention passengers—an aircraft bound for France has just exploded. All departing flights are delayed until further notice."