9 Chapter 9
“Miss, your personal information has been invalidated in your homeland. Any accounts or phone services linked to your identity will cease to function.” (1
I acknowledged this with a simple nod and boarded the aircraft without hesitation.
From this moment on, the world is my oyster–no one will be able to trace me.
Upon Killian’s return home, Anastacia continued to follow him closely, much to his apparent irritation.
“We’ve been together for three days now, what more do you want? It’s time for you to leave!”
Anastacia’s lips formed a pout as she gently caressed her stomach. “It’s not that I can’t bear to part from you; it’s our child who needs your presence…”
“Fine. Wait in the vehicle for a while, and I’ll join you for a meal later, alright?”
Her expression brightened instantly. “Certainly! I’ll be waiting.”
Killian straightened his attire and applied cologne to mask Anastacia’s lingering scent. After ensuring he left no evidence behind, he entered his residence with a smile.
“Darling, I’ve returned!”
However, he was met with an unsettling silence.
No answer came.
Killian’s heart sank. “Honey? Penelope, where are you?”
He moved swiftly through the house, calling out anxiously as he searched.
“Penelope? Penelope?”
His voice echoed through the vacant rooms, unanswered.
A servant, returning from errands, was accosted by Killian.
With bloodshot eyes, he gripped the servant’s shoulders, demanding, “Where’s my wife? Where has she gone?”
The servant looked perplexed. “Your wife… didn’t she embark on an extended journey? Sir, weren’t you aware?”
“An extended journey?”
Killian felt a momentary sense of relief. He hastily retrieved his phone and dialed Penelope’s
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9 Chapter 9
number, only to hear a busy signal.
His heart constricted painfully.
“Oh, sir, before departing, your wife mentioned you should remember to open the gift,” the servant added, unwittingly sending a chill down his spine.
“Gift? What gift?”
Suddenly, Killian’s mind flashed back to the envelope he’d received a fortnight ago. His legs moved instinctively, before his mind could fully process the situation.
He rushed to the second–floor study, stumbling and nearly falling, but the pain didn’t register.
There was no time to waste.
As he opened the envelope, his hands shook uncontrollably, making it difficult to grasp the thin papers. Unfolding them, the words of the divorce agreement struck him like lightning.
“Divorce? Penelope wants to end our marriage?”
He gasped, struggling to breathe. His gaze darted around the study, noticing several thick photo albums missing from the bookshelf–albums chronicling a decade of memories with Penelope, which had always occupied a place of honor.
But now, they were gone.
“Ms. Amelia! Ms. Amelia, where are my photo albums?” he cried out, his voice tinged with
desperation.
Ms. Amelia appeared, looking bewildered. “Sir, I don’t enter your study, but I did observe your wife carrying the albums to the garden a few days ago.”
Killian’s heart plummeted. Without a word, he dashed to their bedroom.
The scene was even more distressing. Penelope’s pillows, blankets, even her bedside lamp had
vanished.
In the wardrobe, only his suits–in shades of black, white, and gray–hung solitary. Penelope’s vibrant clothing was nowhere to be seen.
Killian felt as if he’d been dealt a crushing blow. He slumped against the wall, clutching his chest, gasping for air.
He reached for his phone, intending to contact Penelope’s friends, but as he opened his contact list, a chilling realization struck him. He had no idea who her friends were.
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