Chapter 4 Nikolai

Chapter 4

Nikolai DeLuca:

A deep frown settled on my face as I stared out the window, the familiar sights of the city blurring into meaningless shapes. It had been three days since the incident, and not a word from Camilla. No calls. No texts. Nothing.

That silence wasn't like her. She always reached out, always found a way to let me know she was there.

The drive home stretched endlessly, my thoughts a storm I couldn't calm. Regret, guilt, frustration-all of it churned together. I told myself I did the right thing, made the best decision for both of us. For everyone. But why did it feel like everything was falling apart?

Stepping into the house, I froze. The emptiness hit me like a punch to the chest. The vibrant decor she'd painstakingly chosen, the soft glow of the lights she loved so much-it was all gone. Just stark walls, scattered furniture, and a silence that pressed down on me like a weight.

It was as if Camilla had ripped the soul out of the place, leaving it barren and lifeless.

"What the hell is this?" I muttered, anger bubbling beneath the surface. "I gave her enough money to buy a damn villa, to live comfortably for years. This-this wasn't necessary."

But the emptiness wasn't just in the room. It was in me, too. And that terrified me more than I wanted to admit.

I scoffed, shaking my head sharply as if that could shake off the annoying thoughts. Why the hell am I even thinking about her? Camilla was nothing more than a scheming opportunist. She always had been.

I turned toward the door, ready to leave the room, when something on the table caught my eye.

A folder.

I stopped dead in my tracks, my curiosity piqued despite myself. Slowly, I walked toward it, my steps hesitant. My fingers trembled slightly as I flipped it open, and the sight inside sent a strange jolt through me.

Her signature, on the divorce papers.

I stared at it, my heart clenching in a way I didn't want to admit. Camilla's handwriting was always so poised, so elegant. But here... it looked different. I frowned, running a finger lightly over the ink. Did her hand tremble when she signed this? Did she cry?

The thought made my chest tighten. My jaw locked as I gritted my teeth, trying to suppress the ridiculous wave of emotion threatening to rise.

Get a grip.

My eyes narrowed as I straightened, the irritation bubbling back to the surface. What the hell was she thinking? I had assumed it would take time-convincing, negotiation. She'd always been so headstrong, always insisted on dragging things out.

And yet, here it was. Signed. Done.

"All about the money," I muttered under my breath, a mocking smile tugging at the corner of my lips. It had always been about the money with her, hadn't it? The life I could provide. The security. The luxuries.

But the smile faded as a strange heaviness settled in my chest. My shoulders sagged, and I let out a slow breath. I should be happy. Relieved. This was what I wanted. No more games. No more drama.

So why did it feel like I'd lost something?

I clenched my fists, shoving the thought aside. She didn't even tell me she signed it. The irritation flared again. I grabbed my phone, scrolling through my missed calls.

One caught my eye-an unknown number.

I dialed it back, my jaw tight as I brought the phone to my ear.

"Hello?" I said sharply, expecting to hear her voice.

"This is Golden Hospital. How may we assist you?"

My brow furrowed, confusion flickering through me. A hospital? What the hell?

I ended the call abruptly and dialed my assistant instead.

"Did Camilla contact you?" I demanded the moment the line connected.

"Yes, sir," came the quick reply. "She turned down everything you offered-the mansion, the money, the shares-"

"She what?" My voice rose, anger flaring.

"I'm sorry, sir. She refused it all. You instructed me not to bother you with updates-"

"Damn it!" I barked, cutting him off.

I shoved my free hand into my upocket, pacing the room as the words replayed in my head. Turned down everything. Walked away without a word. Refused even the money.

I thought back to the measures I'd taken to ensure she couldn't leave unnoticed. Every step, every move she'd made, I had anticipated and blocked. I had convinced myself she'd never get away without my knowledge.

But she had.

Without the money. Without the house. Without me.

I gripped the phone tighter, my teeth grinding. My mind spun with unanswered questions, but I refused to entertain them.

Why didn't she take anything?

And why did it bother me so much?

My face turned pale, my feet dragging as though they were rooted to the spot. The silence in the house was deafening, pressing on my chest like a physical weight, each breath harder to take than in

Her scent used to linger everywhere-sweet, familiar, constant. Her voice used to echo through these walls, calling out to me, always trying to please me. But now... nothing. It was eerily quiet, as if the house had been abandoned for years.

This is what you wanted, I reminded myself. But the ache in my chest told a different story. Why did it feel so wrong? Why did this silence make me feel like something vital was missing?

I didn't have an answer.

Maybe I'd grown used to her presence. Maybe I'd taken her for granted. My brows furrowed as the knot of emotions tightened, impossible to untangle. Regret? Guilt? Anger? I didn't know. All I knew was that the emptiness felt like it was suffocating me.

"Find my wife!" I barked, pulling out my phone and dialing my assistant before abruptly ending the call, unable to wait for a response.

As I turned to leave, something on the floor near the bookshelf caught my eye. A photograph, partially hidden under the edge of the carpet.

Frowning, I bent down and picked it up. The edges were frayed, the image slightly faded, but the faces in it were unmistakable. My parents stood in the center, my father with his usual stern expression, my mother smiling softly beside him.

But it wasn't just them.

There was a boy, maybe six or seven, standing between them. My breath caught in my throat as I stared at him. He looked exactly like me-same sharp features, same piercing eyes-except his hair was a shade lighter. Almost blonde.

A chill ran down my spine. This wasn't me. It couldn't be. I didn't remember this photo, and I didn't have a brother. At least... I didn't think I did.

Flipping the photo over, I found nothing. No date. No name. Just a blank back, as though whoever had placed it here wanted to leave no clues.

I swallowed hard, my pulse pounding in my ears. Questions stormed through my mind. Who is this? Why indoes he look like me? Why did Camilla leave this behind?

The silence in the house felt heavier now, almost suffocating. I couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't an accident. Someone wanted me to find this.

But why?

I stared at the photo again, unable to tear my eyes away from the boy who looked so much like me but wasn't me. For the first time in years, I felt something foreign-fear.