Does it matter either way?
I pace around the room, my thoughts a whirlwind of plans and promises. I’ll surprise her with a romantic dinner, just the two of us. I’ll make a conscious effort to be more present in her life, in our children’s lives. I’ll propose again, this time just between us. I’ll tell her all the things she deserves to hear. And then I’ll put those things into action.
I’ll also fire Charlotte.
Whatever it takes to make her feel happy and secure and loved.
But most importantly, I’ll never let the fear of the curse come between us again.
I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of my resolve settle firmly upon my shoulders. As much as I hate what she did, this was the wake-up call I needed. And that fucking pisses me off. She tried and tried to talk to me. She tried and tried to get me to come back to her, to stop the distance and move past this curse I’ve been so obsessed with.
With my fear of losing her to the curse, I lost her anyway.
Isn’t that a curse on its own? She as much as said it. I was so afraid of losing her to the curse that I pushed her away and lost her anyway. I’ll be the man she fell in love with, the man she deserves.
A growl slips past my lips. This is bullshit. I can’t just sit here, pining after her. Fuck the space she needs. We’ve had nothing but space between us and now I need to close the gap.
Flying off the bed, I head for the door when my phone buzzes in my pocket, and I reach for it, praying it’s her. But instead of a call, there’s a text.
Bellamy: Sebastian, I need some space. I’m going away for a few days to clear my head.
I stare at the screen, my heart fracturing into a thousand pieces. I clutch the phone tightly, my knuckles whitening as I struggle to breathe. I dial her number, desperation clawing at my chest. But as each ring goes unanswered, my hope dwindles until I’m left with nothing but the cold, echoing silence of her voicemail.
Immediately I dial her again, my fingers trembling and my breath hitching in my throat when the call goes to voicemail a second time. “Bellamy, please,” I whisper into the phone, my voice cracking. “Let me make this right. I love you. Come home.”
I text her back.
Me: Please come home. I was wrong. So fucking wrong.I’m so sorry. I love you and I need to make this right. I need to show you there will never be anything else between us but love. No more separation. Please, baby, please come home instead of staying away.
“Dammit,” I curse under my breath when she doesn’t respond. The message doesn’t show she’s read it either.
Fuck this. If she won’t come home, I’m going to get her. Before I can spiral further into despair, a thought occurs to me. The tracking app on her phone and anklet. Perhaps if I can find her location, I can talk to her face-to-face and convince her that things will change, that we can make this work.
My heart leaps when her location registers on my screen, but it quickly sinks again as I see where she is. What the fuck? Why is she on the side of the road, a mile from the palace? Confusion and worry swirl through my mind, a storm of emotions looming over me.
Why would she be there?
I grab my keys, determination creeping into my veins. I will find her, no matter what it takes, and I will make her see just how much she means to me. Flying into the garage, I hop in the first car in the line and peel out, following the tracking app to her location. She hasn’t moved and I’m not sure what the hell she’s doing just standing there on the side of the road.
But as I get closer, the road flat and straight, I don’t see any signs of Bellamy. Dread fills my gut as I pull over where the app says she’s supposed to be. I get out of the car, slamming the door shut behind me, my heart racing with each step I take. Her phone and anklet are gleaming against the waning sun, and I crouch down to pick them up. Her phone screen is cracked, and her anklet’s delicate chain is now tangled and broken.
I stand on the side of the road, holding both in my hand, the wind whipping around me, biting at my skin and tugging at the edges of my shirt as I take in my surroundings. The desolatestretch of road before me is eerily quiet, and the sinking sun casts long shadows over nothingness. My heart races and a chill that has nothing to do with the temperature ices through my veins.
“Where are you, Bellamy?” I ask the empty air, my voice barely audible over the howling wind. But there’s no answer, only the weight of her absence pressing down on me, crushing the breath from my lungs. “God, what have I done?”
In my next breath, I’m sliding back into my car and gripping the steering wheel. I force myself to focus on the road as I race back toward the palace, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Rowan! Javier!” I call out as soon as I burst through the front doors. My voice echoes through the grand halls, bouncing off the walls like a ricochet. I take the stairs up to the second floor, racing down the hall and calling out for them. Rowan appears from the parlor he’s turned into his space and Javier’s right behind him. They both wear expressions of concern that only deepen as they take in my disheveled appearance.
“Sebastian, what’s wrong?” Rowan asks, his voice steady but filled with worry.
“Something’s happened to Bellamy,” I say, my words tumbling out in a panic. “We had a fight earlier, and she left. She texted me saying she needed space, but when I went to look for her using the tracking app, I found her phone and anklet abandoned on the side of the road.”
“She wouldn’t just leave her phone and anklet there, no matter how angry she is with you,” Rowan states. “She knows better than that.”
“I know,” I reply, swallowing the lump in my throat. My hands tremble as I clutch Bellamy’s discarded phone and anklet. “She didn’t have her purse with her either,” I tell them, my voice strained. “This doesn’t make sense. She wouldn’t just leave without these.”
Rowan exchanges a worried glance with Javier. “It seemsunlikely that she’d take off like this, especially without any means of communication or money. Maybe someone took her,” Javier suggests, voicing my worst fear aloud. “We need to check the road where you found those for any signs of struggle or tire marks that could be helpful. And we should consider contacting nearby hospitals and local law enforcement, but quietly. We certainly don’t want to alert the media that the queen is missing before we know for sure what’s going on.”
