Get Down On Your Knees And Beg, Ex-Husband

The Safe

**Caspian's Point of View**

By the time nightfall came, I found myself sitting in a club downtown, nursing a drink that I couldn't even taste properly.

My head was too full. I needed something to cool off, to quiet the noise that had been building in my skull since I'd left Mrs. Richardson's house.

The club was packed with people, bodies moving on the dance floor, music pounding through massive speakers that made the floor vibrate under my feet.

But I barely noticed any of it. I'd found a spot at the bar, away from the worst of the crowd, and ordered whatever the bartender recommended.

I was halfway through my second drink when the television mounted above the bar flickered to a different channel.

And there I was.

On the screen, in vivid f*****g detail, was the same video that had already destroyed my day.

Some news program was playing it, probably discussing the scandal, analyzing it, tearing apart my reputation piece by piece for their ratings.

I gritted my teeth so hard. I looked away from the screen as my hands clenched around my glass.

"Can I get a private room?" I called to the bartender.

He looked up from where he was mixing drinks. "Sure. Need to deposit first though."

"Fine. Whatever."

I pulled out my wallet and threw down my card. He ran it, handed it back, and pointed me toward a hallway at the back of the club.

"Third door on the right. Someone will bring your drinks."

I grabbed my glass and walked away from the bar, from the television, from the stares I was starting to get from people who'd recognized me from the video.

The private room was small but quiet, the music from the main floor muffled to a dull sound through the walls. There was a leather couch, a small table and dim lighting.

I slumped into the chair and took a long drink, letting the alcohol burn down my throat.

A server came in a few minutes later with a bottle and fresh glasses, set them down on the table without a word, and left.

I poured myself another drink. Then another.

"Where could you have gone to, Nia?"

I asked the empty space in front of me.

Initially, when I'd started this search, I thought I was looking for Nia because I was scared. Scared of losing everything I'd built. Scared that she might sue me or something, might use her family's lawyers to take me apart.

But deep down, in a place I didn't want to examine too closely, I knew that wasn't it.

I'd already lost everything.

The company was in shambles. My investors had walked out. My reputation was destroyed, plastered all over the internet for everyone to mock and judge. And the money, all the money I'd thought was mine, was probably already transferred to her name after I signed those papers.

So why was I still searching for her?

Why couldn't I just let it go?

Half of me, the practical part that sounded suspiciously like Mrs. Richardson's cold advice, told me to forget about Nia. To focus on damage control. To salvage what I could of my company, rebuild my reputation, move forward with Isla like nothing had happened.

But goddamnit, I couldn't.

I f*****g couldn't.

Every corner of my mind was occupied by her. By Nia. By questions I didn't have answers to and doubts that wouldn't stop growing no matter how much I tried to push them down.

Had I destroyed something real, something precious, because I was too f*****g stupid to see what was right in front of me?

I poured another drink, my hands shaking slightly.

The alcohol wasn't helping. It should have been dulling the edges, making everything fuzzy and easier to ignore. But instead, it just made the thoughts louder, more insistent.

I stayed in that private room for hours, drinking and thinking and drinking some more until the bottle was mostly empty and the world had taken on a hazy, unsteady quality.

Finally, when I could barely stand without swaying, I decided it was time to go home.

I paid the tab, stumbled out of the club and somehow made it to my car. I probably shouldn't have been driving, but I did it anyway, taking the route home on autopilot while my brain continued its endless spiral.

By the time I pulled into the driveway, I was a complete mess.

My shirt was wrinkled and partially untucked. My hair was disheveled from running my hands through it too many times. I probably looked like I'd been hit by a car and dragged for a few blocks.

The house was quiet when I let myself in. Dark except for a few lights left on.

I made my way upstairs. When I reached the master bedroom, I pushed the door open and stopped.

Isla was asleep in the bed, lying on her side with one arm tucked under the pillow. She was wearing that red lingerie, the transparent one that left almost nothing to the imagination. The one I used to love seeing her in.

But now, looking at her lying there, I felt nothing.

Just emptiness.

I quietly closed the door and walked away.

I found myself standing in front of Nia's room instead. My hand hesitated on the doorknob for just a second before I turned it and pushed the door open.

The room was exactly as she'd left it.

She hadn't taken anything with her. Not her clothes, not her books, not the small personal items that decorated the shelves and nightstand. She'd just... left. Walked away with nothing but whatever she'd been wearing.

My eyes moved around the room, taking in details I'd never really noticed before.

Then I saw our wedding photo hanging on the wall right above her bed.

It was slightly crooked. Tilted to one side. I walked over, reaching up to adjust it, to put it back in its proper position.

But the moment I touched the frame, it came off the wall entirely.

I caught it in time before it could fall, my reflexes kicking in despite the alcohol still flowing through my system.

I held the frame in my hands, staring down at the photo.

It was from our wedding day. Both of us standing together, formally posed. I remembered that day vaguely, remembered going through the motions, remembered thinking of it all as just another business transaction.

But in the photo, Nia was smiling. It was subtle, barely there, but it was real.

I was about to hang the picture back up when something behind where it had been caught my eye.

A safe.

Built into the wall, hidden behind the wedding photo. Small and unassuming, with a simple keypad lock.

My heart started beating faster.

I reached out and tried the handle, expecting it to be locked. But it wasn't. The door swung open easily, like it had never been secured in the first place.

Inside was mostly empty space except for a notebook.

I pulled it out and opened it to the first page.

And my breath caught in my throat.

There was a picture of me. Just me. Not both of us together, not a formal photo like the wedding picture.

This one looked like it had been taken when I wasn't paying attention. But I remembered it as the day of our first anniversary. I was looking off to the side, caught mid-laugh at something someone had said.

Below the picture, written in Nia's neat, careful handwriting, was the date of our wedding.

And beneath that, a single line of text that made my entire world tilt sideways.

“First anniversary with the love of my life.”