The Bell Ceremony

Chapter 2 Cheap Apologies and Empty Closets

The penthouse was silent when I arrived. I packed in exactly twenty-seven minutes: my personal laptop, my research journals, and several changes of plain clothing in one suitcase. The designer wardrobe Elias had chosen for me stayed on its rails. Those gowns and coats belonged to the polished, quiet wife he preferred to display.

In our shared closet, five identical orange Hermès boxes sat on the top shelf. Tissue paper still covered the scarf in the first. He had sent it after missing our second anniversary to “entertain investors” on a trip Lily also attended. Four more boxes marked a forgotten birthday, my university mentor's funeral, and two other promises he had replaced with the same expensive apology.

I lined the five boxes across the king-sized bed. Beside them, I placed the digital receipt I had taken from his study trash. It was dated the previous week and came from a high-end jeweler.

For one custom-made platinum bracelet, engraved with the initials *L.E.*

I collected my photographs from the mantels and my books from the nightstand. Pale rectangles remained where the frames had stood, and my side of the nightstand was bare. By the time I reached the front door, nothing personal remained outside the suitcase.

The heavy door latched behind me. I continued down the hall without turning around.

(Elias's POV)

I came home well after midnight with champagne on my breath and applause still in my ears. The penthouse was dark. I assumed Serena had cried herself to sleep.

The divorce papers were on the coffee table. Her wedding ring held down the top page.

I laughed once.

“Predictable.” I sent my assistant, Mark, a voice message. “New tactic for attention. Divorce papers, ring, the full production. Give her three days, tops. She'll come crawling back. They always do.”

I dropped my jacket on a chair and reached beside the whiskey decanter. After long events, Serena left a silver pillbox there with electrolytes and painkillers measured for the next morning.

My hand met bare wood.

The pillbox was gone.

So she had chosen petty inconveniences. I poured a whiskey and went to my study for the notes to my 9 a.m. keynote. Serena usually printed them, highlighted the figures, and marked the margins.

The folder was missing. After ten minutes in my inbox, I found the raw file. It was a wall of text with no highlights, page breaks, timing marks, or notes explaining the figures Serena had expected me to present at 9 a.m.

The next morning, my head pounded. My jacket and glass were where I had left them. I opened my mouth to call for coffee just as the bedroom door flew open.

Mark stood in the doorway clutching his tablet.

“Elias, it's a catastrophe.”

“What now?” I snapped, rubbing my temples.

“Our three biggest European clients. Klose Industries, Von Hess, and OmniCorp. They're terminating their contracts, effective immediately.”

I lowered my hand. “On what grounds? The IPO was a massive success!”

Mark turned the tablet toward me. “They all cite critical instability in the Chimera core. The notices say the foundational code is degrading.”

Only Serena had access to the foundational code. I read the three notices and decided she had sabotaged it to force me to chase her.

I grabbed my phone and pressed her contact photo. I was already composing the accusation when the call connected.

An automated recording answered.

*“The number you have dialed is no longer in service. Please check the number and try again.”*

I hung up and dialed again.

*“The number you have dialed is no longer in service.”*

The recording cut off when I ended the second call. Her contact photo remained on the screen, attached to a number that no longer worked.

Divorce papers, an empty closet, and a disconnected number made a poor tantrum.

Serena had planned her exit before I ever stepped onto the IPO podium.