After the Divorce, My Billionaire Husband Lost His Mind

Chapter 2

I woke to an empty house.

The kind of emptiness that swallowed sound and left only echoes.

For five years, I had never noticed how quiet it was when she wasn’t around. Not really noticed. Elara had always been there, somewhere in the background, smoothing the rough edges of my life—making everything easier without me asking. And now… she was gone.

I had expected her to storm back into my office this morning, furious and pleading. I had expected the familiar mix of fear and devotion in her eyes. What I got instead was… nothing.

Nothing.

I ran my hand through my hair and tried to shake the unease. “She’ll call,” I muttered to myself, pacing the marble floor of my penthouse. “She always calls. She always comes back.”

But the phone stayed silent.

I called the office, the board, even her assistant. Everyone assured me the schedule was “as usual.” But nothing was usual. The house felt different, hollow in a way I didn’t recognize until she was gone.

I poured a glass of whiskey, swirled it around, and stared at the city lights below. The same lights I had admired with her on countless nights. The same lights I had assumed she’d always be beside me to admire.

And then it hit me like a punch to the gut: she wasn’t beside me anymore.

A bitter laugh left my lips. “What have I done?”

I tried to convince myself she would return tomorrow. Or next week. Maybe she was sulking, maybe she just wanted to make me sweat. But deep down, I knew—it wasn’t just a sulk. It wasn’t just a test.

I had thrown her out of my life.

And now the one person who had made everything bearable… was gone.

By the third day, my frustration became obsession. I checked my phone every five minutes. I walked the house, opening doors I knew were empty. I scrolled through messages she’d sent me, studying each word for hidden meaning, for a clue.

I was losing my mind, slowly, subtly. My colleagues noticed. My assistant asked if I was sick. My employees sensed something had shifted in me, a tension I couldn’t hide. And they were right—I was unraveling.

I needed to see her.

I called friends, family, anyone who might know her whereabouts. Each call ended with a polite “I haven’t seen her.”

I drove to her favorite spots—the café where she read, the park where she jogged, the boutique she always shopped at. Every place was empty. Every place echoed with the memory of her laughter that had once filled my world.

And then, in the late afternoon, I saw her.

She wasn’t looking at me. She wasn’t even acknowledging my existence.

Elara Ashford, my wife—no, my ex-wife—was walking through the lobby of a luxury hotel, radiant, confident, untouchable. People smiled at her, held doors for her, admired her as if she were some untouchable goddess.

And then she turned the corner.

I froze.

For the first time, I realized something I couldn’t bear to admit: I was terrified.

Terrified that she might never come back.

Terrified that she might have already moved on.

And terrified that this… this unstoppable, untouchable woman… had no intention of letting me back in.

I swallowed hard. My throat was dry. My chest tightened. I had been a fool.

A colossal, arrogant, insane fool.

And somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew the worst was yet to come.

Because she hadn’t even noticed me.

And that realization burned hotter than any humiliation I had ever inflicted.

I had always thought I controlled her. I had never been more wrong. And I wasn’t prepared for what would happen the next time she looked at me… like I was a stranger.