Chapter 4: Her Own Clothes Were Gone

Reginald's POV

Grandpa's voice exploded through my phone like a nuclear bomb, making me pull it away from my ear. "Have you completely lost your mind? Get your ass back to the estate before I drag you here myself!"

I glanced at Vivian in her attention-grabbing red dress by the entrance. When did she become so annoying?

"Not. Now." I growled, already turning away from her pouty face.

"Don't you dare 'not now' me, you little shit!" The line went dead with a bang that matched my growing headache.

"Reggie?" Vivian's voice was sugary. "Everything okay?"

"Rain check." I didn't even look back as I slid into my car, driving to the Fifth Avenue Apartment. My mind was too busy replaying Elena's last words on repeat, "You're so obsessed with thinking I'm manipulating you that you wouldn't know real feelings if they bit you in the ass."Damn her for always being so... right.

The second I walked into the apartment, something felt wrong. Like walking into a tomb. That subtle jasmine scent that always made the place feel like home? Gone. Just... gone.

"Shit," I muttered in the empty rooms.

The master bedroom looked normal - bed perfectly made, Elena's style. Then I saw my black card on the nightstand with a blood stain.

I had my phone out before I could think. "When the hell did she leave?" I barked at Adam.

"6 AM sharp, sir. Town car to JFK. We're tracking her movements but..." Adam's voice had that careful tone he uses when he knows I'm about to lose it.

The walk-in closet hit me like a ton of bricks. All those designer pieces I'd bought her hung there. But her old stuff? The clothes she'd brought from Stewart Villa? Vanished. Like she was erasing every trace of the life we'd built. Or pretended to build.

A timid cough from the doorway made me spin around. A maid stood there wringing her hands like a bad soap opera extra.

"Good evening, sir." The maid bobbed her head nervously. "Would you like me to inform Mrs. Vanderbilt that you're home?"

My whole body went rigid. "What do you mean?"

"I... I haven't seen her all day, but I assumed..." The maid trailed off, wilting under my stare. "She always returns before dinner..."

I angrily pulled her to the closet and demanded, "Do you see anything wrong with this closet?"

The maid quickly scanned the contents before hesitantly replying, "Mrs. Vanderbilt's own clothes... they're all gone."

"Get out!" The whiskey glass left my hand before I could think, shattering against the wall in a spray of glass. The maid bolted like she'd seen a demon. Maybe she had.

My phone buzzed - Adam again. "Got something, sir. She booked a flight to Paris."

I actually laughed out loud. "Bullshit. She fucking hates France."

The memory hit me like a truck - that disaster of a charity gala two years ago. Some French businessman getting handsy with Elena, me too busy schmoozing investors to notice. She'd never forgiven me for that one. Just added it to her list of my failures, probably.

"First class ticket, bought this morning," Adam continued. "But here's the thing - she never boarded."

Of course she didn't. Elena always had backup plans. But why leave the expensive stuff? Why the blood?

I stood in the quiet bedroom for what felt like an eternity. Feeling agitated, I stepped over the fragments and walked out of the room.

Downstairs, the maid was startled by my dark face. She looked at me, wanting to say something, but I cut her off with a cold stare. "You don't need to come back tomorrow," I said icily.

If she couldn't even tell that someone as significant as Elena had disappeared, there was no sense in keeping her on.

Leaving the apartment, I sat in my car and lit a cigarette. The crimson flame stood out sharply against the night as a cold smile played across my lips. Did Elena really think she could just walk in and out of the Vanderbilt family as she pleased?

Since my parents' accident, I hadn't felt such consuming anger. The irony - I'd wanted Elena to divorce me for Vivian. Now Elena's gone, and all I want is to find her. After years of business success, this was my first real failure.

Two weeks crawled by like a hangover. Meetings, sleepless nights, more meetings. Every lead on Elena turned to smoke. The Paris ticket? Dead end. Credit cards? Silent. Phone? Dead.

Then a package showed up.

Plain envelope, no return address. Inside: divorce papers and a note: [Done pretending. Enjoy your freedom. P.S. - Before accusing others of drugging you, check your drink. Karma's a bitch.]

I stared at those words. That night at Stewart Villa... had I really been that stupid? That blind?

My phone lit up. Vivian texted: [Missing you baby... dinner?]

I looked at her message, Elena's note, and the empty apartment still waiting for her.

For the first time in three years, I wondered if I'd been the biggest fool in a game I didn't even know I was playing.

"Sir?" Adam appeared, looking uncomfortable. "The board is waiting. And... sir? You might want to fix your tie."

I looked in the mirror. Shit. When had I started looking so... lost?

"Yeah." I straightened up, packed away the confusion and that dangerous feeling that felt too much like regret. I had an empire to run. Elena had made her choice.

After a year-long search, there was still no sign of Elena, as if she had vanished into thin air.

I rubbed my temples, feeling the exhaustion. It was time to end it.

I looked up at Adam, who was standing at the other end of the office waiting for instructions, and said calmly, "Call off the search."