Blake Solis POV

Celine rushed to Courtney. She whispered to him, her voice low.

"Courtney, she just gave up custody," Celine said, her eyes wide. "She never fought for Bailey before, but this is different. She just signed it away. I think she's trying to make you feel guilty. She wants you to chase her, to beg her to come back."

Celine looked towards me. Her gaze was sharp. A flicker of satisfaction passed through her eyes. Then it was gone. She put on a look of concern.

"Don't fall for it. She's playing a game."

I let out another quiet, hollow laugh. My eyes were on Celine. She drafted this agreement. She made the terms absurd. She made it impossible for me to stay. And now she feigned shock at my acceptance.

“She says I'm playing a game,” I thought. “She's right. Only from today, I'm the one making the rules.”

Courtney's face hardened further. He turned to me.

"You really want to play this game, Blake? Just remember, you wanted out. Don't come crawling back."

He spun on his heel and walked out. He did not look back.

I watched his retreating back. I felt nothing. No grief. No regret. Just a vast emptiness. He expected me to crumble. He expected me to chase him. He would be disappointed.

My surrender was complete. Now, the real hunt began.

I remembered trying to save our marriage. I used to visit temples, seek out fortune tellers. I went to a remote temple once, known for its wise oracle. The first two fortunes I drew were ominous. They spoke of twisted fates, of love turning to ashes. I refused to believe them. I traveled further, to another temple. There, I drew a fortune that promised "Heaven-blessed love." I clutched it, tears of hope streaming down my face.

It turned out to be a cruel deception. My heaven-blessed love had become a cursed entanglement.

Celine watched me. A small, cruel smile played on her lips. She approached me.

"Goodbye, Blake. I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for. Or rather, whoever."

The door clicked shut. The room fell silent. I looked down at the man on the bed. He was still deep in a drug-induced sleep. I had woken up hours ago. I could have left. I could have escaped before Courtney and Celine arrived.

But I did not. I stayed. I waited. This had to end. The passive suffering ended today.

I stood up. I walked to the door. I threw on my coat. I did not look back.

I didn't care about the man on the bed. He was just a prop in Celine's final act.

I walked out of that room as Blake Solis, the victim. The woman who walked back in? She would be someone else entirely.

Blake Solis POV

I returned to the house the next evening. My heart felt like a hollow drum. I needed to gather a few things. I walked into the master bedroom. My clothes were gone. My personal items were gone. The room was sterile, empty of any trace of me.

The maid, Maria, hovered near the doorway. She avoided my gaze.

"Ma'am, your things… they were moved," Maria stammered. "To the storage room in the backyard. Miss Celine said… the master bedroom needed to be cleared for the new mistress."

I let out another quiet laugh. So, not even a proper goodbye. Not even a moment to pack my own things. They stripped me of everything, even the dignity of departure.

I turned away from Maria. I walked towards the backyard. The storage room was a cluttered mess. My belongings were tossed in a corner, an undignified pile. They treated my life like trash.

I knelt amidst the debris. I rummaged through the boxes. I looked for something specific. My great-grandmother's locket. It was the only thing truly mine. My mother had given it to me on my wedding day. She said it was a symbol of strength, of enduring love.

My fingers closed around the cold metal. I pulled it out from under a pile of old blankets. I clutched it in my hand. A small victory. A tiny piece of me they could not take.

I started to pick out a few clothes. A voice from the doorway stopped me.

"Mommy? What are you doing here?"

Bailey. My son. He stood in the doorway, blocking my exit. He looked like Courtney, but the way he stood — hands on his hips, head tilted — was Celine's pose. He mimicked her. He always did.

"I'm getting my things, Bailey," I said, my voice flat. I kept packing. I did not look at him.

"Those aren't your things," Bailey declared, his small voice sharp. "Auntie Celine said everything here belongs to Daddy. And everything Daddy has belongs to the Jordan family."

He walked further into the storage room. He deliberately stepped on my clothes. He crushed them under his small shoes.

"She said you're not a Jordan anymore. You can't take anything. Everything belongs to us."

My five-year-old son was already his father's soldier. But I hadn't come to fight him. I had come to say goodbye.

But I wasn't done with them. Not even close.