Somewhere in the capital city, rain crashed against the glass windows of a private hospital room — relentless, cold, and unforgiving. The sky cried harder than he could.
Devin Lancaster sat on the edge of the bed, his expensive shirt clinging to his skin, damp from sweat and rain he didn't remember walking through. In his hands was a single document — thin, almost weightless — yet it felt heavier than the world itself.
Divorce papers.
His vision blurred, but he couldn't tell if it was from the sleepless nights or the tears he refused to acknowledge. The words stared back at him, cruel and final.
"Divorce Agreement.""Signed by: Charlotte Lancaster."
He blinked again. No, he must be reading it wrong. She couldn't—"She can't," he whispered under his breath, voice breaking like shattered glass.
It was raining harder now. He could hear the thunder outside, almost like the heavens themselves were mocking him.
His chest tightened.Two days ago, she gave birth to their daughter. Just two days ago, she smiled at him — weak but glowing — as she whispered, "She has your eyes, Dev."
And now… she was gone.
No note. No goodbye. Only a voicemail.A cold, trembling voice that said,
"Don't look for me. If you do… you'll only find my body."
His jaw clenched. The phone had nearly slipped from his hand when he heard it.Now, all he had left were these damn papers and the echo of her voice haunting him.
"Charlotte…" His voice came out hoarse. "Why?"
He had always been a man of control — the kind who didn't flinch under pressure, who could make ruthless boardroom decisions without blinking. But now… he couldn't even move.
He stared blankly at the floor, trying to understand, trying to breathe.They were married for two years. Engaged since childhood. She was his best friend, his anchor. They had everything. So why did she leave right when their daughter came into the world?
Was she forced?Threatened?Or… did she truly mean every word in that voicemail?
A tremor ran through his hand. He gripped the paper tighter until it crumpled, his knuckles whitening.
He whispered again, "Did she really leave me?"
That's when the dam broke.He pressed his trembling hand against his face as a tear escaped — then another — until he couldn't stop them anymore.Her laughter echoed in his mind, the way she used to say his name, the way she used to argue with him, eyes full of life.
Gone. All of it.
The door burst open suddenly."Mr. Lancaster?" a nurse called, her tone urgent. She was holding a small, crying baby in her arms. "Where's the patient?"
Devin looked up slowly, his eyes red and hollow."Don't you think I should be the one asking that?" His voice was sharp, restrained — the kind that made people freeze.
The nurse's mouth parted. "Sir, I—I just stepped out for a moment and when I returned, she—she wasn't—"
But Devin was already standing. His tall frame loomed over the small nurse, the papers falling from his hand and scattering across the floor.
He didn't even look back.
The sound of his footsteps echoed through the corridor as he pushed past the hospital doors and walked straight into the storm.Rain drenched his hair, plastered his clothes to his body, but he didn't care. His phone was already in his hand.
He dialed a number."Chief, I want to see you in five minutes."
"Sir—"
He cut the call before the man could finish. His tone left no room for questions.
Behind him, the nurse stood frozen, the newborn's cries filling the empty corridor.
Hours later, the Lancaster mansion was in chaos.
William Lancaster — the patriarch of the empire — stormed through the hospital halls as soon as the news reached him. "Where's my granddaughter?" he barked.
The servants scrambled as the baby was brought to him. Devin was nowhere to be found. He hadn't even looked at his daughter.
Days passed. Then a week.
No trace of Charlotte.No leads. No witnesses. Nothing.
Devin had stopped sleeping. His office lights stayed on every night as he replayed her last voicemail over and over again, searching for a hint, a mistake, a lie.
Then, one night, his phone lit up with a message from an unknown number.
Do not look for me.If you do, you'll see me dead.I was fed up with your family and with you. I want to live my own life now. Please, let me be. Don't make my life hell anymore. I want to be free — free from you and this burden.
His fingers shook as he read it.
The words burned, each one cutting deeper than the last.
Free from you.Burden.
He sank into the chair, the phone slipping from his hand.For a long time, he didn't move. The only sound in the room was the rain against the window — still falling, still cruel.
He whispered into the silence,"Then why, Charlotte… why did you look so happy holding our daughter?"