His Final Betrayal Was My First Move Chapter 11

His Final Betrayal Was My First Move Chapter 11

Amid the enthusiastic congratulations, a few discordant murmurs were mixed in.

“Incredible. They’ve packaged the destruction of a marriage like a Hollywood rom-com.”

“No wonder Amelia didn’t come… Poor woman.”

The voices were low, but they pierced through Griffin’s forced composure like needles.

By the time the party ended, it was nearly midnight. Daphne had drunk a fair amount of champagne. Her cheeks were flushed, and she hung from Griffin’s arm like she was boneless, pouting and refusing to let go.

“Griffin, I won, didn’t I? You have to treat me even better from now on, you hear me?” She looked up at him with drunken eyes, her tone full of a victor’s pride.

Griffin looked at the charming woman in his arms. The questions swirling in his mind—about Amelia, the divorce, this absurd “surprise”—were temporarily pushed aside. He could only play the role of the devoted man who had finally won the beauty. He drove Daphne back to her apartment.

After settling her in and watching her fall into a deep sleep, Griffin finally managed to leave. When he returned to the Beacon Hill home he shared with Amelia, it was already late.

The headlights swept over the familiar townhouse, silent in the dark. He opened the door, but what greeted him was not a warm light or Amelia’s gentle welcome. It was a cold emptiness swallowed by darkness.

He instinctively hit the light switch. Nothing happened. Only then did he remember Amelia mentioning something about the wiring before she left.

It was in that moment that Griffin truly, concretely, realized Amelia was gone.

He didn’t believe she could really leave him. He knew how much she loved him. That love, like his years of chasing Daphne, had been an almost instinctual persistence. In his eyes, Amelia’s patience and sacrifice were standard features of a perfect society wife.

Thinking of the letter from that morning, Griffin decided she was just throwing a tantrum, trying to get him to coax her back. He had, admittedly, neglected her recently because of Daphne. When she came back from Maine, he thought, he would take her to Cartier and buy that piece she had been eyeing as compensation.

With that thought, he took out his phone and dialed her number, not even considering the late hour.

The call rang once before it was cleanly cut off.

Griffin’s brow furrowed. An unnamed anger surged up. He opened iMessage instead and quickly typed a line.

“Amelia, stop making a scene. Let’s talk.”

The message sent. Beneath the blue bubble, “Read” appeared almost instantly.

Then, nothing.

The light of the phone screen reflected on his darkening face. That “Read” receipt was a silent taunt, more infuriating than any argument.

What was she playing at? Was she really trying to delete him from her life, waiting for him to come crawling to that damned seaside cottage in Maine to find her?

For the first time, mingled with his irritation, was a trace of panic he didn’t recognize. He realized that Amelia, always so gentle and always orbiting him, seemed to have slipped from his control.