Chapter 317
Eliana was already in motion, crossing the space between them before the echo of his last breath had even settled.
“Henry,” she said softly, his name threaded with urgency as her hand lifted on instinct, hovering near his arm as if she could steady him by touch alone. “Breathe. Please. You’re spiraling p>
He let out a sharp, broken laugh and raked a hand through his hair, fingers tugging hard enough to hurt. “I can’t,” he snapped, voice fraying at the edges. “I waited too long. I always wait too long p>
He paced once, then again, boots grinding against the ground. “I should’ve gone after her the moment she walked out of that hall. I should’ve said something—anything. Instead, I just stood there. Like an idiot. And I let her go p>
The words poured out faster now, tangled and raw, like if he stopped speaking he might shatter entirely.
Rafael stepped in then, placing himself squarely in Henry’s line of sight. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. His presence alone was solid, immovable—an anchor dropped into chaos.
“Panicking won’t help,” he said, firm but controlled. “Losing your head won’t fix this. Think p>
Henry whirled on him, eyes burning. “I don’t need to think,” he shot back, chest heaving. “Thinking is what got me here. I need to move p>
Before either of them could stop him, he spun on his heel and took off, strides long and reckless, cutting through the camp like a man chasing the last thing he couldn’t afford to lose—moving too fast, not caring who followed, or whether he was already too late.
“Eliana!” Rafael called. “Stay close p>
They followed, gravel crunching under hurried steps. Henry moved like a man possessed, shoulders tight, jaw locked, eyes fixed ahead as though if he slowed even slightly, he might collapse.
When they reached his tent, Henry didn’t bother with pleasantries. He stormed inside, yanking open drawers, throwing shirts and trousers onto the bed with reckless urgency.
“I’m leaving,” he said breathlessly. “Now p>
Eliana rushed in behind him. “Henry, slow down—listen to yourself p>
“No.” He shoved clothes into a travel bag without folding them. “If I don’t go now, I’ll lose her. For good p>
Rafael stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching him with sharp, assessing eyes. “You already did,” he said evenly. “Question is—do you want to find her again p>
Henry froze.
The room went still except for the distant hum of generators outside.
He turned slowly. “Yes p>
“Then pack properly,” Rafael said. “You don’t chase love half-prepared p>
The words landed.
Henry exhaled shakily, his movements slowing as reality caught up with adrenaline. Eliana stepped forward, quietly picking up the scattered clothes and folding them with care, her hands trembling despite her effort to stay composed.
“I should’ve gone with you earlier,” she murmured, voice low. “If I had explained—if I hadn’t hesitated p>
“Don’t,” Henry said sharply.
She froze, eyes lifting to him. “What p>
“This isn’t on you,” he said, his tone softer now, worn down by exhaustion and truth. “Isabella didn’t leave because of you. She left because of me. Because she’s afraid p>
Eliana’s eyes shimmered. “But she thinks you still love me p>
Henry met her gaze, steady and unflinching. “She thinks I loved the memory of you. And maybe… once, I did p>
The words hurt to say. They hurt to hear.
Eliana swallowed hard.
“But not anymore,” Henry continued quietly. “Not the way I love her p>
Rafael nodded once. “Good,” he said. “Say it like that when you find her p>
Henry grabbed his phone, fingers moving fast as he dialed. “Prepare my flight,” he said the moment his secretary answered. “Immediately. London. I’m leaving tonight p>
He hung up, then dialed again. “Guys,” he said to his security detail, voice low and clipped. “Gear up. I’ll need eyes everywhere p>
Eliana stepped closer. “Let me come with you p>
Both men turned to her.
She lifted her chin, guilt heavy in her expression. “I need to explain. To tell her there was never anything left between us. I owe her that p>
Henry smiled sadly. “You owe her nothing p>
“But I p>
“This is my mess,” he said gently. “I need to fix it alone p>
Rafael placed a steady hand on Eliana’s back. “He’s right,” he said softly. “This is his fight p>
She nodded, tears pooling despite her restraint. “Then… good luck p>
Henry pulled her into a tight hug. “Thank you,” he whispered. “For everything p>
He turned to Rafael. “If I don’t make it. If I can’t convince her p>
Rafael smirked faintly. “You’ll make it. Love makes fools brave p>
An hour later, Henry Jackson sat alone on a private jet, city lights shrinking beneath him.
His phone buzzed.
Rang.
Went silent.
Again.
And again.
The flight to London was torture.
No sleep. No peace.
Just silence.
And the terrifying knowledge that the woman he loved was somewhere ahead of him—hurt, guarded, and already halfway gone.
The plane hadn’t fully come to a stop before Henry was unbuckling his seatbelt.
The moment the cabin door opened, London rushed in—cool night air, damp with mist and exhaust, carrying the distant hum of a city that never waited for anyone’s heartbreak. His secretary stood at the foot of the stairs, tablet clutched to her chest, heels aligned with military precision.
She took one look at his face and didn’t bother with pleasantries.
“The car is ready, sir p>
Henry descended the steps two at a time. “Straight to Ms. Voss’s penthouse p>
“Yes, sir p>
The drive swallowed him.
London passed by in streaks of amber streetlights and rain-slicked pavement. Storefronts glowed briefly before dissolving into shadow. Pedestrians blurred into faceless movement, umbrellas bobbing like dark flowers in the night. Henry sat rigid in the back seat, hands braced on his knees, jaw clenched so tightly his teeth ached.
Every red light felt like a personal insult.
Every slowdown scraped against his nerves.
He checked his phone again.
No messages.
No missed calls.
The car finally slowed beneath a towering glass-and-stone building, its façade clean and impersonal, rising into the fog like it didn’t care who came or who left. A doorman stepped forward instantly, recognition flickering in his eyes before professionalism snapped into place.
“Good evening, Mr. Jackson p>
Henry was already moving. “Is Ms. Voss in p>
The doorman hesitated—just a fraction of a second too long. “I… can’t say for certain, sir p>
Henry didn’t respond. He walked straight to the elevator, rode it up in suffocating silence, the numbers ticking higher while his chest tightened with every floor.
When he reached her door, the hallway was quiet. Plush carpet muffled his footsteps. Soft lighting cast long shadows along the walls. Isabella’s door stood exactly as he remembered—dark wood, minimalist design, unassuming.
As if nothing inside had changed.
He pressed the bell.
Once.
The chime echoed softly behind the door.
He waited, breath held.
Nothing.
He pressed it again.
Still nothing.
A third time—longer this time, finger lingering as though sheer persistence might summon her.
Silence answered.
Henry exhaled shakily and rested his forehead against the door. The wood was cool beneath his skin, grounding in a way nothing else had been for hours. Slowly, as though his body had finally run out of strength to pretend, he slid down until he was sitting on the cold marble floor.
His back pressed against her door.
Her door.
“She’ll come back,” he whispered, the words barely sound at all.
The hallway clock ticked.
A woman passed once, glancing at him before hurrying on, heels clicking sharply. A security guard paused at the far end of the corridor, watched him for a moment, then quietly radioed downstairs.
Time stretched.
His bodyguards remained at a respectful distance, speaking in low murmurs near the elevator. At some point, one of them approached carefully, draping a blanket over Henry’s shoulders without a word. The fabric smelled faintly of detergent and leather.
Henry didn’t acknowledge it.
Hours crawled by.
The city outside shifted from night to the dull gray of early morning. The hallway lights dimmed automatically, bathing everything in a softer, more tired glow. Henry’s phone lay loose in his hand, screen dark, battery draining like his hope.
Every sound made his heart jerk.
Every elevator ding.
Every footstep.
But her door never opened.
When morning finally arrived, it did so without mercy—pale, cold, and utterly indifferent to the wreckage it found waiting. Henry lifted his head slowly, like the movement itself cost him something. His eyes were hollow, bloodshot, fixed on the door in front of him as if sheer will might make it vanish… or open.
“She’s gone,” he said at last.
The words were quiet. Flat. Final.
No one argued. No one could.
Silence answered him, thick and suffocating, settling into the lobby like dust after a collapse. Heavier than the sleepless night. Heavier than the regrets stacked in his chest. Heavier than everything he hadn’t said when he still had the chance.
Outside, the city came alive without him. Car horns cut through the air below. Footsteps echoed. Voices rose and fell. Morning routines resumed, careless and unbothered—proof that the world didn’t pause just because his had cracked apart.
And then the truth hit him, sharper than the ache behind his eyes.
It wasn’t just that she’d left.
It was that he had no idea where she’d gone.
No address to chase. No trail to follow.
No reassurance that she even wanted to be found.
Just a closed door staring back at him.
And a love he was suddenly hunting in the dark—blind, desperate, and already terrified he was too late this time around as well.