Terms of Departure

Biting back the impulse to unleash a screaming match in the middle of the garden, Sloane spun on her heel and retreated toward the house. For the past three days, Dorian had texted her continuously, claiming to be swamped with urgent corporate work. Yet, her phone had been flooded with anonymous photos of him and Lila slipping into a private apartment building together. He was treating his blatant cohabitation as a final indulgence before their impending wedding.

Dorian trailed behind her into the villa. His heavy footsteps echoed against the hardwood floor. With a grim expression, he marched straight to the bathroom. He grabbed the first-aid kit from beneath the sink, returned to the living room, and cornered her near the sofa. He forced her injured hand open and began cleaning her wounded finger with an alcohol swab. The sting of the antiseptic flared against her skin. The metallic click of the latch echoed through the silence of the room. He tossed the damp cotton swab into the trash bin and stepped back.

"You adore these hands; don't go injuring yourself just to spite me." His voice carried a twisted blend of reprimand and possessive affection.

A sardonic smile curved her lips as she watched him play the devoted caretaker. "Aren't you the one doing the hurting?"

She did not harp on his hypocrisy. She reached into her leather tote bag, pulled out a thick folder, and thrust a property split agreement under his nose. The pristine white pages rustled between them.

Dorian skimmed the dense legal jargon for a few seconds. He scoffed, his gaze darkening, and tossed the heavy folder onto the glass coffee table with disdain. The thick stack of paper hit the surface with a loud slap. "We're on the brink of tying the knot; what's the point of this?"

He genuinely believed that after seven years of building a life together, her threats of leaving and demanding asset separation were merely her way of blowing off steam. He saw this as nothing more than a bridal tantrum meant to grab his attention.

She met his gaze neutrally. She echoed his reasoning with precision. "Precisely because we're getting married, we need this in place."

His gaze turned frosty. The muscles in his jaw locked, but a smug smirk touched his lips. He snatched a gold pen from his jacket pocket and scribbled his signature across the dotted line, assuming it was just a game. He capped the pen with a sharp click.

"That ought to smooth things over, yeah?" He tossed the pen aside and stepped forward, moving to embrace her waist.

Sloane snatched the file from the table and stepped out of his reach. "I will get it officially notarized tomorrow."

His expression soured. His ego was bruised by her efficiency. He glared down at her. "You don't trust me even that much? Sloane, don't you think you've turned awfully greedy and shallow these days?"

She stood her ground. She was unfazed by his mockery. "These days, love alone isn't enough to keep you going. Power and money are the true essentials for life."

She tucked the folder under her arm and turned toward the staircase. "Fend for yourself for dinner."

Dorian's face darkened. His jaw ticked in fury as he watched her walk away. He spun around and stormed out of the house. He slammed the heavy oak door hard enough to rattle the windowpanes.

Unbothered by his temper tantrum, Sloane climbed the stairs. She walked into her study, opened the wall safe, and secured the signed document inside. The steel door locked with a satisfying click. With the paperwork handled, she grabbed her car keys and drove out of the city limits to visit her grandmother, Eleanor. She intended to discuss her plans to move to Alderbay and leave Oakhaven behind forever.

She navigated through the bustling city streets, leaving the towering glass skyscrapers behind for the quiet tranquility of the suburbs. The transition from the chaotic city to the peaceful countryside gave her time to process the confrontation. The drive took an hour. The fading sunlight cast long shadows across the winding rural roads. When she finally arrived at the old courtyard, the evening air was cool and quiet. Eleanor lay peacefully on a woven lounger in the garden. The sky shifted from a bright orange to deep hues of purple and indigo. The elderly woman was bathed in the fading light of the sunset. A thin knitted shawl was draped over her legs.

Eleanor opened her eyes at the sound of footsteps on the gravel. She immediately asked for Dorian's whereabouts.

Sloane forced a warm smile. She refused to worry the frail woman with the sordid details of his infidelity. "He is tied up with important work today. He sends his apologies."

Eleanor shifted against her pillows. Her frail hands gripped the edges of the blanket. "I have something important to tell him before the wedding. Call him."

Reluctantly, Sloane pulled out her phone and dialed his number. The dial tone buzzed against her ear, stretching into a hollow silence. Getting no answer after several rings, she lowered the phone. She turned back to her grandmother with an apologetic smile.

"Grandma, he—" Sloane froze mid-sentence.

Eleanor lay still. Her gentle eyes were closed, and her frail hand hung limply off the side of the lounger in the twilight. The steady rise and fall of her chest had ceased entirely. She called out her name once more, her voice barely above a whisper. No response came.

Sloane’s heart lurched in her chest. A cold wave of terror crashed over her. She dropped her phone into the grass and fell to her knees beside the lounger. She grabbed Eleanor's hand, feeling the rapidly fading warmth in her knuckles.

Her desperate call for the paramedics echoed through the quiet neighborhood. The ambulance arrived within minutes, their flashing lights illuminating the dark garden. But their assessment was swift and final. It was a natural, peaceful death. The paramedics packed up their equipment and offered quiet condolences before stepping back to give her space.

One moment they were talking. The next, she was gone. The abruptness of the loss left Sloane reeling.

Desperate, broken, and needing a familiar anchor in the storm of sudden grief, Sloane grabbed her phone from the damp grass. Her fingers were stiff and uncoordinated. She dialed Dorian's number again. The screen glowed harshly in the growing darkness.

This time, the call connected.

But it was Lila's sweet voice that answered the line. The sound sliced through the heavy silence of the courtyard. "Sloane, what's going on? The boss and I are on our way to the neighboring city..."

The color drained from Sloane’s face. The reality of the situation slammed into her chest like a physical blow. Her grandmother was lying dead just feet away, and her fiancé was driving out of town with another woman. The betrayal tasted like ash in her mouth.

She hung up the phone without uttering a single word. The screen went black in her palm.

With shaking hands, she scrolled through her contacts and called Valerie in Alderbay. The phone rang twice before her cousin picked up.

Her voice broke as the sheer weight of reality set in. She choked out the words into the receiver. "Valerie, Grandma's gone."

Valerie gasped loudly on the other end of the line. "I am booking the next flight out. I will hurry over as fast as I can. Just hold on, Sloane."

Sloane let the phone slip from her fingers. It clattered onto the stone patio. She sank to a crouch beside Eleanor's still form. She reached out and wrapped her arms around the frail body. Pressing her face against her grandmother's cold shoulder, her body heaved with uncontrollable sobs.

The grief tore through her throat in ragged gasps. She clutched the knitted shawl, her tears soaking into the yarn. She was overwhelmed by a crushing regret. She had turned her back on the family who truly loved her. She had distanced herself from Alderbay and the people who cared for her. She had sacrificed years of her youth and loyalty for a man like Dorian, who was currently driving off with his mistress while her world collapsed. The bitter realization burned through her veins.