Her Birthday His Forbidden Desire novel Chapter 22

**Twilight Carves Destinies by George Orwell 22**
**Chapter 12**

As the relentless ticking of time echoed through the room, Declan gripped the divorce decree tightly in his hand, feeling the paper crumple beneath his fingers. Each second felt like an eternity as disbelief coursed through him. Just then, his assistant’s voice broke through the haze of his thoughts.

“Mr. Hawthorne, we’ve confirmed it. The divorce papers you sent over—they’re valid.”

His heart raced, disbelief morphing into anger. “That’s impossible!” he exclaimed, his voice quivering with a mix of shock and indignation. “You need both parties to sign for a divorce to be valid! The signature on that agreement—it’s forged. It can’t hold up in court. I never even…”

His voice trailed off, lost in a sudden flood of memories. A vivid recollection crashed into his mind with all the force of a tidal wave.

That morning, just before the court hearing, Sloane had knelt before him, her expression a mix of desperation and determination, as if she were pleading for a lifeline. “Declan, if you walk out that door today to defend Vivienne, then sign this agreement. We’re done. We’re getting divorced.”

He had been in such a frantic rush to leave, the weight of the day pressing down on him like a heavy shroud. In his haste, he hadn’t even paused to consider her words. The mention of “divorce” had become a familiar refrain in their conversations over the past six months, a haunting echo that he had learned to tune out completely.

Without a second thought, he had scrawled his name across the page, shoving it at her with a mix of frustration and resignation. “Is that enough for you, Sloane? Stop pushing me!”

Now, as the reality of his actions settled in, a sharp pain pierced through his skull, forcing him to close his eyes tightly against the onslaught of emotions.

She meant it. The divorce was not just a fleeting threat; it was a reality he could no longer ignore.

And now, as he sat there clutching that decree, she was gone. Truly gone.

The thought sent a wave of anguish crashing over him, tightening around his chest like a vice. It felt as if someone had reached inside him, grasping his heart with bare hands and squeezing until it hurt to breathe. He fought to push the wave of despair down, forcing himself to focus as he barked into the phone, “Check everything—every possible mode of transport. If she booked anything in her name, if there’s even a trace of where she went or when—find it. I want it all!”

That night, sleep eluded him completely.

As dawn broke, the remnants of his restless night lay scattered around him—cigarette butts piled high like miniature ash-covered hills beside the bed. A rough stubble shadowed his jaw, and he felt utterly wrecked, drained of all energy and spirit.

Just after the first light of day, he heard the unmistakable sound of the front door creaking open downstairs.

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