The Ashes of Vows (Elara and Damon) novel Chapter 12

12

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Minutes ticked by. Damon was on the verge of crumpling the divorce papers in his hand when his assistant’s call came through.

“Mr. Blackwood, we’ve checked it out. The divorce papers you gave us, they’re… legitimate.”

“No way!”

Damon’s voice trembled with disbelief.“A divorce requires my signature!

The signature on the divorce agreement is forged; it’s not legally binding at all!

I never even…”

He stopped mid–sentence, a vivid flashback slamming into his mind.

It was the morning of the court hearing. I couldn’t even count how many times I’d knelt before Damon then, begging, “Damon, if you insist on walking out that door today to defend Sloane, then sign these papers. We’re getting a divorce!”

But back then, he was desperate to leave, not even bothering to think it through. After all, in the six months since everything went down, I’d brought up “divorce” more times than he could count.

He brushed it off, not even bothering to look at the agreement. He just scrawled his name on it and tossed it at me.“Is this enough?

Elara, don’t push me!”

He squeezed his eyes shut in agony, his head throbbing with a sharp, insistent ache.

So, the divorce I’d talked about… it was real?

And now, after leaving him the divorce papers, I’d completely vanished.

The realization hit him like a sucker punch. His heart clenched, a suffocating agony ripping through him. He fought down the panic, his voice a low growl into the phone.“Find out now,” he snapped at his assistant.“Every possible mode of transport. Any paper trail she left. When she left. Where she went…

I need to know everything!”

Damon was up all night.

His bedroom ashtrays were overflowing with cigarette butts, piled high. A rough stubble had sprouted on his chin overnight, making him look utterly haggard and completely spent.

It wasn’t until early morning that the sound of the front door downstairs finally broke the silence.

He shot up, bolting for the stairs.“Elle!

Elle, is that you?”

But instead of Elle, he was met with the click–clack of high heels and Sloane’s overly sweet voice.“It’s me, Damon. I made some porridge last night and brought it over for you to try.”

“No. Take it back!”

His voice was icy, and he turned his back.“Oh, and by the way, grab all your stuff from the bedroom. Don’t leave anything behind. And

don’t

you ever come back here!”