He Gave Our Bedroom to Her... So I Disappeared

Chapter 4

Biting her lip, Daniela threw herself into Michael's arms, blushing as she lightly smacked his chest in mock protest.

Michael chuckled, taking the blame like always—but his eyes flicked over to me, gauging my reaction.

When he saw I wasn't the least bit bothered, a familiar heaviness stirred in his chest, just like back at the hospital. It made him feel strangely… uneasy.

"Ashlyn," he said coolly, "you've been glued to your phone this whole ride."

There was a faint edge of jealousy in his voice.

"Texting your cousin again? Or someone I don't know about?"

I had just finished booking my plane ticket and locked my screen.

"Just reading the news," I said evenly.

Instead of easing his mood, my answer only deepened the frown between his brows.

Then, without warning, he grabbed my phone.

"What's the password?" he asked.

"My birthday."

Nine years of marriage. A simple six-digit code—and he still couldn't get it right. After too many failed attempts, the phone locked itself.

The rest of the drive was silent.

When we got home, Michael rushed to help Daniela—who was complaining of nausea—into the master bedroom. He hovered over her, voice gentle, his concern palpable.

Then he headed downstairs and told the cook, "Make all of Daniela's favorites."

But as he passed the hallway and saw me heading quietly toward the guest room, something about my lonely silhouette made him pause.

After a beat, he added, "And prepare a few of Ashlyn's usual dishes too. Set the table for three tonight."

Upstairs, I opened my suitcase—only to find all my clothes shredded to pieces.

Luckily, the passport and documents I'd hidden deep inside were untouched.

I gathered what I needed and turned to leave—only to find Daniela blocking the doorway.

She held a black bottle in one hand, and eyed me up and down with a twisted smirk.

"Wow, Ashlyn. Still hanging around like some shameless leech," she sneered.

"I mean, I already made you the butt of every joke in high society—and yet here you are, still clinging to the Hudson name like your life depends on it."

Her smile turned syrupy sweet, laced with venom.

"Oh, right. Didn't your grandma die last month?"

Her tone made my stomach turn.

"Guess now that your precious old woman's gone, you've got no one left. No wonder you're latching onto Michael like a drowning rat."

She suddenly lit up, as if remembering something juicy, and shoved her phone screen into my face.

"Remember the day you begged Michael to take you to the hospital in a helicopter to see your grandma one last time?"

"Wanna know why he didn't go?"

"Because he promised me we'd watch the sunset at the beach. This pic—" she pointed to a photo of the two of them kissing— "was taken right then."

I slapped the phone out of her hand and grabbed her by the throat, rage surging through me.

The bottle slipped from her grip and hit the floor.

A strong, acrid smell filled the room—gasoline.

Panic flared in Daniela's eyes. In the next second, she struck a match and lit the floor.

The fire erupted instantly, smoke filling the air. My body, still weak from the hospital stay, couldn't keep up. I collapsed, coughing as darkness edged my vision.

Somewhere through the haze, I heard Michael shouting.

"Ashlyn!"

Then came the voices of the staff, frantic.

"Sir, it's too dangerous! Please wait for the extinguishers—"

"Get out of my way! She's still in there!"

He shoved past them, running into the flames.

But what he didn't expect… was to find Daniela inside too.

"Michael… help…"

She hadn't even finished her sentence before he scooped her into his arms—without sparing me a single glance.

Without hesitation, he turned and walked away.

Thirty minutes later, after calming Daniela down, he searched the entire house.

I was gone.

That night, at the airport.

After mailing a small package, I boarded a flight to the UK, still coughing as I made my way down the narrow aisle.

Just before takeoff, my phone buzzed.

A text from Michael.

[I don't have time to play hide-and-seek with you.]

I didn't respond.

I powered off the phone—and let the past burn.