The CEO's Regret: Darling, Don’t Leave Me novel Chapter 5

Chapter 5: She will return.

Ethan

I woke up with the uneasy feeling of having slept in a bed that wasn’t mine.

The mattress was firm, the sheets too clean, lacking the familiar scent Clara had left in our room for years.

I blinked, confused, staring at the white ceiling of the guest room. For a moment, I thought I’d drunk too

much at the event, that maybe I’d decided to sleep here so as not to wake her when I got home late.

Then the memories returned, slowly, like fragments of a badly edited film.

The suitcases, her firm voice, The word I never thought I’d hear from her lips.

Divorce…

I sat up abruptly, running a hand through my hair. My head felt heavy, but not from the alcohol or the stress of yesterday, but from disbelief. Clara never made a scene. Clara never complained. Clara never asked for anything.

And suddenly… that.

I got out of bed, still convinced it had all been an overreaction. Perhaps an impulsive reaction. Perhaps hormones, stress, unfounded jealousy. Women could be… unpredictable.

I opened the guest room door and walked down the silent hallway. The house was calm, too calm. It had always been like this, quiet, tidy, almost impersonal. Clara used to say it felt like a luxury hotel, not a home.

I never understood what was wrong with that.

I pushed open the door to our bedroom.

“Clara…” I murmured, though I didn’t expect a reply.

The bed was perfectly made. Not a wrinkle in the sheets. Her side untouched.

A pang of annoyance shot through my chest.

I went to the bathroom. Her brushes were still there, her creams lined up on the marble shelf. I opened the closet. Her space… empty. Not completely, but too many things were missing. The dresses she wore around the house, her simpler shoes, her everyday underwear.

I swallowed.

“Ridiculous,” I told myself.

There was no way she’d really left. Clara wasn’t impulsive. Clara was stability, silence, routine.

I went downstairs, the echo of my footsteps resonating through the house. In the kitchen, the housekeeper was setting the breakfast table.

“Good morning, sir,” she greeted me, as always, with a slight nod.

“Mrs. Clara…?”

“We haven’t seen her since last night,” she replied neutrally.

I frowned.

“Did she call someone?”

“Yes, sir. She called the driver.”

I stopped dead in my tracks.

“The driver?”

The woman nodded.

“She said she needed to go to the bus station.”

I felt something like… unease. Not fear, not sadness. Just an annoying discomfort, like a pebble in my

shoe.

“Thank you,” I replied, and headed to the office.

Clara boarding a bus. Clara, who hated uncomfortable journeys, who got carsick easily, who always preferred to be driven. It didn’t make sense.

She probably went to her mother’s house. Or a friend’s. She’d make a scene, get comforted, get tired… and

come back.

That’s what women did.

I poured myself some coffee, checked my schedule, dressed with mechanical precision. Everything in its place. Nothing had changed. Nothing should change.

On the way to the office, my mind kept returning to her expression when she said those words. She didn’t shout. She didn’t cry. She didn’t accuse me. She just… decided.

That’s what irritated me the most… Clara didn’t make decisions.

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When I arrived at the building, my assistant handed me documents, emails, reminders. I immersed myself in my work with my usual discipline. Contracts, calls, meetings. Everything was working.

I was working.

But every time I looked at the clock, I wondered if Clara had already returned. I wondered if she was making breakfast. If she was in her room reading, as she usually did in the mornings.

Part of me waited for her message.

It didn’t arrive.

At noon, my mother called.

“How are you, Ethan? I heard Clara left the event early. Your father mentioned it.”

Nonsense,” I replied, reviewing a financial report.

What happened?”

“Nothing important. She was tired.”

My mother was silent for a few seconds.

“I understand… Is she with you now?”

“She went to visit her mother.”

It wasn’t a deliberate lie. It was… a convenient assumption.

“Are you okay?”

“Of course.”

I hung up without giving it another thought.

In the afternoon, I signed more documents and attended a meeting with investors. My mind remained occupied, but in the silences between tasks, her voice returned.

I want a divorce.

The word held no weight. Not for me. Divorce was something that happened to impulsive people, chaotic marriages, passionate relationships consumed by the fire of their emotions.

Clara and I weren’t like that. We were order, stability, silence… She would come back.

I downplayed the situation; it gave me peace of mind, because deep down, I knew she would return.

When I got home that night, the silence was thicker than usual. The staff moved discreetly, avoiding looking at me too much.

I went straight up to the room. She still wasn’t there… Her perfume was beginning to fade.

I opened one of the drawers she hadn’t emptied yet. I found one of her Bracelets, the one I gave her on our first anniversary. I didn’t remember seeing her wear it much.

I sat on the edge of the bed.

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