From Wife to Blood Bag

Chapter 6

The Thorpe estate was alive with the glow of festive lanterns and the hum of conversation as guests mingled. It was Old Mr. Thorpe's eightieth birthday, and the celebration was in full swing.

Xavier Thorpe made his entrance with Natalie Reynolds by his side, her slim waist held tightly in his grip. The crowd couldn't help but take notice of the pair.

"Lucky guy," someone muttered, eyeing them both.

Xavier's lips curled into a faint, practiced smile, but his eyes kept flicking toward the entrance, as if expecting someone.

It wasn't until Old Mr. Thorpe appeared, leaning heavily on his cane, that Xavier released Natalie and rushed forward to assist his grandfather.

"Where's Sophia?" the old man demanded, his brows furrowing in irritation.

Xavier hesitated for just a moment.

"She's been busy with a gift. I told her she could come later," he answered, though his voice lacked the usual confidence.

Two hours passed, and still, there was no sign of me.

The banquet had moved into the gift-presentation portion, but I was nowhere to be found.

Xavier, now growing visibly impatient, stood in the shadows, dialing my number again for the third time—only to hear the automated voice of an unanswered call.

Then, just as the tension in the room reached its peak, a courier arrived, bearing three elegantly wrapped boxes.

Old Mr. Thorpe's face lit up as he eagerly opened the first one, revealing a Longevity Embroidery so intricately stitched it left everyone breathless.

Tears welled in the old man's eyes as he carefully opened the second box, unveiling the family's heirloom bracelet. The jade shimmered under the chandeliers, drawing gasps from the guests.

But when Xavier tore open the final box, his face fell.

Inside, on top of a stack of divorce papers, was a medical report.

"You disgrace!" Old Mr. Thorpe thundered, striking Xavier across the face with enough force to make the room fall silent.

"Look at what you've done!"

The scene erupted into chaos. The guests dispersed, leaving the room in stunned silence, while Xavier stood frozen, his knuckles white with rage.

Without another word, he grabbed the divorce papers and shredded them into pieces before storming out, his fury palpable.

His black Maybach screeched to a halt outside the Sinclair estate, the mansion looming darkly in the distance, barely visible under the pale moonlight.

Xavier lit a cigarette, its ember glowing like a warning in the shadows.

For five days, he had mobilized every resource he could to track my every move.

When his assistant reported that I had left the country, Xavier flipped his desk over in a fit of rage.

"Keep looking!" His voice was rough, raw with desperation.

"Rip the world apart if you have to. Find her!"

Xavier couldn't wrap his mind around it—how a simple misunderstanding, an act put on for appearances, could drive me to take such drastic steps.

He stared at our wedding photo on his phone, his expression shifting into something dark, something terrifying.

"Sophia Sinclair," he muttered, the name slipping from his lips like a curse.

"You really think you can run from me?"