Chapter Seven: Cam

"Stella, I told you not to move around.” I place her gently on her bed. She looks angry and sad, her lips pressed into a thin line. “What were you doing in her room?” she asks, her voice sharp.

I met her gaze, trying to keep my tone steady. "Stella, I was just treating her wounds,” I say. She looks at me skeptically, her eyes narrowing further. "Why should I believe you?"

I can see the doubt in her expression, but I know I have nothing to hide. "I just wanted to help. She got hurt, and I was trying to take care of it," I explain calmly.

Stella doesn’t look convinced, but I change the subject, trying to lighten the mood. “I want to eat dinner with you. How about the Italian place we usually go to? I’m craving something Italian,” I suggest.

She hesitates for a moment and then nods slightly. “Fine, we’ll go,” she agrees. “Make the reservations, and I’ll get ready.”

Her mood seems to shift as she gets up from bed and heads toward the bathroom. I hear the sound of running water, and then she peeks her head out from the door. “Want to join me?” she asks playfully, tossing her bra towards me.

A small smile tugs at my lips. “I’ll pass this time,” I reply with a teasing tone, “but I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

She grins at me, her mood lightening further. “Good,” she says, disappearing back into the bathroom. “Hurry up, though. I’m starving!”

While Stella is getting ready, I walk back to my room to check on Miss Luper. I agree that I loved Stella once, but now I don’t seem to be feeling the same. I am trying to get out of the guilt, and I am not sure how we will manage once we officially get married.

As I open my door, I see an empty bed. It feels too quiet without her. I look around the room, then check the bathroom. Still no sign of Miss Luper. I head downstairs with a sinking feeling. “Marie, have you seen Miss Luper?” I ask the maid, who’s busy in the kitchen.

Marie doesn’t look up from her task. “No, sir. I’ve been in the kitchen all morning. I’m making chicken soup for Miss June.”

I nod, trying to keep my voice steady. “You can take it; she’s not in the house,” I tell her, starting back towards the stairs. I feel like I’m missing something, like I should be doing more. Where did she go?

When I get back to my room, there’s a note waiting for me on the nightstand that I might have missed. My breath catches as I see it, her neat handwriting staring back at me like a challenge. A pit forms in my stomach before I even pick it up.

I unfold the note with unsteady hands, the words blurring for a moment as my heart races.

“I am so grateful to you for saving me. I don’t know how to repay you for your kindness, but if I get the chance in the future, I will. I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to stay in your house.

I know my mother borrowed money from you, and I’ll repay them soon. Please have a wonderful and peaceful life with Miss Stella. Thank you for all your kindness over the years. Let’s not meet each other in the future.”

The words are final. Cold. Distant. It feels like someone’s squeezing my heart, draining the air from my lungs.

How did things spiral to this point?

I sit down heavily on the edge of the bed, the note crumpling slightly in my grip as I stare at it, trying to make sense of her words. They’re polite but cutting, gratitude laced with a deliberate sense of closure.

I know her better than she thinks. She’ll do everything in her power to disappear, to vanish into some corner of the world where I can’t find her. The thought makes the ache in my chest tighten, spreading through my ribs like a dull, unrelenting fire.

I rub my hands over my face, trying to calm the frustration rising inside me. What is she running from? What is she so afraid of?

The note trembles in my grip as I reread the last line. "Let’s not meet each other in the future." Those words echo in my mind, louder with every passing second.

No. I can’t let this end here.

My eyes scan the room for any clue she might have left behind. Did she take her phone? Does she even have a plan? My mind races with questions, each one sharpening the edge of my desperation.

Taking a deep breath, I pull my phone from my jacket pocket, my fingers shaking as I scroll through my contacts. I hit the call button, pressing the phone to my ear.

The line clicks, and Matthew’s voice comes through, steady and formal as always. “Yes, sir?”

“Matthew,” I say, trying to steady my voice. “Do you still have the invitation to Harry’s event?”

There’s a brief pause on the other end. “Yes, sir. It’s on your desk. Would you like me to—?”

“I need you to send it to me now. And check if Harry’s confirmed attendance.” I cut him off, my tone sharper than intended. “Do it quickly.”

“Of course, sir,” Matthew responds without hesitation. “Is everything alright?”

“Just do it,” I say, then soften my tone, realizing how I must sound. “Matthew. It’s important. I’ll explain later.”

“Understood, sir. I’ll send it over right away.”

I hung up, tossing the phone onto the bed. My mind races as I piece together a plan. Harry’s event could be the key.

But why leave it like this? Why not come to me and talk to me? The note was polite, even grateful, but beneath the words, I could sense the walls she was building and the distance she was trying to create.

A part of me wonders if I’m chasing someone who doesn’t want to be found.

I glance at the note again, the carefully written lines blurring as frustration and worry well up inside me. I’ve always prided myself on being in control, on knowing what’s going on in my own home, my own life.

I walk towards the closet to change, pulling the door open absentmindedly. As I scan the rows of neatly folded clothes, something catches my eye—one of my t-shirts is missing. I pause, staring at the empty spot where it should be.

“Did she steal it?” I mutter to myself, a small smile tugging at my lips despite the ache in my chest. It’s funny, really—of all the plain t-shirts I own, she took the one I liked the most. It wasn’t anything special, just a simple black t-shirt, but it was my favourite. Typical of her, I think, to take something that mattered.

A soft knock on the door pulls me out of my thoughts. “Sir, I’ve brought the invitation,” Matthew calls from the other side.

I pull the door open, and there he stands, holding an envelope neatly in his hand. “Great, thanks,” I say, taking it from him. My tone is steady, but my mind is already elsewhere, running through plans, scenarios, anything that could bring me closer to finding her.

“One last task for you, Matthew,” I say, slipping the invitation into my pocket as I stride out of the room. He falls in step behind me, his usual calm demeanor now edged with curiosity. “Find Miss Luper and let me know her location,” I continue, my voice firm. “I’m heading to the café she usually goes to.”

He hesitates for a moment, clearly puzzled. “Understood, sir,” he says, though I can see the unspoken questions in his eyes. Without another word, he pulls out his phone and begins making calls, his efficient manner reassuring.

As I make my way downstairs, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ll find her at the café. It’s one of the few places she ever felt comfortable, her little retreat from the world. And now, with no money, no clothes—except for my favourite t-shirt, apparently—it’s the only place that makes sense.