Divorce Me Before Death Takes Me, CEO

Chapter 9: Still Can’t Reach Mrs. Parker

Blake's POV

Another transcontinental video conference finally wrapped up. | leaned back in my leather chair, loosening my

tie as the New York skyline twinkled beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office. It was just like a normal

day, but something felt off, like an itch I couldn't scratch

| stood up, staring out at the nighttview. From my office on the top floor of Parker Group, | could see the

entire city, and this view usually helpedthink. Tonight, the city lights just seemed to mock me.

Three days. That's what I'd given her at Mayo Clinic. Three days to end this ridiculous gand return to the

mansion. The deadline had cand gone, and still no word from her. Not even a message to say she was alive.

The crystal tumbler in my hand creaked under pressure as | remembered our last encounter in the hospital. Her

pale face, those steady eyes as she asked for divorce. | dared not look closely and could only hastily depart,

barely noticing the group of doctors passing by me.

“Sir.” Michael's voice interrupted my thoughts. “Mr. William Parker sent over sartisanal chocolates from

Switzerland for Mrs. Parker.”

| didn’t turn from the window. The throbbing in my temples was getting worse. “Have them delivered to her.”

“Mr. Parker specifically requested both you and Mrs. Parker attend his 80th birthday gala in three days.”

Michael's voice carried that particular note of careful hesitation I'd cto recognize. “He mentioned that he

misses her.”

“I got it. Just send them to her.” The words cout more exhausted than | intended. Three days of silence from

Audrey were wearing onmore than | cared to admit.

“Sir...” Michael's pause was telling. “We still can’t reach Mrs. Parker.”

The crystal tumbler stopped halfway to my lips. “What do you mean you can’t reach her?”

“We've been trying all the usual channels...”

| turned sharply. “Have you checked the mansion?”

“Mrs. Parker hasn't...” Michael swallowed visibly. “She hasn't returned there.”

“What about Mayo Clinic? She hasn't been discharged?”

“The hospital informed us that... Mrs. Parker was discharged yesterday. They don’t know where she went...”

The tumbler hit my desk with enough force to make Michael flinch.

“Sir,” Michael suggested. “Maybe you can try Mrs. Parker's family. She probably went back to her... home?”

| reached for my phone, scrolling to a number | rarely called. It rang four times before a male voice answered.

“Mr. Sinclair.” The nfelt strange on my tongue. “This is Blake Parker.”

“Blake?” Her father’s surprise was evident. “Is everything alright?”

“Have you heard from Audrey recently?”

“Audrey?” There was a pause. “We haven't heard from her in months.” Another pause. “Is something wrong

between you two?”

| could hear the judgment creeping into his tone. “Nothing's wrong.”

“You know,” he continued, his voice taking on that particular tone of false concern I'd heard at every Sinclair

family gathering, “I always said Audrey's country upbringing might make her... difficult to handle. Perhaps if

you'd chosen someone more suited to your social circle...”

| closed my eyes. The Sinclairs’ tendency to disparage their own daughter had always grated on me, even when |

was being equally dismissive of her myself. The hypocrisy of that thought wasn’t lost on me.

“That won't be necessary,” | cut him off coldly. “Good evening, Mr. Sinclair.”

| was about to call another contact when my phone buzzed with an incoming call. Alex Rhodes’ nflashed on

the screen.

“Blake, The Underground, now!”

“Not in the mood, Alex.”

“Not in the mood?” His laugh carried that particular edge that madepause. “Wait till you see this photo I'm

sending. You'll definitely be in the mood then. Get over here!”

The photo loaded a moment later. My grip on the phone tightened until | heard the case crack.

Something dark and possessive roared to life in my chest. Before | consciously made the decision, | was already

striding toward the elevator. “Michael!” My voice cut through the office like a whip. “Getthe car, right now!”

The elevator ride down to the parking garage felt endless. In my pocket, my phone buzzed again - probably

Laurel, wondering why I'd missed our dinner plans. | ignored it. Right now, all | could think about was the photo

Alex had sent: Audrey, in a crowd at The Underground, wearing something that looked nothing like her usual

conservative choices. And she was reaching toward a dancer's exposed abs.

My car's engine roared to life, its growl matching my mood. Audrey Sinclair, you're completely insane!

The Underground was already in full swing when | arrived, the bass vibrating through the sidewalk as |

approached the entrance. The usual crowd of hopefuls parted like the Red Sea as | strode past the velvet rope,

the bouncers nodding in silent recognition.

The bass from the club hitbefore | reached the door. Inside, the scene from the photo was playing out in real

time. The dancer, now completely shirtless, had pulled Audrey onto the stage. She moved with a grace I'd never

seen before, her red dress catching the light as she followed his lead.

| could see the dancer boldly lift her up, even placing her hand on his abs. The deafening cheers from the side of

the stage were overwhelming, and | just felt my anger about to burst from my mind.

“Audrey!” A woman's drunken voice cut through the music. “This is the real you!”

| recognized Astrid Wilson, Audrey’s ever-present friend, swaying at a VIP table.

“Life's too short not to enjoy it!” Astrid raised her glass. “Let Blake Parker go to hell!”

“Who should go to hell?”