Chapter 69

Chapter 69:
Although the jewelry Marc had once bought for Stella still sat untouched, every single piece she had brought with her was now gone.
He suddenly remembered Stella mentioning that she had sold off a lot of her things. A bit unsettled, he picked up his phone and quickly made a call to confirm. But the person on the other end sounded confused.
“No,” they said. “I haven’t received anything from your wife to sell.”
Marc’s stomach dropped. A cold realization hit him.
She hadn’t sold them—she’d taken them with her.
His gaze wandered around the room, eventually landing on the now-empty frame that used to hold their wedding photo. For a moment, his heart skipped a beat. He grabbed his phone again and dialed another number.
“Hi. Can you check if my wife sent in our wedding photo for restoration sometime recently?”
“Mr. Walsh, we looked into it. There’s no request under your name. We haven’t received anything from you or your wife.”
The phone slipped from Marc’s hand and fell to the floor with a dull thud.
She hadn’t sent it for restoration. So, what had she done with it?
Without wasting another second, he rushed downstairs to the garden. There, tucked away in a corner, was the same metal basin Stella had used the last time—when she was burning something. That day, he had been in such a rush to sleep with Haley that he hadn’t bothered to ask what Stella was burning.
Kneeling beside the basin now, he began sifting through the charred remains. It didn’t take long before his fingers brushed against a small, partially burned fragment.
He picked it up, and his breath caught in his throat. It was a torn piece of their wedding photo.
Most of it was blackened and scorched, but he could still make out the hem of Stella’s white dress.
There was no mistaking it—it was their photo.
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That day… she had been burning their wedding photo.
She had looked him in the eye and told him it was just trash.
Trash? That was what she had called it.
And where had he been? With Haley. Laughing. Forgetting all about the woman who had once been his everything.
Regret slammed into Marc like a wave. His pulse raced, and his mind reeled.
What had he done? What had he done to her?
Later, he slumped onto the sofa, lighting cigarette after cigarette, sinking into a pit of silent misery.
Stella had always hated it when he smoked. Because of her, he rarely ever lit one in the house. But now, with no one around to stop him, he found no comfort in it—only bitterness.
Eventually, he tossed the lighter and cigarette pack on the table and sat there, burying his face in his hands. He rubbed his temples slowly, as if trying to ease the weight of guilt pressing down on him.
Then, suddenly, he remembered the last gift Stella had given him—a safe. She hadn’t shared the combination, only saying she’d tell him when the time was right, calling it a surprise.
He sprang up from the sofa like a man possessed, headed straight to the storage room, and pulled out the dusty safe.
Marc stared at the combination lock and tried everything he could think of—his birthday, the day he and Stella first got together, even their wedding anniversary.
But none of them worked.
Just then, one of the house staff, who had been quietly observing his efforts, hesitated, then spoke up in a low voice. “Mr. Walsh, maybe it’s Mrs. Walsh’s birthday?”
The suggestion hit him like a punch to the gut. Stella had said once, offhandedly, that the password might be her birthday.
But now that he actually needed it, he couldn’t remember when her birthday was.
His face darkened in frustration. He waved the servant away without a word, and the poor man quickly slipped out of the room, sensing the storm brewing. Marc tried again, using random guesses, but the safe stayed stubbornly locked.
Stella was different from Haley; she rarely asked him for anything on her birthday, not even gifts.
She had always acted like it didn’t matter, and he had believed her. He thought she’d be happy with whatever he gave her, whenever he remembered.
Now he sat there, fumbling with the lock like a fool, realizing he hadn’t remembered at all. His jaw clenched in self-directed anger as he grabbed his phone and dialed his assistant, Kody.
He vaguely recalled telling Kody to send Stella birthday gifts every year in his name. So now, with a dry voice, he asked, “When’s Stella’s birthday?”
On the other end, Kody answered groggily, clearly woken from sleep. He was silent for a moment, caught off guard.
Marc had spent the past few days searching desperately for Stella, even putting out a missing person notice. He acted like a man madly in love, yet now he didn’t even remember her birthday?
Kody couldn’t make sense of it. Stella was Marc’s wife. How could he not know something so basic and personal? And why was he asking his assistant for it?
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