She popped the back off her cheap phone, removed the SIM card, and snapped it in two. She tossed the phone and the broken pieces of her old life into a nearby trash can.
She didn’t look back. She walked away from the courthouse, away from the name Blackwood, away from the ghost of the woman she used to be, and headed towards the airport.
The world went black.
THREE YEARS LATER
The ballroom of the Kensington estate glittered. Diamonds dripped from ears and throats. Champagne flowed. Damian Blackwood stood near the French doors, a glass of scotch in his hand, surveying the crowd.
Preston Sharpe sidled up to him, a smirk on his face. “Still can’t believe you’re not officially married to Seraphina. What’s the hold-up?”
Damian took a sip of his drink. He didn’t answer. In the three years since Aurora had vanished, he had filed for divorce in absentia. He had Seraphina by his side. He had everything he thought he wanted. Seraphina, stunning in a silver gown, looped her arm through his.
