Chapter 5

At 8:40 PM, soft cello music echoed through the upscale French restaurant.

Ethan burst through the entrance, slightly out of breath, his dark suit jacket draped over his arm.

On the cuff of his white shirt...

...was a faint water stain from cleaning up Chloe's floor.

The host greeted him politely and led him to a prime window seat.

"Mr. Vance, your table has been kept for you. Shall we start serving the dishes?"

Ethan looked at the empty, candlelit table. My chair was vacant.

A sudden wave of unease hit him, but it was quickly overridden by sheer irritation.

He tossed his jacket onto the back of the chair and pulled the velvet box from his pocket.

With a sharp "thud", he slammed the custom ring box onto the table.

"Serve what? She isn't even here! Am I supposed to eat with a ghost?"

Startled by his sudden outburst, the host quickly bowed and backed away.

Ethan angrily unbuttoned two more buttons on his shirt, his chest heaving.

"I rushed over as fast as I could! Chloe was practically skinned by that boiling water!"

"Was I supposed to leave her home alone to rot?"

He gestured to the trembling server, his voice harsh.

"Bring me some ice water. Now."

I drifted opposite him, quietly watching him stab the pristine white tablecloth with his silver fork in frustration.

I watched him unleash his petty anger over my absence.

He felt wronged.

He thought that since he was giving me a priceless diamond ring, I had no right to punish him with this silent treatment.

The ice water arrived, condensation pooling at the base of the glass.

Ethan took a huge gulp, grabbed his phone, and held down the microphone button.

"Nora, I'm giving you exactly ten more minutes."

"If you're going to hold our anniversary hostage and act this immature, I'm done with you!"

He released his thumb, and the voice message sent.

The little bubble sat lonely at the bottom of the chat.

There was no instant "Typing..." indicator popping up.

Only dead silence.

Thirty seconds later...

...the phone on the table vibrated violently. The ringtone shattered the quiet restaurant atmosphere.

Thinking I had finally caved, Ethan checked the screen—but it was an unknown landline.

The caller ID read: NYPD Precinct.

His finger hovered for a second before he frowned and answered.

"Who is this?"

His voice still carried traces of lingering irritation.

A serious, professional male voice replied on the other end.

"Is this Ethan Vance?"

"Yes."

"This is the precinct. There was a fatal elevator crash at the Midtown office building last night. While clearing the scene, we recovered a female body."

Ethan's grip on his water glass tightened so hard his knuckles turned white.

"The victim's phone was completely crushed, but we managed to recover the SIM card. Your number was the only emergency contact listed."

"Please come to the Forensic Medical Center immediately to identify the body."