Chapter 4
Three whole months, and not a single trace of Bethany.
No calls begging for mercy. No sign of her coming back.
At parties in the city's elite circle, people started poking fun at Edison.
"Hey Edison, where's your little canary? Why haven't you brought her out lately?" someone teased.
It was Troy Cooper, the Cooper family's youngest heir, always running his mouth.
Edison swirled the whiskey in his glass, the ice clinking against the glass.
He didn't even bother to look up. "She flew the coop."
"Flew the coop?" Troy laughed. "Well, that's great. Out with the old, in with the new. I heard the Bell heiress is back from overboard, and she's been asking about you."
He was talking about Roxanne Bell, the woman Edison could never have. Everyone in the circle knew that.
When her name came up, Edison paused mid drink, but his face gave nothing away.
"Not interested," he replied.
"Come on, she's a proper lady from a distinguished family, way better than that... that other girl," Troy started, but stopped short as he felt the air around Edison turn icy.
The door to the private room swung open.
A woman in a white dress walked in, her long hair draped over her shoulders, carrying a cool, almost otherworldly vibe.
It was Roxanne.
"Edison," she said with a smile, walking over and sliding right into the seat next to him like she belonged there. "It's been a while."
The crowd started to stir, cracking jokes and egging them on.
Edison stared at her face.
It was uncanny how much she looked like Bethany.
Actually, it was Bethany who looked so much like her. The eyes, the nose, and even the curve of her lips when she smiled.
But as Edison looked at Roxanne, what flashed through his mind was Bethany's silhouette walking away in the rain that night, not once looking back.
And the way Bethany used to lower her gaze while tying his tie.
She had said, "This tie goes perfectly with your suit. Makes you look even sharper.
"Edison, don't smoke so much. It's bad for your lungs.
"Will you be home for dinner tonight? I made your favorite dish."
"Edison?" Roxanne waved her hand in front of his face.
He snapped out of it, feeling a sudden surge of annoyance. He set down his glass and stood up.
"You guys have fun. I've got something to take care of," he said.
"Hey, you just got here..." someone protested behind him.
Edison didn't bother to look back and just strode out.
The night air was freezing.
He stood outside the club, lighting up a cigarette.
The ember flickered between his fingers, glowing and fading in the dark.
It'd been three months.
Bethany had really pulled it off.
His phone buzzed.
It was an email from Jason.
It read: [Mr. Shaw, I've found something. Next week at the renowned jewelry exhibition "Floating Life," an up-and-coming designer's work has been selected. The name is... Jasmine.]
There was a photo attached.
In the photo, Bethany stood on a street in Zarwick, dressed in a khaki trench coat with her hair cut short. She cradled a bouquet of sunflowers, her smile dazzling and full of life.
There was no mistaking that it was Bethany.
But this was not the timid canary he had kept locked away.
This was a new Bethany—vibrant, free, as if she'd been reborn.
Edison stared at the photo for a long time, until the cigarette burned down to his fingers.
He flicked the butt to the ground and crushed it under his shoe.
"Book me a flight," he growled into the phone, his voice sharp and ruthless.
"To Zarwick," he said.