Gwen woke to the empty weight of the bed beside her and the echo of silence in the room. At first she thought he had simply risen early, slipped out for work. Then she noticed the faint crease in the sheets where he always lay his head, the missing rumple of his jacket on the chair. She sat up slowly, chest tight. Damien’s side of the bed was cold.
She checked the phone on the bedside table, she padded through the house in bare feet, calling his name like a small, frightened animal. One of his men was sweeping the porch when she found him.
“Sir left,” the man said without looking up. “Went out. Said he’d be back later.”
Gwen nodded, more to herself than to him. She swallowed the rising panic and forced a normal smile. “Okay. Thank you.” She retreated to the bathroom to wash her face, to
