Ribbons Unbound: My Fiancé's Lingering Regret novel Chapter 55

Atlas cut her off, his voice razor-sharp.

The storm in his eyes was suffocating, like a force ready to consume everything in its path.

The young nurse faltered, swallowing hard before stammering, "M-Mr. Whitmore, you... you didn't know?"

Her hesitation only made his patience snap further.

She took a shaky breath before forcing the words out. "Mrs. Whitmore... she was pregnant. Six weeks."

Silence.

Atlas's grip on the divorce papers tightened as his entire body locked up.

"She was pregnant," the nurse continued, her voice trembling, "but she—she fell down the stairs. We don't know exactly what happened, but... she lost the baby."

A shudder ran through him. Something cracked deep within his chest, something raw and brutal.

Celeste had been carrying his child. And now, that life was gone.

His fingers trembled as he looked down at the papers in his hand. For the first time in his life, Atlas felt fear---real, gut-wrenching, paralyzing fear.

His pulse pounded in his ears.

She had wanted this child. For five years, she had wanted a child with him.

And now—

Atlas closed his eyes, pain twisting through his ribs like a vice.

Because he knew. He knew why they had never conceived before. The guilt came in waves, crashing over him, threatening to pull him under.

His chest ached, breath hitching painfully as his own words from that night echoed back at him.

*"Celeste, don't you think you owe me an apology for what happened back then?"*

Had she known? Had she already known when she asked him that question?

Had she looked at him that night and seen him for what he truly was?

Atlas clenched his jaw, his voice hoarse when he finally spoke. "Find out everywhere she's been in the past few weeks."

He exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself. "And find out how she fell down those stairs."

His darkest secret, the truth he had buried for years—Celeste had discovered all of it.

Atlas's chest constricted, an unbearable weight pressing down on him.

For the first time in his life, he felt exposed. The ugliest, most monstrous parts of him—laid bare for her to see.

His hands curled into fists, his nails biting into his palms. He refused to believe she had truly left him.

Not after the way she had loved him these past five years. She had loved him so deeply, so fiercely, like he was carved into the very marrow of her bones.

She couldn't just leave.

He forced his voice to remain steady. "Have you found out where she went?"

A tense silence followed. His assistant hesitated. "Sir... Mrs. Whitmore has erased all her identity records."

Atlas stilled. His heart slammed against his ribs, harder and harder, as if his body was resisting the truth.

"She's deregistered all of her personal information. No credit cards, no bank accounts, no traceable records. And—"

His assistant swallowed hard. "The airline company is withholding information. We currently have no way of tracking where she's gone."