Back from Honeymoon, My Best Friend Vanished Chapter 2

The moment the gates opened, I didn’t even wait for Sebastian to get out of the car. I grabbed my suitcase and bolted toward the villa. The butler tried to stop me, but I shoved him aside.

“Don’t touch me!”

I knew the layout by heart. I stormed through the living room and straight for the second floor. I had been in the master bedroom with Stella on the morning of the wedding, helping her get ready.

“Stella! Come out!”

I kicked the bedroom door open.

I scanned the room, my eyes darting everywhere.

Nothing.

No Stella.

Worse… there wasn’t a single trace that a woman had ever lived there.

“How can this be…”

I tore open the door to the walk-in closet, muttering to myself. “The closet! Yes! The closet!”

I remembered it vividly. On the wedding day, behind this very door were two entire walls of Hermès bags. I had screamed when I held a Himalayan Birkin, and Stella had laughed and promised to get me one.

Screech.

I yanked the closet door open so hard it nearly came off its hinges.

My hand froze in mid-air.

It was empty.

Save for a few dark, custom-tailored suits hanging forlornly on a rack.

No Hermès.

No Chanel.

“Impossible… this is impossible…”

I sank to my knees, my hands frantically patting the wooden floor of the closet, searching for a single long hair, a lost earring, anything.

There was nothing. The room was as sterile as a showroom.

Sebastian leaned against the doorframe, his voice calm. “Have you seen enough, Miss Miller?”

I collapsed onto the floor, my mind a chaotic mess.

Was it all a scam? Had Stella been conned by a fake Sebastian Shiloah?

But… this villa was real! How could a con artist afford to rent the actual home of the city’s wealthiest man just for a charade? And if it was a scam, why was the real Sebastian Shiloah living here now?

“I don’t believe you!” I scrambled to my feet and pointed at him. “You’re the imposter! You’ve hidden everything, haven’t you?”

“I’m calling the police! I have video evidence! You were on your honeymoon in Hawaii two weeks ago!”

Sebastian looked at me as if I were a hopeless lunatic. He pulled out his phone and dialed 911.

“Hello, police? This is Sebastian Shiloah.”

“I have a trespasser on my property. Please send an officer.”

Ten minutes later, the police arrived.

“Officer! I want to report a missing person! Her name is Stella Quinn, and he’s responsible!” I pointed a shaking finger at Sebastian. “I have proof! They were in Hawaii on their honeymoon just two weeks ago!”

The officer glanced at me, then at Sebastian.

Sebastian sighed, the picture of weary patience. “Officer, I’ve been in the country for the past month handling a corporate merger. I haven’t been to Hawaii.”

“You can check my travel records if you don’t believe me.”

The officer immediately looked it up on his device. Two minutes later, he turned the screen toward me.

“Ma’am, the system shows that Mr. Shiloah has no international travel records for the past three months.”

Boom.

A lightning bolt struck my brain.

No travel records?

“Impossible! I saw it… the ocean, the beach…”

The officer put his device away, his expression turning serious. “Ma’am, filing a false police report is illegal. Since it appears you were the victim of a scam and are acting out of concern, we’ll let you off with a verbal warning this time.”

“Please leave the premises, or we’ll have to charge you with disorderly conduct.”

I stood frozen, ice flooding my veins. A massive wave of panic washed over me.

Sebastian stood off to the side, his gaze as cold and indifferent as if he were looking at a bag of trash.

“Alfred, see our guest out.”

“And from now on, if she ever sets foot on this property again, call the police and have her arrested immediately.”

The butler, Alfred, stepped forward and roughly shoved my suitcase toward the door. “This way, Miss Miller.”

I bit my lip so hard I could taste blood, my body trembling with rage.

I couldn’t accept this.

Everything had felt so real. Why was I suddenly the crazy one?

I dragged my heavy suitcase, looking back every few steps as I walked toward the exit. As I passed the grand foyer, next to a huge porcelain vase, the wheel of my suitcase clipped the edge of a wastebasket.

Clatter.

The basket tipped over, spilling a few wads of crumpled paper onto the floor.

The butler immediately scowled. “Stop making a mess and get out!”

Just then, a wrinkled little receipt caught my eye.

One glance was all it took. The blood in my veins turned to ice.

It was a receipt from a convenience store.

Item: Orange Crush cigarettes.

Time: Yesterday, 2:30 PM.

That was Stella’s favorite brand.