Page 55 of The Billionaire's Secret Desire
I nod. "We'll be gone in the morning."
He waves a hand through the air, "You stay as long as you want, Charli. You're family."
I don’t know what comes next. But for now, I’m here. In Pelican Point. With Rusty, Ghost, and a van full of my life. It’s not perfect. It’s not what I wanted, but it’s mine. And that has to be enough. For now.
It’s almost four in the morning by the time I crawl into the back of the van and pull the doors shut.
Ghost jumps in beside me and circles once before flopping dramatically onto the mattress. Her tail thumps twice, then goes still. Within minutes, she’s snoring—the deep, rhythmic kind that vibrates through the space and somehow makes the loneliness feel a little less sharp.
I curl onto my side, one arm tucked beneath my head, the other resting on Ghost’s warm back. My body’s bone-tired, but my mind won’t quit. Thoughts spin like blades—Sawyer’s laugh, the way he made coffee for me every morning, the way he looked at me like I was his favorite surprise. Like I was his. But I’m not. Not anymore.
The tears come quietly at first, sliding down the side of my face and pooling in my hair. I don’t bother wiping them away. What would be the point? I let them fall. Let myself feel every ounce of what I lost.
I tell myself I did the right thing. That stepping aside is noble. That love means wanting what’s best for someone, even if it’s not you. But it doesn’t feel noble. It feels like punishment.
I don’t know where I’m going from here. Don’t know if I’ll rebuild another restaurant, or if I’ll keep living out of this van with Ghost as my only copilot. I’ve been turning over cities in my mind—Asheville, maybe. Or Charleston. Somewhere coastal, somewhere new. New Orleans whispers like a temptation I’m not sure I’m brave enough to chase. I could start over again. I’ve done it before. But this time, it feels heavier—like I’m leaving more behind than just a house or a job. Orhim.
I don’t even know if Sawyer will ever understand why I left. If he’ll see it for what it was—a sacrifice, not a betrayal. But I know I did it for the right reasons. Even if it rips me apart, I know I did what was best.
I close my eyes and whisper a prayer to no one in particular: let him be happy. Let that little girl have everything I didn’t. Let Sawyer be the father he never got the chance to be until now.
And maybe one day… let me forgive myself for falling so recklessly, so completely in love with him, that I started to believe I might finally deserve something good. Let me forgive myself for daring to hope for a future that wasn't meant to be, for needing him in ways I’ve never needed anyone, and then walking away without ever letting him see me break. For choosing what was right over what I wanted, even when it tore me in half.
Ghost shifts beside me, her head resting near mine, her breath steady and warm... comforting.
And in the quiet dark of the Rusty Anchor’s parking lot, I cry myself to sleep.
Chapter 23
Sawyer
By the time I land in Hibiscus Harbor, the adrenaline that kept me upright through Ian and Mia's wedding weekend has long worn off. I’m running on fumes—emotionally, mentally, physically. I didn’t even pack my bag. Just walked out of the damn reception and onto the plane like a man chasing something that might already be gone.
Becky meets me at the front door. Her expression says it all before she even opens her mouth. "She left. Took Ghost, too. Left a note on the kitchen counter," she says, holding out a folded scrap of paper. It’s got Charli’s handwriting. Neat. Controlled. Like she was holding herself together with every letter she wrote.
I read it once. Then again. Every word feels like a punch to the ribs. It doesn’t say where she’s going—just that she’s sorry, that she needs space, that she hopes I understand. But how can I? How do you understand someone walking out of your life with nothing but a scribbled goodbye? The edges of the paper are smudged, maybe from her hands, maybe from tears. Maybe both.
I don’t understand how we got here—how everything that felt so steady suddenly slipped through my fingers. But I will. I’ll make sense of it, piece by piece. I just need to find her first.Because knowing she's out there somewhere hurting, alone, carrying the weight of something she didn't trust me enough to share—it's unbearable. And I can’t breathe until I fix it.
I stand in our bedroom and look around, and the ache that hits me is brutal—like grief wearing her perfume. Her shoes are gone. The ones she always left half-kicked under the bench. Her favorite mug—the chipped one with the blue stripe—is missing from the drying rack. The office chair still holds a faint indent, a remembrance of where she used to curl up, knees tucked to her chest, typing like a madwoman on a rampage. Everything in here still smells like her, but none of it feels whole. It's like she was surgically removed from this house, and the scar tissue hasn't even begun to form.
Ghost’s dog bed is empty, too. And then it hits me like a freight train. She’s really gone.
For a second, I can’t breathe. My throat locks up, and my hands curl into fists at my sides. I grab my phone and scroll to the contact I haven’t used in a few years.
Jose Delgado. Pelican Point PD. Former Marine. Loyal as hell. One of the few people I trust outside my inner circle.
He picks up on the second ring, his voice thick with sleep and confusion. "Gallo? Damn, it's been a while. You know it's the middle of the night, right?"
"Yeah, I know it's late. After one in the morning," I say, my voice rough and hollow. "But I need a favor, and you're the only one I trust enough to call."
Jose’s tone shifts instantly, all sleep wiped away in a beat. There’s steel in his voice now, the kind he used to wear like armor. "You in trouble or is your brother?" he asks, no hesitation, just readiness—like he’s already lacing up his boots and grabbing a radio. It hits me then, how much I appreciate this man. Even after years of silence, no questions asked—justsupport, loyalty, and a willingness to help when I need it most. That kind of friendship is rare. Priceless.
"Not exactly," I say, my voice quieter now, heavier with the weight of what I’m asking. "I need your help to find someone close to me... my girl. Her name’s Charli Whitmore. She left town, took my dog and her van, and she’s hurting—I don’t know where she’s headed, but I need to find her before it’s too late."
Jose is silent for a beat. I can practically hear him sitting up straighter on the other end of the line. "Okay," he says finally, his voice low and sure. "Tell me everything you’ve got."
And just like that, I feel the smallest thread of hope.
