Chapter 3
Max
A crystal decantercatches a shaft of the sinking sun, breaching my penthouse defenses, its light trespassing across the marble and glass like it belongs. I scoff, swirling the amber liquid in my glass, another high-end artifact in a mausoleum of wealth. The echo of my footsteps on the cold, hard floors mock me as I pass an indoor fountain—a lavish thing that trickles water with the same monotonous hum day in and day out.
“Useless,”I murmur to the empty space, the cityscape of San Jose sprawling beneath my floor-to-ceiling windows, a silent witness to my gilded cage. It’s said that every man’s home is his castle, but no one warned me that some castles can become prisons.
The doorbell’s annoyingly headache-inducing, high-pitched chime slices through the quiet.
Who the hell is that?
Not expecting anyone, I sit the glass down with more force than necessary, the sound sharp, breaking the solitude.
As I approach the door, my security screen blinks to life, revealing the uninvited guest—Audrey.
Shit.The last person I want to see, I can’t help the immediate instinct to grind my back teeth together. But she’ll return in a few hours if I don’t answer the door now. Or worse, have security grant her access under the guise that I want her here.
“Maxwell, open up,”she calls through the intercom, her voice sugared poison even in its digital transmission.
I hesitate before pressing the button, rolling my shoulders back and forth a few times, then twisting my neck side to side, relishing each snap, crack, and pop. My finger hovers over it as I steel myself for the onslaught before I let her in.
The door swings inward, and there she stands—Audrey Louise Berkley—impeccably dressed as if the world is her personal runway. Today, she’s wearing a tailored knee-length dress that hugs her slender frame, a crimson color that makes her narrowed brown eyes darker. Her blonde hair is sleeked back, not a strand out of place. Her makeup is bold and flawless. She’s a vision of calculated perfection, and I brace myself against an internal shudder.
“Audrey,”I greet her, keeping my tone neutral. “This is unexpected.”And unwanted.
Her lips curl into a smile that never reaches her eyes. How did I not see that in all this time? “Can I come in?”
“By all means.”Every muscle in my body tenses as I step back, and she sweeps past me, her perfume invading my space, sweet and cloying. I barely manage to contain my choked cough.
She dances her fingers across a sculpture she picked out as she strolls past, her touch leaving smudges on the polished surface—deliberate imperfections.
I watch her closely. There is always a certain amount of caution required regarding Audrey. I learned quickly to never divulge too much. I need to consider every step I take or word I say. She likes the power and control to be in her hands. And catalogs any perceived misstep for future threats.
“Maxwell, darling.”She slowly turns to face me, her movements fluid like a cat’s, poised and ready to pounce. “We need to talk about this preposterous breakup you’ve suggested.”
“Audrey, there’s nothing more to discuss. And it wasn’t a suggestion. I ended things well over a month ago.”My jaw tightens, the familiar feeling of tug-of-war between what she wants and what I need.
“I simply gave you time to come to your senses. You didn’t mean it, darling. I know you didn’t.”She prowls closer, and I take several steps back, something I discovered myself doing months ago, well before I finally called it quits. “You can’t just throw away what we have.”
“It’s over, Audrey,”I say quietly, my heart thudding a warning rhythm against my ribs. “I wish you would accept that.”Knowing she won’t leave quickly; my head already aches from this conversation.
She tilts her head, regarding me with an analytical gaze. “Stubborn as ever. But you’ll see reason.”
“Reason left the building a long time ago. Along with whatever ‘we’used to be.”The words are bitter on my tongue. What did I ever see in this woman? How did I miss the signs?
“Maxwell...”She reaches out, fingers intent on grazing my arm.
I flinch away, not wanting her touch or the memories it brings. “Stop it.”The sharpness in my voice surprises both of us. I retreat until the cold glass of the penthouse window is pressing against my back. “We’re done. Over. And I don’t want to see you again. You need to move on.”
Her eyes flash, not with tears but with exasperation and anger, like a rainstorm about to break. “You can’t mean that. You love me.”Her tone is insistent, each word carefully enunciated like she’s speaking to a child.
“Love isn’t manipulation, Audrey. It’s not constant power plays. I don’t want this—any of this—anymore.”I can feel the weight of her gaze as I sidestep along the window, putting more distance between us.
Her arms are crossed now, a barrier as much for her as it is for me. “Then what do you want?”
“Something real. Something simple.”My voice softens with the admission, and I gaze out the window, toward the city skyline that seems to echo my internal chaos. When I whirl to face her, my chest tightens. She doesn’t understand. She never has. All she’s wanted, her entire career, hell, my career, is to reach the top. To be this power couple she’s created in her fantasies. The problem, however, is that she turned me into someone I don’t like along the way. And I’m disgusted by how long it’s taken me to realize that.
I can see her slinking closer again, taking her time, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “Simple is boring, darling. We’re not mean to be simple people.”
“Better bored than trapped in a cage,”I murmur, watching as she traces a finger along the edge of a crystal decanter I’d been gazing at earlier.
“You won’t survive in this industry, in the circles we run in, without someone like me at your side.”
“Survive? Audrey, out there—it’s living. In here...”I gesture to the expanse of luxury around us, “it feels more like I’m dying every day. And you forget, I’ve been living in the ‘circles’we run in, much longer than you.”
“Fine.”She picks up the decanter and slams it down, whiskey sloshing dangerously close to the rim. “If you want to throw it all away, be my guest. But you’ll regret this.”Her voice holds a hint of desperation now, though she masks it well as a threat.
“Regrets are part of life.”I swallow hard, meeting her fierce stare. “But staying with you—that would be my biggest one.”
“Very poetic, darling.”Audrey sneers, though her composure is noticeably slipping. “But this isn’t over.”
“Actually, it is.”My voice is a low growl now. “Leave.”My patience is frayed beyond its breaking point. I stride past her, throwing open the door. “Out.”
With a haughty chin lift, she strides out, her heels clicking a staccato farewell on the floor, raw anger blazing in her eyes.
Once she crosses the threshold, I slam the door shut, twisting the lock with more force than necessary. My chest heaves, my hands shake. I hit the button on the panel for the security desk.
“Mr. Beaumont. What can I do for you, sir?”
“Roger, can you please make a note that Ms. Berkley is no longer welcome at my home. I don’t even want her in this building. And would you mind calling my office and leaving the same instruction there, please.”
“Of course, sir. I’ll ensure all the staff are aware.”
“Thank you, Roger.”
Exhausted from the confrontation, I slump onto the leather couch, which seems too big for just one person. The penthouse, a symbol of my success and wealth, now feels like the walls are closing in on me. I’m burnt out and ready for a change—even a temporary one. Exhaling long and slow, I try to steady my racing heart.
Picking up my phone, I thumb through my social media accounts mindlessly, the screen’s glow a dull company in the silence. As I’m flipping, I stumble upon Shawn’s post about the resort he and his wife built on Summer Island called Tranquil Bay. A picturesque sunset over calm waters, canoes resting lazily on the shore, and cabins nestled amongst fertile trees. It speaks of peace, a glaring contrast to the chaos of my current life. They’ve even called their resort Tranquil Bay.
Perhaps this is a sign.
Audrey’srelentless pursuit of landing the Beaumont name has been suffocating. I need an opportunity to regroup and breathe again, if only for a week or two. I remember Shaun talking about their plans the last time we spoke. About a year ago, he mentioned building the place almost from the ground up, much like I had with my own empire, except I had family money to invest in a start-up. And his is a sanctuary, not a battleground.
Scrolling past comments filled with envy and wanderlust, I yearn for the genuine simplicity I lost along the way. Mom and Dad had money, and my childhood never lacked the important things, but I worked for what I wanted. I understood the privilege that came with my upbringing. After graduation, I wanted something of my own to make my parents proud. When Audrey and I started dating, we both had lofty goals, but her ambition twisted into something insatiable somewhere along the way. She always wanted more and stopped giving back; it was less about romance and more about status and appearances. She even stopped calling me Max and switched to my given name, which not even my grandparents use. And despite my guarded nature, I got lost in it—fell for her manipulation disguised as charm, her transactions masqueraded as affection.
“Enough.”I shake my head, breaking the spell of the past.
I need distance and clarity, and Summer Island seems like the perfect escape. The appeal of a tropical island suggests promises of a getaway from reality, stress, and exes bent on destroying my sanity.
With a swipe and a tap, I launch my meeting app, feeling the shift from the day’s weight to a lighter, expectant buzz. Now that I’ve decided, I hope he can help because if I don’t get away from California for a while, I’m going to erupt.
“Hey, Max.”Shaun’s voice comes through warm and reassuring. His short hair is tousled, and he’s wearing a simple gray hoodie that looks lived-in and comfortable. Even through the screen, his relaxed stance is apparent, and I’m instantly envious.
I force a smile. “Shaun, buddy. It’s been too long.”
He leans back in his chair, his face lighting up with a genuine smile. “Yeah, it has. What’s up? Is your elbow giving you trouble?”
Shaun is a reconstructive surgeon from Canada. I met him a few years back after a bad fall from a horse and needed my arm fixed. He’s considered one of the best, and his goodwill on social media only made him more famous. We hit it off and have remained friends.
“The arm’s fine, thanks. Actually, I was calling about the resort. I just saw your post. Looks like you’re making great headway.”
“Thanks. We’re seeing some great progress. I’m hoping we can open by the beginning of the summer.”
I run a hand through my hair, the weight of everything pressing down on me. “About that, um, well, I was wondering if I could fly out and stay for a few days. A week or two. I could use a break. I need to get away from... life here. I’d be happy to help in any way I can while I’m there.”
“Say no more.”Shaun nods empathetically. “We’ve got a private cabin that’s just been finished. Perfect for someone looking to disappear for a while.”
“Disappearing sounds good right about now.” My laugh is short and humorless.
“Consider it done. How soon do you want to come?”
“Tomorrow?”I don’t intend for it to sound so desperate, but there it is—the truth of my eagerness to flee.
“Tomorrow it is. I’ll send you the details.”Shaun’seyes crinkle at the corners, andhis easygoing demeanor is a reminder of what a relationship without ulterior motives feels like.
“Thanks, Shaun. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”
He clears his throat. “I should warn you...”
“About?”
“The place is pretty much a hard-hat zone in some areas. It’s not picture perfect yet.”His jaw muscles work slightly as if he’s deciding how much to disclose. “The main building and the kitchen are done, but there’s machinery and supplies all around. It’s not quite the tranquil oasis as advertised just yet.”
“Sounds like my current life, minus the tranquility.”A smirk twists my lips, but it fades fast. “Don’t worry, I can handle it. I just need some space and quiet, you know?”
“Understood.”He nods, the friendship we share bridging the silence that follows with a mutual understanding. “See you tomorrow then.”
I end the call, and as soon as I receive the details from Shaun, I immediately call the airport to book a private plane. Next, I message my assistant and tell her I’ll be away for at least two weeks. I leave my contact information in case of emergencies but give instructions I’m not to be disturbed unless it’s crucial. That done, I put down my phone as a tremendous sense of relief washes over me. A deep breath in and a slow exhale, and I push off the couch and head into the bedroom.
Summer Island is no longer just a post on my feed; it’s my lifeline, my chance at rediscovery. I need this. I need to remember who Max Beaumont was before the business, before Audrey, before my life became a series of strategic moves in a game I no longer want to play.
My footsteps echo off the floor as I enter my room. Sunlight streams through the high windows, casting a massive shadow across the big bed. The walls are adorned with art pieces I barely notice anymore, each chosen by an interior decorator to complement the modern aesthetic rather than to evoke any sense of warmth or comfort.
All Audrey’s ideas.
I hate it—all of it. It’s a sterile, ultra-modern residence for the stupid rich. All that’s missing is a gold toilet. This isn’t a home.
I pull open a drawer of the sleek mahogany dresser, the smooth action devoid of any creaks or resistance. Inside lays a collection of perfectly folded casual wear: soft cotton shirts and comfortable jeans that I prefer over the stiff suits that hang in the walk-in closet, which is so large it could house another king-sized bed.
No wonder my parents rarely visit. This is not at all how they raised us. We didn’t flaunt our wealth. My siblings and I worked hard as kids to earn things. I can’t remember the last time I donated funds to a community center or supported a homeless shelter with not only donations but my time. All those things were beneath Audrey.
Shame slides over me as I select a few items, feeling the warm fabrics between my fingers. No logos, no pretense.
As I pack, the light from the window shifts, bathing the room in a golden hue. It spills over the leather suitcase—a ludicrously expensive thing, a gift from someone whose name I can’t recall. Each item placed inside feels like shedding a layer of a life I’ve come to resent.
“An island retreat,”I mutter, zipping the suitcase shut.
It isn’t just a break from Audrey or endless boardroom meetings and corporate discussions; it’s a respite from being Maxwell Beaumont, thebillionaire tech mogul.
Maybe among the sound of seagulls and the scent of fresh lumber, I can find the simplicity I crave and return to the solid foundation my parents built.
I glance around the bedroom at the untouched minibar and the entertainment system that spans an entire wall. I want less of everything they symbolize.
I want a break from my life.