Chapter 24
JAKE
For once, I don’t have to be anywhere. No meetings, no shoots, no bullshit. Just a day where I can sleep in, wake up slowly… wake up to her.
Except the bed’s empty. And worse, the sheets next to me are already cold.
I groan and rub the sleep from my eyes. It’s barely seven.
I’m a morning person, always have been. But today? Today, I wanted to stay wrapped up in her. Lose hours just holding her close, kissing her awake, making love until neither of us knew where the morning ended and the afternoon began.
Instead, I drag myself out of bed, tugging on sweats, and find her outside—curled up on the terrace in my hoodie, knees tucked under her, with her laptop open. The oversized fabric swallows her whole, and for a second, all I can do is stand there… watching.
God, she’s beautiful. Calm. Lost in whatever world she’s building on that screen.
I hope she’s writing her novel. She’s so fucking brilliant; she just doesn’t see it yet. One day… one day, she’ll let me read it. Something that’s all her, not fan fiction, not hidden behind a screen name. Just Amy.
I step outside, grinning as I lean against the doorframe. “Morning, love. You know… I had plans for us this morning.”
She glances up, a small smile tugging at her lips, but even with the sunglasses hiding her eyes, I can feel the distance.
I smirk, trying to break the tension. “Most of those plans involved you… under me… moaning my name.”
She huffs a laugh, quiet and polite, but it lands heavy in my chest. Something’s off. I feel it.
“I was too warm in bed, and I needed to book my plane ticket back.”
And just like that… the morning I pictured, the lazy, perfect one? It slips through my fingers. I’d almost let myself forget this was temporary and that any second now, she’d be gone. Back to her world. Back to a place that doesn’t have me in it.
I force a smile, sitting across from her, trying to keep my tone light. “Well… I’ll be over soon anyway. We’re shooting Crown of Betrayal in Hungary, so we’ll only be two and a half hours apart. I’ll visit, you can visit… It won’t be that bad.”
“Yeah… sure.”
The words are wrong. Flat. Empty. She’s not meant to act, but she’s trying. And failing.
I push, needing something. “Don’t worry though. I cleared it with the production team. I’m still good for your brother’s wedding.”
She blinks like she almost forgot. “My brother? Oh no. Don’t worry about that.” She waves a hand, casual and detached. “I told my mom the truth at Christmas. There won’t be a plus-one.”
It makes sense. Of course it does, especially after everything that happened.
But fuck, hearing it? It feels like a door slamming shut. Like she’s already halfway gone.
I swallow hard, my throat thick as I force the words out, trying to sound casual. “So… your flight. When’s the, uh… dreadful day?”
I try to make it light. I fail.
“Today.”
Just like that—simple and final. She closes her laptop, smooths a hand over the hoodie swallowing her frame, and stands.
I’m too stunned to speak. Too blindsided to move.
But then I react, and within seconds, I’m in front of her, blocking the hallway.
“What do you mean… today?” The world tilts. For a second, I swear I forget how to fucking breathe.
“I—yes. I was checking, and they didn’t have another flight for… for four days, so—”
I shake my head. “You’re a terrible liar, Amelia Sinclair.”
She flinches, her lips pressing tight as she takes a small step back, putting space between us that feels bigger than this entire house.
And fuck me, there it is.
I wasn’t crazy last night. I felt it. The second she stepped out of that damn car with Mariana. I felt it when she smiled like it hurt and when she kissed me like it was goodbye. I knew something cracked, but I let myself believe it was in my head.
I let the sex distract me, let the way she touched me convince me it was fine.
It wasn’t.
“I need to pack, Jake. Please… move. My flight’s in four hours.”
The words hit like a gut punch, but I’m done. Done being the nice guy giving her space when all it’s done is push her further away.
I plant my feet. “Then you better start talking. Because trust me, Fangirl, I can stand here all day.”
Her eyes flash anger, hurt, and something raw, and she bites out, “Yes. Something I can’t do because of my limitations.”
The way she spits it—like a curse, like being her is a burden—it fucking guts me. I want to scream, to tear the whole goddamn world down until she sees what I see. But I don’t. I stand there. Swallowing it. Choking on it.
I almost cave, almost. But I don’t, not this time.
She exhales sharply, shaking her head. “You’re a hell of an actor, Jake Hollander.”
The sound of my full name from her mouth punches the air from my lungs. I blink, stunned, and force a humorless smile. “Funny… I’ve waited months to hear you say that. Doesn’t sound much like a compliment right now.”
“I just need to go home. That’s all. You know it was just… holidays.”
It sounds logical. Reasonable. She’s been here a week. But it’s a lie. I know it. So I push one last time to see if I’m losing it or if she’s just trying to pacify me.
“No. It wasn’t just holidays. Don’t insult my intelligence, Amy.”
“And don’t insult mine!” Her voice cracks like a whip, louder and sharper than I’ve ever heard it. Not even in London, betrayed and furious, did she raise her voice like that.
“You’re lying to yourself, Jake. You’re not Eli. Not even close.”
I actually stagger back, the words hitting hard. “How… how can you say that? Is this about last night? I told you that’s a role. There’s the man I am, and there’s the mask I wear.”
“Oh, you wear it so well,” she spits. “Too damn well.”
I rake a hand through my hair, my chest heaving. “Of course I do! That’s the job!”
“Too well,” she cuts in, eyes shining with unshed tears.
“Last night? All you saw was that version of me, painted, polished, and perfect. You didn’t stop for one second to ask if I liked it.
If it hurt. If those goddamn heels were breaking me.
No. You loved it. Loved showing me off like your prize. ”
“That’s not true,” I rasp, already reaching for her. “I saw you. I always see you.”
But she flinches back like my touch burns.
“No. You saw Mariana’s version of me. And you loved it.”
I open my mouth to argue, but she raises her hand, silencing me.
“And what about Everything That Follows, huh?” she throws next, her voice trembling.
I step toward her. “Is that what this is about? Everything That Follows?” My laugh is hollow. “Christ—if I take it, will you stay? Is that what you want? Tell me now, and I’ll do it.”
I mean it. Walking away from Gordon would be career suicide, but I’d do it… for her.
She shakes her head, and she looks broken, as if I’m the one saying goodbye instead of her.
“No. I won’t stay either way. Because that’s not the point.
” She shakes her head again, tears brimming.
“I wanted you to want Everything That Follows. To choose it because it mattered. But instead? You walked away for the money. For the fame. And that—” She swallows hard. “That is who you are.”
And just like that, I feel it—the crack splintering wide open. Not because she’s leaving, but because somewhere along the way… I gave her every reason to.
I open my mouth, the words falling out before I can stop them.
“Please… don’t.”
She freezes—but it’s too late. It always was.
Her breath hitches, but she keeps going. “How much more, Jake? How much money? How much fame? When does it stop? Will it ever stop?” She throws her hands up, defeated. “When do I stop being enough?”
The words are a sharp blow.
“I couldn’t even make it through one night without my body giving up on me,” she whispers. “I can’t do this. I can’t.”
The sheer defeat in her voice makes my chest burn and makes my hands clench into fists. But beneath the heartbreak, there’s this rising tide of desperation. Anger.
“And so that’s it? That’s how you fix it? By running? By leaving?” My voice cracks. “Like none of this was worth fighting for? Like I—we—meant nothing?”
Her eyes glisten, but she doesn’t back down. She places a trembling hand over her chest as if steadying her heart.
“I have to,” she breathes out. “I have to leave before we break. Before what’s left of us turns bitter.
Before I start resenting you for the life you love…
and you start resenting me for the weight I’d become.
” She swallows hard. “I need to go while the memories are still beautiful, before the ugliness takes over. I need to leave… for me.”
I stand there, hollowed out. “I didn’t… I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Her eyes soften, but she nods. “No. You didn’t. And neither did I. Please… just let me go.”
And I do. I don’t follow her. I don’t beg. I don’t touch her because I know if I do, I’ll shatter.
I just quietly call the car, mechanical, like it’s just another meeting, another wrap-up.
She packs in silence. And when she comes out, her suitcase in hand, I stay rooted to the floor, my fingers itching to reach for her but refusing to move.
It’s only when she’s about to climb into the car that the words burst out of me, raw and broken. “I just… I thought maybe you’d fight for us. Like the girls you write about.”
She turns, her eyes glistening and lips trembling, as she forces out the words.
“You may not see it, Jake… but I am.”
And then she’s gone.
I’m drunk. Not blackout drunk… but drunk enough to text Will like a total wimp—crying my heartbreak and spiraling into a never-ending rant.
Me: She left me. She doesn’t think she’s enough, or that I’m enough, which is fucking stupid.
How can she not see I wanted her? The real Amy.
The unfiltered, unpolished version. I didn’t give a shit how she looked last night, Will.
Dress or leggings, oversized sweatshirt…
naked’s my favorite, to be fair. But whatever.
And she didn’t even try, you know? It’s always me trying. Why is it always me?