Chapter Eighteen #2
I’m not asking you to forgive ten years overnight.
I’m not asking you to trust me because I wrote it in a letter.
I’m asking you to consider the possibility that what we had was real, that what we found again here was real, and that the man waiting for you on the other side of this is not the boy who left.
Several years ago, when I didn’t know how or when I could find my way back to you, I bought this house that you see in the photo. I bought it for when I could come back to you. So we could truly start our lives together. It’s been sitting empty ever since.
Now it doesn’t have to anymore. You’ll soon understand.
I look down at the small photograph in my hands. What does he mean by anymore? That I’ll soon understand?
Come find me here when you’re ready. Or don’t. But know that I’ll be there either way.
Whatever you decide, I will always love you, little one.
Yours forever and always,
Scott.
I read it again. Three times. Four.
Each time slower than the last, like slowing down would help me absorb what the words are actually saying.
Why am I getting this? Why send an address when he’s here at the villa?
I still. This isn’t just a love letter. It’s goodbye.
I have to find him.
I fold the letter carefully back into the envelope, tucking the photograph against it. And I rush out of the gap and back into the common area.
I scan the area. He isn’t in the common room. Not on the pool deck, the beach, or even the gym.
He bought a house for us, even when he didn’t know if there was a guarantee we’d be with each other again. And he held on to it for ten years. That’s not the man I thought he was. Far from it.
Which would make everything about Valerie true, too.
I run into the bedroom to find his belongings alongside his bed gone.
I can’t find him. He’s not here anymore.
The weight of that letter finally hits me, crashing through every wall I spent so long rebuilding.
He didn’t just say he’d choose me. He left to prove it.
He walked away from this show—from the cameras, the competition, from whatever the producers wanted from him—and he did it not to punish or pressure me but to hand the choice back to me entirely.
All this time, I’ve been wondering if I should trust him with my heart again, when I’ve known the answer all along.
And he put our future in my hands— What have I done?
Anger at myself flares within me. Those things I said to him this morning come back to my mind. I was so convinced I already knew how this ended. So convinced that protecting myself was the same thing as being right. So convinced that I was better off. But I was wrong.
He said to meet him somewhere. But where?
I dig back into the envelope, fishing out the picture, and turn it over. On the back is Scott’s handwriting of an address in black ink. It’s back in Dallas, local—not far.
I have to go after him. But how? That penalty clause is six-figures I don’t have. How can I convince them to let me go without breaking the bank? I could sneak off, but I don’t know the first thing about driving a boat. And it’s not like I can swim. Regardless, I have to try.
The shared bedroom is dead quiet when I start yanking my things out of the nightstand and closet, shoving them into my suitcase.
Everyone else is still outside at the group dinner, which is exactly what I need—ten minutes alone to pack without an audience and without having to explain myself to anyone before I’m ready.
My hands move on autopilot. Clothes, toiletries, charger, everything crammed in fast and messy. Organization and folding are out the window.
I drop onto the edge of the bed and exhale a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
The door clicks open.
One of the female producers steps in—sharp eyes, tablet in hand, the kind of calm that says she’s seen everything and is forever unfazed by even the most outrageous meltdowns. Her gaze flicks from my face to the suitcase and back.
“Everything okay, Lyla? You look like you’re about to bolt. What’s going on?”
I stand up fast. “Glad you’re here. I need to leave the villa. Right now.”
Her brow lifts slightly. “Okay, I get you. But you know the clause is two hundred—”
“I know.” I nod. “I’d like to negotiate. There’re only two days left. Let me pay for those days, and I can do an exit interview, give you whatever exclusive you need for the finale, whatever it takes. Just process the paperwork.”
She doesn’t blink. “Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. It’s already been taken care of.”
I stop cold.
“The penalty,” she continues matter-of-factly. “We received instructions this morning to process your exit. Scott arranged to lease out a property of his to cover your clause, while he paid his penalty in full.”
The room goes very still.
“He what?”
“You’re free to leave whenever you’re ready.”
I stare at her. She stares back with that professional blank face that says she’s delivered worse news and knows better than to fill the silence.
Lease out a property? Could she mean…
It’s been sitting empty ever since. Now it doesn’t have to anymore.
I reach into the envelope and pull out the photograph. The small house in the photo in his letter. Is that what she meant? But why would he do that?
For me. He did it for me.
I feel my throat close, tears blur my vision.
“Thank you,” I manage.
“Come to the dock with your luggage when you’re ready.” She steps out, pulling the door closed behind her.
I tuck the photograph back into the envelope and finish packing.
I’m zipping the suitcase when the door opens again. I look up.
Damon steps inside, looking at me—the suitcase, my expression, the envelope on top of my clothes—before turning his gaze back on me. He doesn’t look surprised. In fact, he looks relieved.
He closes the door behind him.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey.” I straighten. “I see Emily told you where I was.”
Before I left dinner early to pack, I asked Emily to tell Damon where to find me. I hate that I’m doing this now, but he deserves the truth, a proper goodbye.
“Yeah. Everything okay?”
“Great. Better than it has been in a while.”
“I’m guessing your filled suitcase has something to do with that.”
I nod. “I’m leaving.”
“I’ve gathered that.” He pauses, as if he’s just realized something. “You’re going after him.” He moves to the edge of the bed across from mine and sits, forearms on his knees, unhurried. “I’ve been watching you all day. All week, if I’m being honest.”
I meet his eyes. “I’m sorry, Damon.”
“Don’t be,” he replies earnestly. “I’m not.”
“I should have been clearer with myself sooner. With you.”
He shakes his head. “You were figuring it out. I understand. When are you leaving?”
“Now,” I reply.
He nods slowly, looking down at his hands for a second before looking back up. “Then in that case, can I tell you something?”
“Please.”
“I knew it wasn’t going to be me.” He chuckles lightly.
“The way you went still when he walked into any room. The way you froze at that ceremony. I kept telling myself maybe compatibility was enough, that maybe you just needed time to adjust.” He exhales.
“But then I realized you need more than what I can give you.”
My chest tightens for him as I sit beside him. “You deserve more than something safe. You deserve happiness, too.”
He gives a small, tired smile. “Sweet of you. But that ship sailed a long time ago.”
He reaches over and takes my hand for a second, steady and warm. “You need someone who makes you feel everything. Not someone who makes things easy. And watching you try to settle for easy…” He shakes his head. “That’s not you. Never was. I see that now.”
He stands, pulls me into a quick, solid hug, then lets go.
When he steps back, his face is calm. Decided.
“Now, go get him,” he says. “before he does something sensible like move on.”
I laugh at his facetious joke as my eyes sting.
I start for the door, then stop. “Damon?”
“Yeah?”
I turn back. “I meant what I said.”
He smiles then. A genuine smile I haven’t seen since we met. “Maybe so.” He picks up the handle of my suitcase and hands it to me. “You know…I’ve always wanted to visit Dallas.”
“Hope to hear from you soon then.” I return the smile.
I take the bag, tuck the envelope under my arm, and walk out the door.