33. Margot
MARGOT
I breeze into my room and shut the door behind me harder than I mean to. My heels click across the floor, but I don’t take them off. I don’t take anything off—not the earrings, not the dinner dress, nothing.
I just sit. Right in front of the computer like my body’s moving on instinct.
Because now I have his full name.
Cal Hale. Calvin Hale.
He’s not Reid. Never was. That was a lie. Everything was a lie.
My fingers fly across the keyboard. And just like that—like magic, or betrayal, or both—his whole life opens up in front of me. Articles. Interviews. Net worth estimates. Business deals. Photos. Award ceremonies. The Forbes cover feature. That TechBit logo flashing again and again.
My goodness.
I scroll and scroll, and with every paragraph I read, my heart drops further through the floor. He’s not just someone with a tech background. He’s not just some guy who’s “been through a lot” and “wanted something simple.”
He’s someone else entirely. Someone famous. Wealthy. Influential.
And I know nothing about him.
Nothing true, at least.
I close the laptop and press the heels of my hands to my eyes, but the tears come anyway. Hot and angry and endless. My shoulders shake, and I hate that it still hurts this much. I thought I was smarter than this. Thought I could protect myself. But I let him in. I liked him. I trusted?—
No.
I can’t even finish the thought.
I don’t sleep. Not really. I lay there, staring at the ceiling while the world outside my window spins and spins. And even though I’m exhausted, there’s only one thing I know for sure.
I will never let myself feel this way again.
The morning slips in without my permission.
Sunlight pours through the curtains like it always does, warm and golden, but I don’t move.
For the first time since I came back to Everfield, I don’t get up early to help with breakfast or set the tables or check the morning emails.
I just lie there—still in that same wrinkled dress, my head pounding from crying and not sleeping.
A soft knock comes at the door, followed by it creaking open.
“Margot?” It’s Thea’s voice, small and hesitant.
I turn my head slowly.
She steps in, biting her lip, her arms folded tightly across her chest. “I’m sorry,” she says, walking closer. “About last night. I didn’t know it was a secret. I thought… I don’t know. I just thought you knew.”
I sit up a little, brushing hair out of my face. “It’s okay.”
“It’s really not.”
I shake my head, too tired to argue. “You didn’t lie to me, Thea. He did.”
She looks at me for a long second, then lowers herself to the foot of the bed like she used to do when we were kids and I’d get sick.
“I just want you to be okay.”
I let out a breath and whisper, “Me too.”
Neither of us says anything for a while. And honestly? The silence feels better than words.
She tries to talk to me again, but I shake my head, managing a smile. “I just want to be alone, Thea. Please.”
She nods and gets up slowly, her eyes scanning my face one last time before she walks out and closes the door behind her.
The quiet returns.
I bury my face in the pillow, trying to sleep, but my thoughts are loud and relentless.
Every time I close my eyes, I see him. His face when Thea said his name.
The way he looked at me like I was the one thing he couldn’t afford to lose.
The same way he lied, day after day, looking me straight in the eyes.
I toss. I turn. I cry into my sheets until the tears run out.
By the time I drag myself out of bed, it’s almost noon. I feel hollow and heavy at the same time. I splash water on my face, put my hair in a messy bun, and force myself to face the day—whatever’s left of it.
Downstairs, the inn smells like coffee and lemon scones. The usual comfort. The familiar hum of guests chatting in the lounge. But it all feels distant now.
Aunt Edie is the first to spot me. She lifts a brow as I pass. “Everything okay, sweetheart?”
I force a smile. “Yeah. Just didn’t sleep well.”
Mom appears from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “You look pale. Are you sick?”
“No, I’m fine,” I say quickly, before either of them can press further. “Just tired.”
They share a look, one of those quiet mother-aunt exchanges I’ve seen a thousand times, but they let it go—for now. I have a feeling they already know what the problem is; otherwise, they would have bombarded me with a million questions. But I’m grateful for their silence.
I pretend to be busy. I walk through the inn like it’s not breaking my heart to stand inside the place where I thought I’d finally found something real.
By two, I’m sitting in the office, pretending to work. My eyes scan the same line of the guest ledger for the tenth time. Nothing sticks. Everything hurts.
Then I hear a knock.
“Come in.” I plaster a smile on my face.
“Margot.” Cal peeks in, voice low, like he’s hoping I’m alone. “Can we talk?”
I lower my eyes back to the book. “I’m busy.”
He steps inside anyway. I don’t have the energy to throw him out.
“I just…” He exhales like he’s been holding his breath all day. “I didn’t come here to lie to you. I came here because I needed something real. I needed quiet. Peace. I needed to be just Cal for a while, not Cal Hale, not CEO. Just me.”
I finally glance up at him. “And you didn’t think I deserved to know who you really were?”
His expression tightens. “I didn’t think it mattered. At the time.”
“That’s exactly the problem.” My voice cracks as I stand. “It did matter. You let me open myself up to someone who didn’t even exist.”
“Margot, please—I’m real. I’m here.”
“No,” I cut him off. “I can’t do this right now. I asked you to stay away. Please respect that.”
When he makes no move to leave, I storm out of the office. Mom and Aunt Edie are standing outside like sentinels—arms crossed, faces pinched.
They definitely heard everything.
I don’t stop. I can’t. I walk right past them, pretending not to see the concern or the heartbreak etched into their aging features.
“Margot—” Mom starts.
“Not now,” I say, my voice breaking.
I head straight for my car, fumble with the keys for a second longer than I should, then shove them in and start the engine. My hands are shaking. I need to get out of here.
Everyone here knows. Everyone heard. Everyone has an opinion, probably already forming some sad little theory about why I should’ve known better or why I shouldn’t have trusted a stranger or why I should hear Cal out.
And I can’t stand it.
I need Hazel. She doesn’t live at the inn. She hasn’t heard yet. She’s the only one untouched by this whole mess.
I pull out of the driveway, tires crunching over gravel, and drive. Fast. Away from the Key & Kettle. Away from Cal. Away from the look in Mom’s eyes.
I need to fall apart somewhere safe.
I think I’m going to cry the second I see Hazel. But I don’t.
Turns out, her place is a disaster. Paint cans everywhere, brushes crusted with color, two half-dead plants leaning sideways on the windowsill like they’ve given up. There’s glitter in the kitchen sink. A pile of mismatched shoes by the couch.
And instead of falling apart, I roll up my sleeves.
We spend hours cleaning, scrubbing, laughing when a paint can explodes under my foot and splatters across the floor like it’s personally offended. Hazel puts on upbeat music—something retro and ridiculous—and we dance in the mess, hair tied up, hands stained with green and gold and dust.
It’s exactly the chaos I need. No judgment. No pity. No questions.
By the time I leave, I feel lighter. Not fixed. Not okay. But better. I wait until well after Kettle Hour is over to drive back to the inn.
The last thing I want is small talk over pastries. I’m not ready to see the guests. Not yet.
I get home way past six, and the second I step into the house, I know something’s wrong. The air feels off. Stiff. Loaded.
Ana refuses to meet my eyes.
From the kitchen, I hear my family’s voices—low, urgent, almost whispering. Then silence when they see me.
I step forward. “What?”
No one answers.
They just look at each other, shaking their heads like they’ve rehearsed how not to make it worse. But Thea steps out from behind the counter, her phone already in her hand, face pale.
She holds it out to me like a warning. Or maybe an apology.
I hesitate for a beat before I take it.
And then I see.
Photos.
Dozens of them.
Me and Cal at dinner last night—smiling, talking, kissing. Apparently, Raymond was snapping pictures the entire time. Before he even walked up to us. Probably leaked it the second we left. And now it’s everywhere. Trending. Viral.
My stomach flips.
I scroll, heart pounding in my ears. Headlines, captions, tags. Words like billionaire and secret lover and innkeeper mystery woman flashing across the screen. A hundred strangers have opinions about my life. A thousand more are reposting it.
I feel sick. And very foolish. Why did I think I could have something normal? I’ve always protected myself for a reason. This isn’t just a violation of my privacy, it’s a violation of my emotions.
I snatch the phone from Thea’s hands and storm out of the kitchen, heading to Cal’s room. My pulse is hammering, my privacy shredded, and I have a sinking feeling that this damage has just become irrevocable.