Chapter 22
ALICE
The private jet touches down on the Seattle tarmac with barely a bump, a testament to Oscar's pilot's skill — or perhaps to the ridiculous amount of money Oscar pays for perfection in all things.
Not that I'm complaining. After three blissful days in San Diego, I've grown accustomed to the luxuries that come with dating a billionaire.
Dating. The word still feels strange, inadequate for whatever this is between us.
"What are you smiling about?" Oscar whispers against my ear, his arm wrapped firmly around my waist as we wait for the plane to taxi to its final position.
"Just thinking about how much I already hate flying commercial," I tease, turning to meet his gaze. "You've ruined me."
His eyes crinkle at the corners as he laughs. "Give me time. I'll ruin you in all sorts of ways."
"Promise?" I murmur, leaning in for a kiss that he eagerly returns.
It's ridiculous how we can't keep our hands off each other.
Three days of barely leaving the beach house — of making love on every available surface, of talking until dawn about everything we missed in each other's lives over the time apart, of simply being together — and I still want more.
It's like my body is trying to make up for lost time, greedily consuming every touch, every glance, every kiss.
The plane finally stops, and the pilot's voice comes over the intercom announcing our arrival.
"Back to reality," Oscar sighs, pressing his forehead against mine. "You ready?"
"Not even close," I admit. "Can we turn around and go back?"
His smile is tender, almost vulnerable in a way that still surprises me. "Tempting. But I seem to recall someone lecturing me a few days ago about responsibility and work ethic…"
I groan. "I hate it when you use my own words against me."
The flight attendant discreetly clears her throat, informing us that we're clear to disembark. Oscar takes my hand as we descend the stairs to the tarmac, the Seattle drizzle feeling weird and out of place after the San Diego sunshine.
"Where's our ride?" I ask, noticing the absence of a car.
Oscar checks his phone, frowning slightly. "Running a few minutes late, apparently. Traffic is bad." He glances at his watch, then at me. "I need to make a quick call to check in with the office. I won’t be long.”
"Go ahead," I wave him off. "Take as long as you need. I should probably check my messages anyway. I've been ignoring the world for days."
He kisses me quickly before walking several yards away, phone already pressed to his ear, instantly shifting into business mode. I smile to myself, enjoying the view of his backside just as much as the view of his face.
I wasn’t kidding – I’m really not ready to go back to reality. I know that once I jump in, though, it’ll get easier. Like a pool that’s cold at first, but you just need to submerge yourself into. I love my job, love my career.
It’s just not the only thing I’m waking up for anymore, and while that’s weird, I also love it. A lot.
I pull out my own phone, which has been off since our second day in San Diego — a deliberate decision we both made to fully disconnect.
As soon as it powers up, it begins buzzing frantically with notifications.
Most are work emails that can wait, but I notice six missed calls from Sydney and a text from her that simply reads: Call me ASAP. Emergency.
My heart rate spikes. Sydney doesn't panic easily. If she's calling this an emergency, something is seriously wrong.
I dial her immediately, stepping further away from Oscar to hear better over the wind.
"Alice! Finally!" Sydney answers on the first ring, her voice strained.
"What's wrong? Are you okay?" A half dozen scenarios race through my mind, ranging from her being in the hospital after an accident, to Rooted Pantry’s offices having burned to the ground.
"I'm… well, no. I've been better." She takes a shaky breath. "They're gutting the place, Alice. Mass layoffs. Started yesterday morning."
My blood turns to ice. This doesn’t make sense. Who is gutting the place? Oscar is in charge, and he’s been with me. There has to have been a misunderstanding.
"What? What are you talking about? Who's being laid off?"
"Almost half the team. Marketing took the biggest hit — they're 'restructuring' us into Oscar's existing marketing department." Her voice is bitter. “They're calling it 'streamlining operations'."
I feel dizzy, like the ground is tilting beneath my feet. "Are you—"
"Yeah. I got my notice this morning. Thirty days and a 'generous' severance package." Her laugh is hollow. "They said Oscar's existing team will handle our responsibilities moving forward."
"That's impossible," I whisper, my gaze automatically seeking out Oscar's figure in the distance. He's pacing back and forth, gesturing animatedly into his phone. "He promised me…"
"Did Oscar say anything about this?” She asks.
I can't answer. My mind is racing, piecing together the timeline. It's all too convenient — the romantic getaway, keeping me distracted and unreachable while his team executed layoffs that they knew I would fight tooth and nail against, were I in town.
"Alice?" Sydney's voice pulls me back. "Are you still there?"
"I have to go," I manage to say, despite the way my voice shakes. "I'll call you back."
I end the call and stand frozen, staring at Oscar.
All those sweet words, those promises about respecting my vision for Rooted Pantry, about wanting to build something together — was it all just a calculated distraction?
A way to keep me occupied while he did exactly what I feared from the beginning?
The betrayal cuts deeper than I could have imagined. More painful because I actually believed him this time. I let myself fall for him, opened myself up completely, while he was orchestrating the dismantling of the team I spent years building.
Oscar finishes his call and turns toward me, smiling briefly before his expression shifts to concern. He must see something in my face because he quickly walks over.
"Alice? What's wrong?"
"You tell me," I say, my voice deadly quiet. "Did you enjoy our little vacation?"
His brow furrows in confusion. "Of course I did. What are you—"
"It must have been so convenient," I continue, my voice growing stronger as anger replaces shock. "Having me tucked away in San Diego, unreachable, while you gutted my team."
“What are you…”’ He trails off, eyes going wide, understanding dawning on his face. "The restructuring? Alice, I can explain—"
"Explain?" I laugh, the sound sharp and brittle. "What's there to explain? You promised me creative control. You said you wouldn't destroy what I built. And the moment my back is turned, you axe half my team. Including Sydney."
"That's not what happened," he insists, reaching for me. I step back, out of his reach. "I didn't authorize those layoffs. I was going to tell you—"
"When? After they'd all cleaned out their desks? After you'd replaced them with your yes-men?" The hurt is overwhelming, threatening to choke me. "You know what the worst part is? I actually believed you this time. I thought you'd changed."
"I have changed," he pleads, his eyes desperate. "Alice, please, just listen—"
"To what? More lies?" I shake my head, backing further away. "You used me, Oscar. You distracted me with… with romance and sex while you flushed away everything I care about."
"That's not true!" He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. "The board presented that plan last week. I never approved it—"
"But you never rejected it either, did you?
" I shoot back, watching his face fall. Yep - I've hit the mark. And we haven’t even addressed the fact that there must have been some secret board meeting I wasn’t invited to.
"You just sat on it, waiting for the right moment.
Waiting for me to be conveniently out of the way. "
"It wasn't like that," he says, his voice quieter now. "I was trying to find another solution, a compromise—"
"Save it." I hold up my hand, unable to bear any more. "I told myself that I'd never let you hurt me again. Shame on me for forgetting that lesson."
I see a car approaching — our ride, finally arriving. But I can't get into a car with him. I can't sit next to him pretending everything's fine while my life is falling apart again. I take a few steps back, holding in the tears that I refuse to let him see.
"Alice, please. Don't walk away. Not again." His voice breaks, and for a split second, I waver.
But then I think of Sydney, of all the others who trusted me to protect them, who are now losing their jobs because I was too busy falling back in love with the man who betrayed me once before.
The man who probably doesn’t even like me.
All of those whispered sweet nothings were a sham, a distraction technique.
"I'm not the one who walks away, Oscar. That's always been you." I take one final look at him, committing to memory the pain in his eyes, the desperation in his posture.
Good. "Goodbye," I tell him.
I turn and walk away, not toward the approaching car but toward the airport terminal. I'll find my own way home. I'll figure out my next steps alone, like I always have.
He calls my name, but I don't look back. I can't. Because if I do — if I see his face, if I let him explain — I might believe him again. And I can't afford to make that mistake a third time.
The wind whips around me as I stride across the tarmac, tears blurring my vision.
Three days ago, I thought I'd finally found everything I wanted.
Now I'm left with nothing but the taste of betrayal and the sinking realization that some wounds never truly heal — they just wait for the perfect moment to tear open again.