Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Summer
It had been ten years since Malcolm left.
Ten years since that final day at the foster home, since the last hug that lingered too long, since the last promise he made.
I had thought about him occasionally over the years, but time had a way of dulling things, pushing memories to the back of my mind until they felt more like stories from another life.
Now, at twenty-six, my life was far from the one I had as a teenager. I had built something solid, something stable. I had fought for my career, for the kids I helped every day, and I had made peace with the past—or so I had convinced myself.
But tonight, sitting on my couch in an oversized hoodie, wrapped in a blanket with a glass of wine in my hand, I wasn’t thinking about the past. I was too focused on the ridiculous reality show playing on my TV, where two women were screaming at each other over a stolen boyfriend.
Olivia, my best friend and favorite pain in the ass, sat beside me, her feet propped up on my coffee table, swirling her own glass of wine like she was some kind of high-class critic.
"You know," Olivia said, not taking her eyes off the TV, "I feel like we’ve done this exact thing every Friday night for the past two years."
I didn’t look away from the screen. "And?"
"And maybe—just maybe—it’s time you did something else for a change. Like, I don’t know, went on an actual date?"
I groaned, pressing the remote against my forehead. "Not this again."
"Yes, this again," Olivia said, shifting so she could face me fully. "Summer, you haven’t dated in forever."
"I’ve been busy."
"You’ve been hiding," she corrected, pointing at me with her wine glass. "From men, from relationships, from anything remotely resembling a love life. And for what? Work? This couch? This god-awful reality show?"
I gestured at the screen. "This is quality entertainment."
"This is a cry for help," Olivia deadpanned, setting her wine down before hugging a throw pillow to her chest. "Babe, you’re gorgeous, you’re brilliant, and yet the last time you were remotely interested in a guy was probably high school."
I rolled my eyes. "That’s not true."
She gave me a knowing look. "Oh really? Name one serious relationship you’ve had in the past five years."
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Took a long sip of wine instead.
"Exactly," Olivia said smugly. "You, my dear, are tragically single, and I refuse to let you die alone with thirty cats."
"I like cats," I muttered.
"Not the point." Olivia stretched, then turned her mischievous gaze on me. "You know who you did have a thing for?"
I already knew where this was going. "Nope. Don’t say it."
She grinned. "Oh, I’m absolutely saying it. Malcolm Sinclair."
I groaned, covering my face with my hands. "Why do you even remember that?"
"Because I have a fantastic memory, and because teenage you was low-key obsessed with him."
"I was not obsessed!"
"You totally were. You followed him around like a lost puppy."
I gasped, throwing a pillow at her face. "That is so inaccurate!"
She caught it effortlessly, laughing before wiggling her eyebrows. "You ever wondered what happened to him?"
I hesitated for a fraction of a second too long.
Olivia caught it instantly.
Her eyes widened. "OH. MY. GOD. You totally still think about him!"
I scoffed, but my face betrayed me. "I do not."
"You do."
"I don’t!"
"You soooo do."
I grabbed another pillow and whacked her with it. "Shut up!"
She giggled, then suddenly grabbed my phone off the table before I could stop her.
"Oh, we are so doing this," she announced.
"Olivia, no." I lunged for the phone, but she dodged me, holding it just out of reach.
"Let’s just see if he’s alive!" she argued, typing rapidly.
"Olivia, I swear to?—"
And then she froze.
I stilled, watching her eyes widen slightly as she stared at the screen.
She turned the phone toward me.
And I forgot how to breathe.
Malcolm Sinclair.
There he was, staring back at me from a Forbes cover, dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit, powerful, poised, completely untouchable. The headline read: “The Billionaire Who Came from Nothing: Malcolm Sinclair’s Rise to the Top.”
My mouth went dry.
I blinked at the photo, then at the long list of articles, interviews, and features dedicated to him.
CEO. Billionaire investor. One of the most powerful men in the country.
And the photos.
One after another of him in luxury hotels, standing beside important people, sitting at extravagant galas, walking out of black cars in cities around the world.
And then there were the women—supermodels, actresses, socialites—all linked to him in some way, appearing in articles like “Malcolm Sinclair’s New Mystery Woman” and “The Most Eligible Billionaire”.
Olivia let out a slow, impressed whistle. "Holy. Shit. Your boy got an upgrade."
I swallowed, not sure what to feel.
"Okay, wow," Olivia said, scrolling further. "This man is stupid rich. Like, beyond rich. Like, a private-jet-owning, world-traveling, billion-dollar-empire kind of rich."
"He probably doesn’t even remember me," I mumbled, barely recognizing my own voice.
Olivia smirked. "Oh, you keep telling yourself that."
I reached for the phone, closing the screen before I could see anything else.
My chest felt weird, tight, like something I didn’t know how to name.
It had been ten years. Malcolm was in a different world now, a world that had nothing to do with me.
He wasn’t the boy from the foster home anymore.
He wasn’t the boy who had promised to be a better man when he saw me again.
And yet, the past suddenly didn’t feel as far away as it used to.
I set my phone down, exhaling sharply before grabbing my wine glass and taking a long, slow sip. "Doesn’t matter," I muttered.
But the truth was, it did.
And I had no idea why.