Jack’s POV
"What happened?" Lianne asked, her voice laced with concern as she leaned forward, studying my face carefully.
I ran a hand through my hair and let out a heavy breath. "I asked one of the staff at her café. He said Charlotte hasn’t been back since the last ti she left for Paris." My voice cracked slightly at the end, and I hated how defeated I sounded.
I thought I had moved on. I convinced myself that what happened between us in Paris was just a mont — a fleeting, bittersweet mory I could bury. But the truth was, I couldn’t let her go. No matter how hard I tried, she haunted .
Lianne shook her head slowly, sympathy shining in her eyes. "It only ans one thing," she said. "She’s hiding again."
I pressed my lips into a hard line, feeling the sting of her words — because I knew she was right. Charlotte always ran when things got too real, too painful.
"I tried visiting the Divenson mansion too," I muttered, my hands curling into fists against my thighs. "But it was the sa thing. I couldn’t even get past the main gate. Security shut down before I could even explain myself."
Lianne reached over and squeezed my shoulder gently. "Jack... maybe she’s not ready to face you. Or maybe..." She hesitated. "Maybe she’s scared of what she feels."
I let out a bitter laugh. "And what about , huh? I’m scared too. Scared of wanting her. Scared of chasing soone who keeps slipping through my fingers." I leaned back, closing my eyes briefly, willing the ache in my chest to fade.
"But the worst part?" I whispered. "I’d still choose her. Over and over again. Even if it ans getting hurt."
The room fell into silence, the weight of my words hanging heavily between us. And deep down, I knew — no matter how far she ran, or how many walls she built, I would find a way to reach her.
Because Charlotte wasn’t just soone I loved. She was the part of I couldn’t live without.
"I think I should go back and settle in Magnolia for good," I said, the words falling from my mouth before I could even second-guess them. "It’s too painful working here in the city."
Lianne studied for a mont, her eyes soft with understanding. She didn’t need to ask why.
"Of course," she said, nodding. "I think that would be good for you. You’ve always loved it back in our hotown. Besides, you have managers here you can trust, and the best chefs running the place. Your presence isn’t needed every day. You can still visit the city when you want to."
Just like that, a decision that should have taken weeks, even months of planning, was made in the span of a single conversation. On impulse.
But deep down, I knew the truth — I wasn’t leaving because of business.
I was running.
Running from the ghost of Charlotte that haunted every corner of Archois City.
And so I left.
I packed up my things, handed over the daily operations to my managers, and went ho — back to Magnolia.
Back to where things felt simpler, where the mories didn’t cut so deep.
Now, here I was, managing our old family restaurant.
Mom couldn’t have been happier, beaming every ti she caught behind the kitchen counter or helping with the evening rush. It had been more than a month since I decided to return, and I tried my best to make it feel like ho again.
One afternoon, as I stood absentmindedly wiping down the counter, lost in thought, my mother approached .
"Is it because of Charlotte?" she asked gently, her voice breaking the silence. "Is that why you suddenly showed up here, telling you wanted to take over the restaurant?"
I stiffened, caught off guard. She had never questioned my decision that night I ca ho — until now.
"No," I lied without missing a beat. "It’s because of you."
Mom only smiled knowingly and shook her head. "You can’t fool , Jack. I’ve been begging you for years to co back ho, and you always had a thousand excuses. Sothing changed. And it’s not because of ."
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. So I busied myself with wiping the counter again, trying to will the conversation away.
She reached out and patted my shoulder. "It’s okay, son. You don’t have to talk about it now. But when you’re ready... I’m here."
And just like that, she walked away, leaving alone with a gnawing ache in my chest.
I sighed heavily, tossing the cloth aside and heading back into the kitchen. I didn’t have to be hands-on — not really — but cooking gave a reason to focus on sothing else, sothing that didn’t hurt.
Cooking was my only escape.
The only ti I could almost — almost — forget about her.
Almost.
Every afternoon since I returned, I found myself at the beach.
Sotis I ran until my lungs burned, other tis I just stood barefoot in the sand, watching the horizon, letting the waves erase my thoughts.
The sunset was stunning that evening — a bleeding canvas of orange and gold against the endless blue.
And yet, all I could think about was her.
Charlotte.
Her smile, her laugh, the way she used to look at as if I was the only thing that mattered in her world.
Why did she have to leave Paris that day?
I hated how those questions looped endlessly in my mind.
I wished I could go back in ti — back to that mont when she stood in front of , heartbroken and brave — and tell her everything I had kept bottled up.
Tell her I was still hopelessly, helplessly in love with her.
But I didn’t.
I let her walk away, thinking I didn’t care.
Thinking I chose everything else over her.
And now she was gone again — hiding from , from us.
She must hate that much.
And I couldn’t even bla her.
I hurt her. I broke her heart beyond repair.
And now, I was paying the price every single day.
The irony wasn’t lost on .
That stupid contract — the piece of paper that should have made everything easier — had been the very thing that brought us together... and the very thing that tore us apart.
Because of that contract, I saw the real Charlotte Divenson — not the heiress, not the perfect socialite, but the woman with a heart too big for the world she lived in.
Because of that contract, I fell in love with her. And because of that sa contract, I lost her.
I glanced down at my watch — it was almost 6:30 in the evening.
The restaurant would be packed by now, with tourists coming in after spending the day at the beach. I needed to head back and help the staff before things got too hectic.
Sure enough, as I neared the restaurant, I could already see the crowd — tourists laughing, taking photos, stepping in and out of the entrance with that familiar, relaxed glow.
It made smile.
For a brief mont, it reminded of a simpler ti — a mory that was bittersweet.
Madeline.
My first love.
It had been an unrequited love, one I had long accepted but never regretted. I had loved her with everything I had, quietly, without expecting anything in return. And if she were here now, I thought, maybe I could have poured out all the troubles weighing my heart — told her about Charlotte, about the ss I had made of everything.
But then — as if the universe heard my wish — I froze.
Because standing inside the restaurant, casually chatting with my mother, was Madeline herself.
I blinked, stunned for a mont before my legs moved on their own.
"Maddie!" I exclaid, my voice louder than intended as I hurried toward them.
She turned with a radiant smile, and before I could stop myself, I swept her into a warm embrace.
It felt like no ti had passed.
"Hi, Jack!" she said, laughing softly as I pulled away.
"I missed you," I said honestly, feeling a surge of old affection mixed with the warmth of familiarity.
"I missed you more," she replied, her eyes twinkling with the sincerity only Maddie could carry so effortlessly.
I stepped back slightly, studying her. She looked even more beautiful now — glowing, content, the kind of happiness that ca from being truly loved. I knew without a doubt Hunter was taking care of her, just as she deserved.
"Where’s Hunter?" I asked curiously.
A mischievous smile crossed her lips.
"Just ," she said. "I missed Magnolia. And... I have sothing I need to talk to you about. Alone."
There was sothing in her tone — sothing that made the back of my neck prickle with nervousness.
Before I could respond, my mother chid in with a teasing grin.
"That’s nonsense, Maddie. You can take Jack with you right now. We’ll manage without him tonight. Go on, son. Don’t make her wait."
I chuckled, feeling cornered. "Are you sure, Mom?"
She waved off like I was a child.
"I’ve been running this restaurant longer than you’ve been alive. I think I can handle a dinner rush without you for one night."
Turning back to Maddie, I asked, a bit confused, "No driver?"
She laughed a musical sound that made the restaurant seem just a little brighter.
"No driver," she said proudly. "I finally convinced my husband to let drive alone. Hunter’s in Archois right now, busy with so company matters. I missed Magnolia Village, and I begged him until he said yes. So here I am — alone, just like old tis."
I smiled, but a knot twisted in my gut.
"I don’t think that’s the only reason you’re here, Maddie," I said, searching her face carefully. There was sothing serious beneath her lighthearted tone — sothing urgent she hadn’t said yet.
She t my gaze without flinching, her smile softening into sothing more solemn.
"You’re right," she said quietly. "I ca because of Charlotte."
At the ntion of her na, every muscle in my body stiffened.
I gripped the back of the nearest chair to steady myself, feeling a rush of fear — and sothing else I didn’t dare na yet — creeping up my spine.
Charlotte.
Even after all this ti, even after all the pain, her na alone could unravel .
I stared at Maddie, my heart pounding, terrified of what she might say next — but unable to stop the fragile flicker of hope that dared to burn inside my chest.
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