“All of it,” I whisper.“Luke, all of it was real.”
“But it started with a lie.”
“Yes.”My throat burns.“I was desperate.I made a terrible choice.”
“You studied me,” he says.“Reverse-engineered your entire personality to match mine.”
“At first.Yes.”I reach for him, but he pulls just slightly away, enough to hurt.“But then I met you.And you weren’t some typical arrogant billionaire.You were kind.And brilliant.And broken in the most human ways.”
He stares at me like he wants to believe that.Like some part of him already does.But he’s afraid.
“I told you about Veronica,” he says.“I told you what she did.What Kevin did.And still… you kept this from me.”
“I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“Igaveyou everything, Sage.I was falling for you.”His voice is hollow now.“I let you see the part of me I don’t show anyone.And you—you let me fall for something that wasn’t real.”
“Itwasreal,” I cry.“Maybe not at first.But somewhere between goat yoga and you fixing my porch light and us dancing in the kitchen, it became real.”
He looks away.“I don’t know how to do this again.I don’t know how to rebuild trust from nothing.”
“Then don’t,” I plead.“We don’t have to rebuild it all tonight.We can start small.We can starthere.”
“I can’t,” he says, so softly it shatters me.“Not when I don’t know which version of you I’m loving.”
My hand falls to my lap, useless.
“Luke…”
We sit in silence for what feels like hours but is probably only minutes.He starts the car again.The ride back to the inn is silent but suffocating.
When he parks, I reach for the handle, but pause.
"Luke," I try again.“Please don’t do this.Don’t walk away from us.”
He stares straight ahead.
“I won’t pull the SafeStay partnership,” he says.“You deserve that.The inn deserves that.But I can’t give you the rest of me.Not now.”
Tears spill down my cheeks, and I don’t bother wiping them away.
“Was,” I echo brokenly.“You said youwerefalling for me.”
“I still am,” he whispers.“That’s the problem.”
I open the door and get out on shaking legs.
He waits until I’m on the porch before driving away.
No tires squealing.No angry shouts.Just… silence.
And I stand there in the wind, the hem of my party dress soaked by the grass, while the November sky opens up like it’s mourning too.
Inside, Buttercup bleats behind the door.
“He’s gone,” I tell her, my voice catching.“And it’s my fault.”
She pushes the door open with her head and steps out into the rain beside me.
