He said to meet him somewhere. But where?
I dig back into the envelope, fishing out the picture, and turn it over. On the back is Scott’s handwriting of an address in black ink. It’s back in Dallas, local—not far.
I have to go after him. But how? That penalty clause is six-figures I don’t have. How can I convince them to let me go without breaking the bank? I could sneak off, but I don’t know the first thing about driving a boat. And it’s not like I can swim. Regardless, I have to try.
The shared bedroom is dead quiet when I start yanking my things out of the nightstand and closet, shoving them into my suitcase. Everyone else is still outside at the group dinner, which is exactly what I need—ten minutes alone to pack without an audience and without having to explain myself to anyone before I’m ready.
My hands move on autopilot. Clothes, toiletries, charger, everything crammed in fast and messy. Organization and folding are out the window.
I drop onto the edge of the bed and exhale a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
The door clicks open.
One of the female producers steps in—sharp eyes, tablet in hand, the kind of calm that says she’s seen everything and is forever unfazed by even the most outrageous meltdowns. Her gaze flicks from my face to the suitcase and back.
“Everything okay, Lyla? You look like you’re about to bolt. What’s going on?”
I stand up fast. “Glad you’re here. I need to leave the villa. Right now.”
Her brow lifts slightly. “Okay, I get you. But you know the clause is two hundred?—”
“I know.” I nod. “I’d like to negotiate. There’re only two days left. Let me pay for those days, and I can do an exit interview, give you whatever exclusive you need for the finale, whatever it takes. Just process the paperwork.”
She doesn’t blink. “Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. It’s already been taken care of.”
I stop cold.
“The penalty,” she continues matter-of-factly. “We received instructions this morning to process your exit. Scott arranged to lease out a property of his to cover your clause, while he paid his penalty in full.”
The room goes very still.
“He what?”
“You’re free to leave whenever you’re ready.”
I stare at her. She stares back with that professional blank face that says she’s delivered worse news and knows better than to fill the silence.
Lease out a property? Could she mean…
It’s been sitting empty ever since. Now it doesn’t have to anymore.
I reach into the envelope and pull out the photograph. The small house in the photo in his letter. Is that what she meant? But why would he do that?
For me. He did it for me.
I feel my throat close, tears blur my vision.
“Thank you,” I manage.
“Come to the dock with your luggage when you’re ready.” She steps out, pulling the door closed behind her.
I tuck the photograph back into the envelope and finish packing.
I’m zipping the suitcase when the door opens again. I look up.
Damon steps inside, looking at me—the suitcase, my expression, the envelope on top of my clothes—before turning his gaze back on me. He doesn’t look surprised. In fact, he looks relieved.
He closes the door behind him.
