Loving Madeline

Chapter 367: Leave Or Stay

My mind was no longer in the function hall. The air buzzed with chatter, laughter, and the excited whispers of the girls who couldn’t stop themselves from ogling my ex.

I clenched my jaw, gripping my pen so tightly my knuckles turned white. Pathetic. That’s what they were—fawning over him as if he were the only man in the room. But what made it worse?

I understood them.

Against my will, my eyes lifted, betraying me, and the moment I saw him—saw Jack—smiling at those girls like he was enjoying every second of their attention, my heart clenched.

A sharp sting of hurt pierced through me. Not once had he looked in my direction. Not even a fleeting glance. It was as if I wasn’t even there and didn’t exist to him anymore.

And maybe I didn’t.

The seminar continued, the woman instructor’s voice fading into background noise as she turned the floor over to Jack. My stomach twisted as he stepped forward, commanding the room with his presence as always. I should have been used to it by now—how he could own a space without trying, the way people naturally gravitated toward him.

But it wasn’t them I was angry at.

It was him.

It was myself.

A wave of frustration rolled through me. I wanted to leave desperately. I tried to walk out and disappear before my emotions got the best of me, but I wouldn’t. I refused.

Jack had already broken my heart once.

He had no right to make me run.

So, instead, I straightened my back, lifted my chin, and forced myself to stay rooted in my seat. If he wanted to pretend I didn’t exist, then fine. I could do the same.

Or at least, I’d pretend I could.

Relief flooded through me the moment the seminar ended. I didn’t waste a second—I grabbed my things and abruptly left the function hall, ignoring the lingering voices and laughter behind me.

The girls called after me, inviting me to dinner. Their voices were light and excited, but I could barely process their words. Forcing a smile, I nodded. "I’ll meet you at the restaurant."

It was a lie—or at least a temporary one. I needed space first.

I went to my hotel room, my heels clicking against the polished floors in sharp, hurried beats. As soon as I stepped inside, I shut the door behind me, leaning against it for a moment, exhaling heavily.

Frustration simmered beneath my skin, hot and relentless. But beyond that—beneath the anger and irritation—was something worse. Hurt.

I was angry at Jack, yes. But what burned even more was the way he had acted. The way he had seen me—because I know he did—but chose to pretend otherwise.

I had been sitting right there. My nameplate was in front of me. There was no way he didn’t recognize me.

And yet, it was as if I had been invisible to him.

The realization cut deeper than I wanted to admit.

This was what I wanted. I was the one who ended things. I called off our wedding, chose to walk away, and convinced myself that moving on was the best thing for both of us.

Then why did it feel like he was the one who had left me behind?

Why did it hurt so much that he never glanced in my direction, acknowledged me, or called my name?

He had invited nearly everyone to participate in his discussion—cracking jokes, engaging with the audience—yet I had been nothing more than a shadow in the room.

Like I never mattered to him at all.

A sharp lump formed in my throat, and I swallowed hard, pushing off the door. I refused to let my emotions win. I would not let him have that power over me again.

Straightening my posture, I walked to the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face, and met my reflection in the mirror. My expression was carefully composed, but my eyes—my eyes—told another story.

I hated that he could still get to me.

I hated that I still cared.

But most of all, I hated the gnawing ache in my chest that whispered the one thing I didn’t want to admit.

I missed him.

And I wasn’t sure if I would ever stop.

I didn’t want to join the others.

I told myself I’d stay in my room, let the night pass, and avoid any chance of running into Jack again. But as I sat alone in the silence of my hotel suite, staring at the untouched dinner menu on the nightstand, an uncomfortable weight settled in my chest.

Loneliness.

The realization made me sigh. I had spent years convincing myself that I was fine on my own—that I didn’t need anyone. And yet, sitting there, wrapped in my thoughts, I felt nothing but fine.

Before I could change my mind, I pushed off the bed and headed to my suitcase. If I was going to go out, I was going to do it right. I rifled through my clothes until my fingers brushed against a sleek black mini-dress that hugged my curves in all the right places. Perfect.

Tonight wasn’t about Jack. It wasn’t about the past. It was about me.

With renewed determination, I changed quickly, touching up my makeup before slipping into a pair of heels. I took one last glance in the mirror and forced myself to smile. You are here to enjoy Paris. Act like it.

When I arrived at the restaurant, the lively hum of conversation and the warm glow of candlelight instantly made me feel lighter. My new acquaintances spotted me almost immediately.

"We thought you weren’t coming!" one of the girls—Sophia, I think—called out, her eyes bright with excitement.

I let out a soft laugh, slipping into an empty seat. "I wouldn’t miss good food and good company. And besides, Paris deserves to be enjoyed."

A chorus of agreement followed, and I allowed myself to be swept into the moment just like that.

The laughter, the clinking of glasses, the delicious aroma of French cuisine—all of it was a welcome distraction. For the first time that day, I felt myself beginning to relax.

But no matter how much I tried to push him from my thoughts, a part of me couldn’t stop wondering where Jack was. And more importantly, was he thinking about me too?

"Get a grip, Charlotte!" I scolded myself, forcing a smile as I straightened in my seat.

I had promised myself I wouldn’t think about Jack tonight. I had dressed up, come out, and surrounded myself with people for a reason—to enjoy the night, to remind myself that there was more to my life than the man who had broken my heart.

And yet, no matter how hard I tried, my thoughts circled back to him. To the way he had ignored me earlier. To the way his voice had commanded the room but never once acknowledged my presence. To the painful truth that maybe, just maybe, I had been the only one left stuck in the past.

Clinking glasses and lively conversation brought me back to the present. The warm glow of candlelight flickered against the elegant white tablecloth, and the scent of wine and freshly baked bread filled the air. This was Paris—the city of love, beauty, and endless possibilities. I refused to let my mind ruin this for me.

"What do you want to order?" Sophia asked, glancing at me over her menu.

I blinked, realizing I hadn’t even looked at mine.

"Good question," I murmured, quickly scanning the options. The words blurred together for a moment before I forced myself to focus. "What’s the most indulgent thing on this menu?"

Sophia grinned. "Now that’s the right attitude!"

The others laughed, and I felt a flicker of ease settle over me for the first time that night. Maybe I could enjoy myself. Maybe, if I tried hard enough, I could push Jack out of my mind for tonight.

But as I reached for my glass of wine, my fingers trembled slightly.

And deep down, I knew that no matter how much I tried to pretend otherwise, a part of me was still waiting.

Waiting for a sign and foolishly waiting for him.

Am I late?"

The deep, familiar voice cut through the air like a knife, freezing me in place.

Every muscle in my body went rigid, my breath catching in my throat. For a moment, I thought I had imagined it—that my mind was playing cruel tricks on me. But as the room quieted just slightly, as footsteps moved closer, I knew.

It was Jack. The one person I had spent the entire night trying to forget. And yet, he was effortlessly unraveling all my carefully built walls with just the sound of his voice.

Jack, I’m so glad you could make it!" Sophia chimed, her voice laced with excitement as she stood up, cheeks flushed with a rosy hue.

Around the table, the energy shifted instantly. The girls practically lit up at his arrival, their eyes sparkling with anticipation, their giggles soft yet unmistakable. They were excited he was here. Thrilled, even.

Meanwhile, I sat frozen in my seat, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure someone could hear it.

Of course, he would show up. Of course, he would walk into the one place I had convinced myself was safe from him tonight.

My fingers curled around the stem of my wine glass, but I barely registered its coolness against my palm. I should have done something or said something, but my mind was blank, scrambled by the sudden weight of his presence.

Jack hadn’t noticed me yet. Or if he had, he was doing an excellent job of pretending otherwise, just like earlier at the hotel function hall.

And for some reason, that stung more than it should have.

I forced myself to breathe, to act normal. But how was I supposed to do that when the man who once meant everything to me had just walked in as if he still belonged here? As if his presence didn’t unravel every bit of control, I had struggled to maintain all evening?

I glanced down at my untouched plate, suddenly losing my appetite.

The laughter, the chatter—it all became background noise as I debated my next move.

Should I stand up and leave? Would that make it obvious that I was affected?

Or should I stay and pretend like his arrival didn’t bother me in the slightest?

I swallowed hard, gripping my glass tighter.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?