Loving Madeline

Chapter 369: Not My Type

Charlotte’s POV

I couldn’t believe it. Out of all the people here, one of the girls actually gave up her seat—so that he could sit down.

And now, I was, sitting across from the one person I never thought I’d face again. Jack Morigan.

My ex.

The man who once promised me forever and shattered it like it was nothing.

The air between us felt suffocating, and the chatter and laughter around the table faded into a dull hum. All I could hear was the frantic pounding of my heart as his eyes met mine, those same familiar eyes I once adored.

And then he smiled. That same infuriatingly charming smile that used to make me weak.

Before I could react, he casually extended his hand across the table. His voice was calm and smooth as if we were strangers meeting for the first time.

"Jack Morigan," he said.

I blinked, frozen for a second, unsure if I’d heard him right. But the name rang in my ears like a cruel joke.

My entire body tensed as heat rushed to my face while a chilling cold settled deep in my chest. How dare he?

The audacity of him sitting there pretending like he didn’t know me, like I was just another face in the crowd as if our past didn’t exist, as if the years we spent together, the love we shared, and the heartbreak he caused meant nothing.

Anger flared in my chest, burning hot and fast.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to slap that smug smile right off his face. But instead, I sat there, clenching my fists beneath the table, swallowing down the storm rising inside me.

Because the one thing I refused to do was let him see just how much he still affected me.

I didn’t want to take his hand. Every bone in my body screamed at me to ignore him, to leave his hand hanging in the air. But before I could move, Sofia nudged me playfully, her giggle breaking through the tension.

"Come on, Charlotte," she whispered, oblivious to the storm inside me.

Reluctantly, I placed my hand in his, forcing a small smile as I fought to keep my voice steady. "Charlotte," I said softly, barely managing to get the word out. My throat felt tight, my heart pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it.

His fingers closed around mine, and it felt warm, firm, and far too familiar. Then, his response came, smooth and deliberate.

"It’s nice to meet you, Charlotte," he murmured, his gaze never leaving mine.

Something about the way he said it made my skin crawl and my chest ache all at once. It was as if he was taunting me, fully aware of who I was and the history we shared, and still pretending we were strangers.

And the worst part? He didn’t let go.

For a moment too long, his hand lingered, his thumb brushing lightly against my skin.

It took every ounce of strength I had to pull my hand away. I swallowed hard as I quickly dropped my gaze to the plate in front of me. I suddenly found the pattern on the tablecloth far more interesting than anything else in the room.

I stayed quiet as we ate dinner, refusing to look up and give him the satisfaction of seeing how much his presence was unraveling me from the inside.

But the moment the opportunity came, I took it.

I pushed back my chair and forced a polite smile. "Excuse me," I mumbled, barely loud enough for anyone to hear. "I just need to use the restroom."

No one questioned me. Not even Sofia.

Without looking back, I walked away—my heart racing, my chest tightening—as I fought back the tears threatening to fall.

I needed space. I needed air.

And most of all, I needed to survive this night without completely falling apart.

"Oh my God, Charlotte! Jack Morigan is so into you!" Sofia’s excited squeal echoed through the restroom as she found me hovering by the sink, pretending to wash my hands for the third time.

I stiffened, forcing a neutral expression as I glanced at her reflection in the mirror. "I’m not interested in him," I mumbled, avoiding her gaze as I focused on the water running over my hands.

Sofia gasped dramatically. "Come on! You told me just yesterday that you’re single. Single! Meanwhile, we’re all practically throwing ourselves at him... and you? You just ignore the guy everyone here is obsessed with." Her voice rose with disbelief, and a pout formed on her lips.

I sighed, grabbing a paper towel and wiping my hands slowly, stalling. "He’s... not my type, Sofia," I said carefully, keeping my voice level. "His arrogance annoys me."

Sofia’s eyes widened like I’d just insulted royalty. "Arrogant? Really?" she repeated, almost offended. "You think he’s arrogant?"

"I don’t know him personally," I added, trying to soften my words. "I’ve only met him in Paris, but it’s obvious, right? He knows he’s good-looking; he knows everyone’s watching him. That kind of confidence... it just comes off as arrogance."

But Sofia shook her head, her expression softening. "You’re wrong, Char. I’ve watched him, too... but there’s more to him. You’d see it if you’d just give him a chance."

I gave her a polite smile, the kind you give when you don’t want to argue but have no intention of agreeing. I knew Sofia. She was the type who romanticized every handsome man she met, and Jack Morigan was no exception.

"Let’s just go back," I muttered, dodging the conversation before it could spiral into one of her persuasive lectures about giving men "a chance."

We walked back to the table together, and as expected, the girls were still swooning—eyes locked on Jack like he was the last man on earth. Every laugh, every flip of their hair, every not-so-subtle glance was thrown his way.

I kept my eyes low, pretending to scroll through my phone, though the screen was nothing but my blank home screen. Social media was a minefield I didn’t dare step into tonight, but right now, it was the only shield I had.

They talked about him openly, like he wasn’t just a few tables away. Whispering about his hands, his smile, how the way he held a knife should be illegal. I bit the inside of my cheek, forcing myself not to react.

The longer I sat there, the heavier the air around me felt. I wasn’t sure if it was the suffocating perfume of desperation or my irritation bubbling beneath the surface.

Eventually—finally—the conversation died down. The check arrived, and everyone reluctantly agreed to call it a night.

Before anyone could utter another word, I grabbed my bag and stood. "I’ll head out first," I said quickly, quiet but firm. I didn’t wait for their goodbyes; I didn’t wait to see their disappointed looks.

They were too busy watching the Hot Chef anyway.

Good.

I walked away from the table, keeping my pace steady even as my heart thudded uncomfortably in my chest. I didn’t know why Jack Morigan, my ex, would make it. I still feel this way

And the worst part? Somehow, I wasn’t sure if it was annoyance or something else entirely.

I was walking back toward my hotel, trying to enjoy the quiet of the night. The air was cool, the streets were mostly empty, and for once, Paris felt calm—almost peaceful.

But that peace shattered the moment I heard it.

Footsteps.

Slow at first... but steady.

I froze for half a second, then forced myself to walk faster, convincing myself it was nothing. Maybe another tourist is heading back late, just like me.

But the footsteps matched my pace.

My chest tightened, my heart thundering against my ribs. I quickened my steps, but so did he. The sound of shoes hitting the pavement grew louder and closer. I didn’t dare look back.

Before I could think to run, a figure stepped in front of me—blocking my path.

I stumbled back, eyes darting up to meet his.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Nothing was friendly in his face—just a twisted smile and eyes too dark to read. My gut screamed danger.

"What’s your name, girl?" he asked, voice low and taunting.

Instinctively, my fingers curled tighter around my purse, knuckles turning white.

"I... Patricia," I blurted out the first name that came to mind, my voice trembling.

He laughed—loud, mocking—as he shook his head. "Patricia, huh?" he sneered. "You think I’m stupid? Even you don’t believe that’s your name."

I swallowed hard, trying not to show the fear clawing at my throat.

"I’m just... interested in getting to know you," he said, his tone shifting—sharp, irritated. "Come on... the night’s still young. Let’s have some fun."

Before I could move, his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around my wrist in a bruising grip. I gasped, instinctively trying to pull away, but he held firm, his grin widening as he yanked me a step closer.

Panic surged through me.

"Let go of me—"

"Leave my girlfriend alone!"

The voice rang out sharp, commanding, slicing through the night like a blade.

The man flinched, his head snapping toward the sound—his grip loosening just enough for me to stumble back.

Within seconds, he released me entirely and took off running, disappearing down a dark alley without another word.

I stood there, breathless, my heart racing as I tried to process what just happened.

"Thank you," I mumbled, my voice barely audible as I kept my gaze down, too shaken to look up.

But I knew that voice.

I knew who stood there.

Jack Morigan.

Silent. Steady. Protective.

At that moment, I wasn’t sure if I felt relieved or something far more dangerous, but I was grateful he was with me.