Loving Madeline

Chapter 375: She Left

Jack’s POV

I couldn’t believe Charlotte Divenson, dancing with me like I wasn’t her ex like I wasn’t the man she once promised to hate for the rest of her life. Maybe it was the alcohol loosening her edges, or maybe—just maybe—she finally let her guard down long enough to feel what was still there between us.

And God, I loved every damn second of it.

She smiled at me, not the fake kind she used in public—but the real one. The one I hadn’t seen since before everything went to hell. When she let me touch her waist and pull her closer, she didn’t resist. Her eyes met mine and she didn’t look away. She wanted this.

Her body fit against mine like it always had—too perfect to forget. Too familiar to ignore. We moved in sync like we were slipping back into something dangerous. Something unfinished. And the more I felt her soften under my hands, the more I couldn’t stop myself from hoping... maybe this was the beginning of something new. Or the continuation of something we both never really let go of.

I didn’t want to think about the consequences—not yet. I just hoped she wouldn’t regret this come morning.

We left the bar in a rush like the night couldn’t keep up with the heat between us. The tension was thick, unspoken but undeniable. Inside the elevator, I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned to her, heart pounding like I was eighteen again, and kissed her.

She didn’t pull away.

She kissed me back. Fierce. Starved. Like she’d been holding herself back for too long.

Her fingers tangled in my shirt as her lips molded to mine, and I knew then—this wasn’t just about lust. This was everything we’d buried. Everything we were too damn proud to admit we missed.

And in that moment, I didn’t care where we were headed. I just knew I wasn’t letting her go this time—not without a fight.

I was still in awe, completely entranced, as I watched her move through the soft glow of the suite’s dim lighting. Charlotte—bare, unguarded, breathtaking—stood like a vision I had only ever dreamed of touching again. Her silhouette glowed in the shadows, every curve of her body etched into my memory like a masterpiece I could never forget.

I had memorized her once. Every line, every freckle, every soft sigh she used to make when she was mine. But seeing her now, raw and real before me, stripped not just of clothes but of everything that ever stood between us—I felt my throat tighten, my breath catch. She was perfect. She is perfect. And she’s here, in my arms again.

My heart was pounding, my chest full of something far heavier than lust. I loved her. Still. Always.

I moved to her without a word, letting my lips worship every inch of her skin. Slowly. Tenderly. With reverence like I was touching something sacred. She surrendered to me completely—no hesitation, no barriers. And in that moment, we weren’t two broken people trying to forget the past. We were just us. Tangled in sheets, in longing, in something that had never really died.

When it was over—though nothing about it felt like an end—she curled into me like she belonged there, her skin pressed against mine, her breath warm against my chest.

My arms wrapped around her instinctively, protectively, like I was afraid she’d disappear if I let go.

She didn’t say anything, and neither did I. We didn’t need words.

Because in that silence, I felt it all—how alive she made me feel, how happy I was just to hold her again, and how terrified I was that this moment would slip away by morning.

But for now, she was here.

And for the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

Then I woke up—alone.

The other side of the bed was cold. Empty. And the moment I realized she was gone, a hollow ache settled in my chest.

Charlotte.

I sat up slowly, running a hand through my hair as the weight of the silence around me sank in. The space that held her last night was now just linen and shadows. I scanned the room for any sign of her—her bag, her shoes, even a note—but there was nothing. Not a trace.

Part of me wanted to believe she had just stepped out, maybe to grab a coffee or get ready for the seminar. But the larger part of me—the one that knew her too well—feared the truth.

I should have seen this coming.

Still, I got up, forced myself to shower, and threw on fresh clothes, though every movement felt mechanical. I lingered at her door, hesitant, my fist hovering inches from the wood. I stood there far too long, waiting—hoping. But I never knocked. Cowardice or self-preservation, I wasn’t sure.

Eventually, I turned away and made my way to the restaurant.

She wasn’t there either.

I scanned the room, my chest tightening at every table she wasn’t sitting at. Maybe she was still asleep. Or maybe she had already gone to the function hall. I ordered coffee but barely touched it. My appetite was gone. I kept checking the entrance, every movement catching my eye. But it was never her.

I told myself to be patient. I had a lecture to deliver. So I made my way to the hall.

"Good morning, Jack!" Sophia greeted cheerfully.

I managed a half-smile. "Good morning," I said, my gaze scanning the room even before I stepped fully inside. Still no sign of her.

I waited. I delayed starting the session, hoping—willing—her to walk in, even a minute late. But the time came, and I had to begin. Words spilled from my mouth out of habit, but my mind was elsewhere. My heart wasn’t in it.

When I finished, I could barely hide my disappointment.

I approached Sophia quietly. "Have you seen Charlotte?"

She gave me a sympathetic look. "I’m sorry, Jack... she left this morning. She checked out early."

The world fell silent for a second. My jaw tightened.

She left.

No goodbye. No explanation. Nothing but silence in her wake.

So that was it.

What we shared last night—what I thought was something meaningful—was just another fleeting moment to her. A night of nostalgia and nothing more.

I thought she felt something. I was wrong.

I left Paris with a broken heart. And I was back in Archois City. I walked into my restaurant with a heavy heart. Lianne greeted me the moment I stepped inside.

"How was Paris?" she asked, her eyes lighting up.

"It was fine," I muttered, trying to shrug off the lump in my throat. I had flown home with excitement, eager to tell her about Charlotte. About how we reconnected. About how, just for one night, everything felt like it used to—like it could be again.

But now... what was there to tell?

"She’s gone," I wanted to say. "She left without a word, and it wrecked me."

But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

"No love interest?" she asked with a teasing grin.

"I didn’t go there to find a woman, Lianne. I was a speaker. I stayed in my hotel room after the lectures." I lied smoothly, hoping she’d let it go.

But she narrowed her eyes, unconvinced. "Come on, something definitely happened out there."

I sighed and turned away. "I’m tired from the flight. I don’t have time for your interrogations right now."

I walked past her and headed straight for the kitchen. I needed the noise. The heat. The distraction of sharp knives and boiling pans. Cooking had always grounded me—it was the one place where I could lose myself and forget.

And for a while, it worked.

But when the day ended, and I was finally alone again in my apartment—Charlotte came rushing back.

Her laugh.

Her skin.

The way she kissed me was like the world was on fire.

She was everywhere. And I couldn’t turn it off.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, and wondered how long it would take before I could forget her all over again.

Aren’t you going to tell me what’s wrong with you?" Lianne asked as she leaned against the counter, arms crossed, her eyes watching me closely.

I tried to dodge the question by pretending to focus on the sauce simmering in front of me, but I should’ve known better—Lianne was never one to let things slide.

"You came back a different man, Jack," she continued, softer now, but still firm. "At first, I thought maybe you had finally moved on from her. But you came back exactly like the man who stood in silence after Charlotte left you at the manor."

Her words struck deeper than I expected.

I set the ladle down and sighed, rubbing a hand across my jaw. There was no point in lying anymore to my sister, not to her, and not to myself.

So I told her everything.

About Paris. About Charlotte. About the night we spent together, the way she looked at me, the way she touched me like we still mattered. Like we’d never truly broken.

Lianne didn’t interrupt me once. She just listened. And when I finished, she exhaled and shook her head.

"Oh, Jack..." she said with a sad smile. "You don’t see it, do you?"

I frowned. "See what?"

"She still loves you."

I blinked at her, taken aback. "What?"

"She wouldn’t have slept with you if she hated you," Lianne said bluntly like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You think Charlotte’s the kind of woman who gives herself like that out of boredom? You don’t know her at all if you believe that."

"Come on, Lianne," I muttered, brushing her off. "She left. Again. No goodbye. No note. Just gone."

And instead of agreeing with me, she laughed.

I narrowed my eyes. "What’s so funny?"

"I just can’t believe you’re still this naive about women," she said through her grin. "You cook like a genius and talk like a romantic, but when it comes to feelings? You’re completely clueless."

I raised my eyebrows and stared at her, waiting for an explanation.

"She left," Lianne said, voice gentler now, "because she was scared. Because maybe she realized that what you two had... it never really left. And maybe, just maybe, she was terrified you didn’t feel the same way. That she gave herself to you and it didn’t mean as much to you as it did to her."

That idea made my chest tighten.

"Charlotte isn’t the kind of woman who begs to be loved, Jack," she added. "She left because she thought she was protecting herself from being hurt again."

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Because deep down, I knew—Lianne might be right.

I stared at the floor, my thoughts spiraling. What if Charlotte didn’t leave because she felt nothing—but because she felt too much?

And what if I let her walk away thinking I didn’t care?