Loving Madeline

Chapter 376: Running Away

Charlotte’s POV

For a brief moment, it felt like I was still dreaming. There was warmth—unfamiliar but strangely comforting—wrapped around me like a cocoon. The softness of the sheets, the rhythmic rise and fall of someone else’s breathing, the faint scent of cedarwood and clean linen... it all lulled me into a fragile sense of peace. A small smile tugged at my lips before I even opened my eyes.

But the illusion shattered the moment awareness crept in. My lashes fluttered open, and my breath caught in my throat.

I was in Jack Morigan’s suite.

The realization struck like lightning, sharp and jarring. His arm was slung over my waist, heavy and possessive, as if holding me there. Our bodies were tangled beneath the sheets—skin against skin. Bare. Intimate. Exposed.

I froze.

Every nerve in my body screamed as memories from the night before crashed into me with brutal clarity.

The kisses. The heat. The way his hands explored me like I was something precious, not broken. The way he looked into my eyes was like he could see the parts of me I kept hidden from the world. The way I let him in.

I remembered everything.

And then the guilt followed.

What did I do?

I could blame the alcohol. The loneliness. The aching emptiness I carried for too long. But the truth was—I wanted it to happen. I missed him. God help me, I missed Jack Morigan more than I ever wanted to admit.

But that didn’t make it right. Because he broke me. He shattered my trust the moment I found out the truth—that he hadn’t come into my life by accident. That he didn’t stumble into the manor like some cosmic twist of fate. He was sent. By my brother. Hired. Planted. Contract-bound to play the perfect chef, while quietly reporting every detail of my life back to Hunter.

And I, in my foolishness, fell for him.

I told myself I’d never look at him again, never speak to him, never give him the chance to hurt me again. But then... he came back. At the worst possible time. When my walls were already crumbling when grief and anger and loneliness were too loud to silence.

And I let him in again.

Last night wasn’t just a mistake—it was a surrender. And I hated myself for it. Because I didn’t know what it meant to him. If it meant anything at all.

We were both drunk. Emotional. Vulnerable. To him, it might’ve been nothing but a fleeting distraction. A way to pass the night.

But to me? It felt real. Terrifyingly real. And now I was left with the weight of it. I couldn’t bear the thought of waking up to find indifference in his eyes. I didn’t want to hear him say it was a mistake. I didn’t want him to offer me pity. Or worse—apologies.

Quietly, I slipped out from under his arm, careful not to stir him. I held my breath as I gathered my clothes from the floor, the room now silent except for the pounding of my heart.

I dressed quickly, avoiding the mirror. I couldn’t stand to see the girl reflected back at me—the girl who’d once again let her emotions blind her.

My fingers trembled as I wrapped them around the doorknob, turning it as slowly and quietly as I could manage. The soft click echoed louder in my chest than it did in the room.

One last glance over my shoulder.

Jack was still asleep, his breathing steady, his face untroubled. He looked peaceful, completely unaware that I was slipping away in silence—not out of spite, not out of anger, but because it was easier to run than to face whatever expression might greet me when he opened his eyes.

I couldn’t bear the thought of guilt in his gaze.

I didn’t want him to feel like he had to fix things, or worse, pretend to care just because something happened between us again. I didn’t want this—us—to turn into another obligation he didn’t ask for.

Because to me, last night wasn’t a mistake.

It was beautiful. Wild. Unplanned. Real.

But it was also fleeting.

It had to be.

So I told myself to treat it like a dream—one that would dissolve with the morning light. One I wasn’t allowed to chase or cling to. Because the truth was, if I let myself stay, I knew I’d start hoping for more. And I wasn’t ready to be broken all over again.

I left the hotel early, dragging my suitcase behind me as the sun was just beginning to rise over the city skyline. The flight I booked was for later tonight—an impulsive decision made in a haze of panic. I was supposed to leave two days after the seminar ended. But now... I couldn’t sit through another session. Not after last night. Not with Jack just down the hall.

I didn’t trust myself not to go back.

I found myself at the airport hours too early, wandering the terminal like a ghost, trying to convince myself I had made the right decision.

Because facing Jack again would’ve been harder than saying goodbye in silence.

I arrived at our mansion in Archoise City just before sunrise, the sky still clinging to the last shadows of night. The familiar gates swung open as if welcoming me back—but even the grandeur of home couldn’t quiet the storm in my chest.

Sleep was nearly impossible.

I managed only a few restless hours before dragging myself out of bed and heading to my café. It was still early, the streets just beginning to stir. I found Lindsey already managing the morning routine with her usual efficiency—steady, dependable, always two steps ahead.

"I’ll be away for a few days," I told her, pulling her aside.

She paused, her eyes scanning my face like she wanted to ask more. But Lindsey knew me well enough by now—she simply nodded. "Don’t worry. I’ll keep everything running."

A quick briefing followed. I handed off the schedules, updated her on pending orders, and left with the hollow ache of something unfinished trailing behind me.

By noon, I was back on the road—leaving Archoise behind and heading for Barcelonia.

It wasn’t just the manor I missed. It was the feeling of space. The air is quiet and clean. The vineyards. The sleepy hotel in town that always smelled of fresh linens and spiced pastries. The familiar silence that used to be enough to bring me peace.

But mostly, it was her.

Cecily.

The friend I’d pushed away when I needed her most.

After my last encounter with Jack, everything inside me felt tangled and loud, and I knew I needed time—away from the city, from expectations, from myself. And more than anything, I needed to make things right with Cecily.

We’d become close from the moment I first arrived at the Barcelonia manor. She was a breath of fresh air, someone who spoke her mind but listened without judgment. She had stood by me—patient, loyal—even when I didn’t deserve it.

And then I shut her out.

I accused her of being part of their games—the carefully orchestrated lies, the manipulation, the secrets surrounding Jack and my brother. When I found out her family had worked for me for generations, I let my insecurities twist into suspicion.

I told myself she couldn’t be trusted.

But that wasn’t about Cecily.

That was about me.

I was different then—bitter, guarded, lashing out at anyone who got too close. I was still the "wicked sister" of Hunter Divenson, living in the shadow of grief, rejection, and unmet expectations.

But Cecily had always been true.

She worked under my brother, yes. But that didn’t mean she had a choice. She’d done what she could, quietly helping me behind the scenes, even when it cost her. And instead of thanking her, I hurt her.

I didn’t just break our friendship—I betrayed it.

And now, here I was, returning not just to escape—but to face what I’d left behind. To see her. To apologize. To ask for forgiveness, even if I wasn’t sure I deserved it.

I thought she would never forgive me.

I had sent a message to let her know I was coming, but Cecily never replied. Not a single word. And I couldn’t blame her. I had shut her out, accused her of things she didn’t deserve, and pushed her away when all she did was try to be there for me.

So when I arrived at the manor, I wasn’t expecting anything—certainly not to see her standing in the sun-drenched hallway, wearing that same warm, familiar smile.

"Charlotte!" she called out, her eyes lighting up the moment she saw me.

Before I could even open my mouth, she was wrapping her arms around me.

I stood frozen for a beat, caught off guard. Then I held her back, the tightness in my chest loosening for the first time in weeks.

"I missed you so much," she said as she pulled away, her voice softer now, tinged with something I hadn’t heard in a while—relief.

"I’m so sorry, Cel," I breathed, my throat tightening.

She shook her head almost immediately. "You don’t need to apologize, Charlotte. I understand. You had every right to be upset. You thought I betrayed you... and for a while, I think I would’ve believed the same."

"No," I said quickly. "You didn’t deserve that. I was unfair. You were always honest with me, and I was too hurt to see it. I let my anger speak louder than my heart."

Her eyes glistened, but she blinked it away with a smile. "It’s okay. I get it now. You were going through so much, and I just wish I could’ve helped."

"You did," I said quietly. "More than you know."

She chuckled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Well, I guess you can yell at me again if you want, but this time, let’s do it over coffee and cake instead of silence and storming off."

I laughed, really laughed—for the first time in what felt like forever.

She reached out and linked her arm with mine like we used to do when we’d walk through the vineyard at dusk, barefoot and wine-drunk, talking about everything and nothing.

"I’m so glad you’re here," she said. "You look... different. Softer. Sadder too. But maybe more open."

"I am trying," I replied as I realized talking with Cecily made me feel better and happier.