She didn’t ride off into the sunset.
She flew to Florida on my private jet.
Fort Myers Beach.
A small condo. Clean. White tile. Ocean air that smelled like salt instead of desperation.
She stood in the doorway, eyes wide.
“This is… more than I’ve ever had,” she whispered.
“Good,” I said. “You can stay as long as you stay out of trouble.”
I laid it out plainly.
“I’ve got a security guy. He’s loyal to me. He’s going to keep an eye on things. Make sure you’re where you’re supposed to be. Make sure you’re not latching onto anyone new.”
She frowned. “What’s the crime in falling in love?”
“Only if it’s you, honey,” I said evenly. “Only if it’s you.”
She nodded. She understood. Or at least—she wanted to.
“There’s no car,” she said quietly.
“I’m not buying you one,” I replied. “But the bus stop’s down the block. It’s safe. I’ll pay you biweekly. Cash. Set up a bank account. You’ve got an address now. A safe place to land.”
I looked her dead in the eye.
“Don’t burn this second chance, Sage.”
“I won’t,” she said immediately. “I promise.”
Then, softer: “I’ll never tell him. No one will ever know.”
“I understand,” she said. And for once—I think she really did.
“No one’s ever done this for me,” she whispered. “Not without me having to fuck first.”
I sighed.
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s the problem, Sage. Love should just be given. Not something you have to play games to get.”
She thanked me.
We went grocery shopping. Real food. Clean shelves. No hustling. No borrowing.
Six months.
That’s how long she stayed.
And back then—before smartphones, before social media, before digital footprints were permanent—you could still disappear if someone wanted you to.
I made a few calls. Greased a few wheels. Had her records quietly destroyed. No backups. No trail.
Sage got what she always wanted.
A clean slate.
