Page 114 of Wrong Room, Right Billionaire

I’m not the only one who did the betraying. He betrayed me too by pretending to have no idea who I am and proceeding to hold my notebook hostage while I traveled from resort to resort, making him look good.

Problematically, it wasn’t hard to make him look good. As I lay in the bathtub, tears flowing down my face and a giant, gaping hole in my heart, I scroll my Instagram, going through all the photos I took since day one of our little escapade. A lot of them are of me, obviously, or of the food and sights and people and the ocean. But as I keep scrolling, there are more and more of him. Him and me together. Him on his own. Candid photos of him helping people or dealing with customers. Photos at the beach and photos of him working. Some of them, he’s even looking at the camera. And as time goes by, those scowls and smolders turn to smiles.

There’s even one of him laughing. Laughing the way he was in the first post.

Tears fill my eyes again as I start to cry. I sit up and decide to get out of the tub because no matter how many times I refill it, I still feel cold.

I wrap myself in a robe and think of him. This robe is fluffy and soft, different from the little silk one I had on at the Sapphire. It still brings back memories.

Everything seems to bring back memories. And as I cry on the queen sized bed, I fear the memories are going to eat me alive. Swallow me whole.

But I’ve never been one to let misery get me down. I’ve always been the optimist. The one that waters flowers even if they’re already dead and it’s raining. And while this is one of the most devastating things I’ve ever felt, I know I can’t give up. Not on him and not on myself. Because it’s not just about me anymore.

I caress my stomach again before grabbing my phone and look through the bad posts. The ones other people tagged us in. Haters and barflies. The Karens and the Kevins. Lurkers, as I like to call them. Of course, there’s about a hundred photos and videos of us at the airport right in the middle of our fight. Headlines are plastered everywhere.

Is it over?

Was it fake?

But the one that bothers me the most, the one that actually makes me angry, reads:

Bale Fail. Morgan Bale pretends he can reincarnate what his parents created, only to disgrace the family name.

It’s enough to motivate me to do something. Because as an influencer, you sometimes gotta stick your hand in the stirring pot too. Especially when it involves someone you love.

So I create a new post. A post that shows both a photo I found online and a photo I took of Morgan when he wasn’t paying attention.

MooreToExplore- Hello lovelies. It’s me, Scarlett. And I know what you’re thinking. Well, actually, I don’t. But I can assume you have a lot of questions. I’m sure you’ve read the gossip. I’m sure you’ve seen the photos. And I’m sure you’re wondering what’s real. But before I get to any of that, I want to apologize. I apologize that my recent posts have been more for the likes and follows than the journey and song. I apologize that my life seems a little untethered right now, even for me. But mostly, I want to apologize for not being authentic. There’s a lot of speculation right now about Morgan and me and if our relationship was ever real. And I can tell you with complete honesty– it was. From day one, I had feelings for him, even before I knew it. The more I got to know him, the more we traveled, the more he walked in the footsteps of his parents, the more he worked and solved problems and loved the people around him. I fell more in love with him. But all that said, the engagement is off. I like to hope that maybe it’s not forever. But even if it is, even if it was only a season, it was a beautiful season. The places, people, food, and experiences were amazing. And I hope that even if some of you decide not to follow my journey anymore, I hope you follow your own. Follow your wandering hearts. Follow the paths that lead you into the unknown. Make a bucket list and follow that too. I did. Most of the items anyway. And from here…well, I’m not sure what’s next. But either way, I’ll find adventure. It might not look the same, but it will be an adventure, nonetheless.

I reread the post before clicking it out into the universe. Then I set my phone down and cry.

Chapter 44

Scarlett

I wake up from a dreamless sleep. Not because the sun is shining, it isn’t, it’s raining. Someone is knocking on the door of the Airbnb.

A very aggressive knock.

At first, I am a bit alarmed and simply sit up in the bed, clasping the blanket in my hands while waiting to see if the intruder goes away. But when the knocking returns, I fear I might be in danger.

Is this how I die? After all the things I’ve done in my life? Travel Blogger with No Fears Dies Via Axe Murder at Airbnb. That would really be ironic, wouldn’t it?

Another knock comes, and I look around the room for something to use as a weapon. Until I hear the voice.

“Scarlett? Scarlett, I know you’re in there. You can’t hide forever. I will break the door down!”

I jump out of bed and walk through the house before unlocking the door and opening it. Claire’s face is a cocktail of emotions. First, surprised that I opened the door. Then angry that I haven’t messaged her at all and have completely ignored her calls. Then, she looks at my face, her expression sinks, and before I know it, I’m crying. She’s pulling me into her arms on the soggy front porch.

“Oh, honey,” she says, rocking back and forth as the sideways rain splashes against us.

“Whatever happened, it will be okay.”

I don’t believe her. And yet something about a hug from your sister gives you hope, even if there’s no hope to be found.

Eventually, when we are both soaked, we go inside and snuggle up on the couch with two cups of tea and a mountain of blankets, and for a while, neither of us say anything. Claire simply waits.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” I finally say, my voice hoarse from crying so much.