Chapter 226 095
THE realization hit her like a sting, sharp and sudden. He hadn’t shown up today. Amelia’s chest tightened, a flutter she hadn’t expected catching at her heart. ‘Why?’ she wanted to ask, wanted to know if something had kept him away, or if he had simply forgotten. But she held herself back, forcing her curiosity into quiet corners of her mind. The bartender gave no explanation, no hint of an excuse, and she let it slide, though it left an unusual emptiness lingering.
Something in her shifted. Maybe it was the absence of his voice, or the missing warmth of his presence, or perhaps just the hollow ache of an expectation unmet. She drained the last of her drink in one long swallow, her lips brushing the rim of the glass with a faint, distracted sigh.
Stepping out of the bar, Amelia let the soft sand sink beneath her bare feet. The night air was crisp, carrying the scent of the ocean, whispering through the palms lining the shore. She walked along the beach alone, the gentle waves brushing the sand with rhythmic patience, like they were trying to soothe the strange restlessness inside her.
She kept glancing back at the bar, as if the sight of it might magically reveal him standing there, apron on, a smile ready, just for her. But the bar remained unchanged, humming softly with the low chatter of other guests, oblivious to the quiet longing simmering in the shadows.
A small, uncomfortable laugh escaped her lips. ‘Foolish,’ she thought. ‘Why am I caring this much about a man I barely know?’ She kicked lightly at the sand, scuffing a small path behind her. The thought gnawed at her, prickling at her sense of reason. She felt foolish, letting herself slip into this strange attachment.
Her mind flickered, sharp with regret. ‘I should have taken his number. Just in case. Maybe I could have called, sent a message. But no, I let it pass.’ The internal tug-of-war gnawed at her, the rational self wrestling with the irrational ache of curiosity and, yes, something warmer that had begun to bloom unexpectedly.
“Come on, you are here to relax,” she told herself firmly, clenching her fists against her sides. “You are not falling in love with a man you just met.” The words were meant to be ironclad, but they trembled slightly on her tongue. She forced herself to focus on the mission that had brought her to this island, on the tasks waiting back in her room, on the quiet duty she had imposed on herself for the night.
Still, as she returned to her room, the soft light of the ocean spilling across the floor through the balcony doors, her gaze fell on her phone. She picked it up, fingers hovering over the screen for a fraction longer than necessary, her eyes tracing every familiar icon, every unread notification. Her thumb brushed the screen, lingering, as if she hoped, secretly, for a message that might never come.
And for a long while, she stared at it, quiet, thoughtful, and just a little unsettled.
Charles sat on the edge of his bed, phone in hand, eyes flicking to the screen every few seconds as if sheer willpower could make it light up with Amelia’s name. The soft hum of his air conditioner was the only sound in the room, but in his mind, a thousand questions churned like restless waves.
He had returned an hour ago from the bar, the night air already heavy with the scent of rain on asphalt. Marcus and Julian had been useless, as usual. They had nothing to offer him beyond tired jokes and half-hearted advice. That realization had hit harder than he expected. He was alone in this. He had always been alone in these matters. All the money, all the favors, all the times Amelia had bent over backward for him— they had been his to enjoy, alone. Why would anyone else suddenly have solutions now?
His gaze landed on the phone again. No missed calls. No notifications. Nothing.
“Wow,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “No calls… not even a text?”
His mind began to spiral, as it always did when he felt a lack of control. Was Amelia… flinging herself at someone else? Was there a guy over there stealing her attention while he was stuck here, drowning in his own anxiety? His chest tightened, thoughts racing faster and faster. Or worse… had she found out something? Something that made her block him?
He set the phone down, just to stop himself from staring at it, but the questions didn’t stop. His imagination painted scenes he didn’t want to see: Amelia laughing, leaning close to a stranger, maybe even, ‘gasp’, talking about him with some amusement that cut deeper than he wanted to admit.
Hours passed. Charles moved from the edge of the bed to pacing the floor, back and forth, the floor creaking beneath his restless steps. He stared out the window at the city lights, hoping for some sign, some indication that she thought of him even for a second.
Eventually, exhaustion crept in, but his mind refused to quiet. ‘She will call in the morning. She has to. She always calls. She will miss me… she will apologize.’ The illusion became a lifeline, fragile but comforting. He clutched it close, repeating it to himself like a mantra, his heart slightly easing with the thought.
With one final glance at the darkened phone, Charles tossed it gently onto the nightstand, slid beneath the sheets, and stared at the ceiling. His eyelids drooped despite the tension still lingering in his chest. ‘She will call… she has to…’
And with that fragile hope, he let sleep finally claim him, clinging to the illusion that tomorrow would bring Amelia’s voice and the apology he was sure was coming. And then, he would finally make his request.