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Page 17 of One Night in Glasgow (The Scottish Billionaires #15)

CHAPTER TEN

SEAN

The finality of it all was in the methodical fold of my last shirt. I was surrendering. The car to the airport was due at noon, and in a few short hours, I’d be leaving Glasgow behind. Leaving this whole mess behind.

Leaving her behind.

I’d fucked up. Badly. And now I was running away with my tail between my legs, just as Danny had suggested from the beginning.

“Sean!” Danny’s voice, careful and tentative, came from the doorway of the bedroom. I could practically smell the minty scent of toothpaste he’d used to cover up the last of the whisky from the night before. “Breakfast? My treat. Consider it a farewell to Glasgow.”

“Not hungry,” I said, my voice coming out rougher than intended. I kept my back to him, staring into the open carry-on bag on the bed as if it contained a miracle .

“You know what?” he said after a moment, his tone carefully light. “I’ll bring you back a coffee to go.”

The door clicked shut, leaving me in the sudden, suffocating quiet of the hotel suite. Through the windows, Glasgow hummed with its usual morning energy. People heading to work, life moving forward. Like I hadn’t demolished whatever chance I’d had with the most fascinating woman I’d ever met.

My hands froze on the zipper of the carry-on. Inside, nestled between my laptop charger and a paperback I hadn’t touched, was Beth’s bracelet. A delicate silver Celtic knot that I’d found after our first night together.

I picked it up, the cool metal surprisingly heavy in my palm. Coward.

I’d built a career on helping people face their fears, on taking risks. I’d let the tabloids and a warning from her mother control the narrative instead of controlling it myself. Every piece of advice I’d ever given about resilience and authenticity, I had abandoned.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand, and I almost ignored it, assuming it was Danny asking me about any specific coffee special. I didn’t give a fuck.

When the buzzing continued, I finally picked it up. His name was on the screen, but it was a call, not a text.

“Yeah?” I answered, my gaze fixed on the intricate knot of the bracelet.

“Get your ass down to the corner of Argyle and Queen Street.” His voice was a low, urgent whisper. “There’s a cafe called The Willow. She’s here, Sean.”

My heart stopped. For a full second, the world went silent. “What?”

“I’m watching her through the window right now. She looks... rough, man. But she’s here. Hurry. ”

The line went dead. I stood there, phone still pressed to my ear, certain I’d hallucinated it.

I shoved the bracelet deep into the pocket of my jeans and grabbed my jacket, not bothering to zip the bag left on the bed.

The hotel room door slammed behind me as I bolted, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The elevator was taking too long. I hit the stairs, taking them two at a time, my mind racing. What are the odds? Maybe it was fate. Or maybe I was about to make an even bigger fool of myself than I already had.

But the alternative of getting on that plane and spending the rest of my life wondering what if—was infinitely worse.

The hotel lobby was a chaotic rush of tourists and luggage. I weaved through them like a man possessed, ignoring the irritated glares. The revolving door spat me out onto the Glasgow sidewalk, and I started running.

Three blocks. In my dress shoes, it might as well have been three miles.

I ran anyway, dodging commuters and delivery trucks, my breath tearing at my lungs in the cool morning air.

I cut through a small city park, my feet slipping on the dew-wet grass as the manicured lawns blurred past. This was insane.

Chasing after a woman who had every reason to hate me.

And there it was. The Willow. A cozy-looking cafe with large windows and a green-painted door. Danny was leaning against a lamppost twenty feet away, pretending to check his phone. He saw me, gave the slightest nod toward the window, and then melted away around the corner.

I followed his gaze. And there she was.

Beth sat at a small table near the back.

Her fiery hair, usually a vibrant statement, fell like a dull curtain around her face as she stared down into a coffee cup, her shoulders slumped.

She was wearing an oversized hoodie that dwarfed her frame, and even from outside, I could see the tension in her posture, the way she held the cup in both hands as if it were a lifeline.

The fire I’d been so drawn to had been banked, leaving behind a woman who looked lost and terribly alone.

She looked like she’d been through hell. And I had sent her there.

The bell above the door chimed as I stepped inside, the warm air thick with the scent of coffee. Beth looked up as I approached, and for a moment, her eyes widened. The impact was immediate. I saw a flicker of surprise before it was violently shuttered behind a wall of hurt and anger.

“Sean,” she said as I reached her table, her voice low and sharp as broken glass. “Come to gawk at the train wreck you helped orchestrate?”

Her words made every defensive instinct roar to life. But I crushed the impulse. My entire professional training screamed at me: Don’t react. Listen. Validate.

“Beth, I’m so sorry,” I said, my voice sounding hollow. I pulled out the chair across from her, moving slowly, deliberately. “Can I sit?”

“It’s a free country,” she said with a shrug, her gaze fixed on a point just over my shoulder.

I sat, the small table feeling like a vast, empty canyon between us. “You’re right to be angry. The last thing I ever wanted was to cause this kind of chaos in your life. I can only imagine how hard this past week has been.”

I saw a flicker of confusion in her eyes. Her defenses were braced for a fight, and I hadn’t given her one. But the confusion quickly hardened into a sharp, intelligent suspicion.

“Don’t,” she said, her voice dangerously quiet as she finally met my eyes. The force of her gaze was startling. “Don’t you dare use your motivational speaker voice on me.”

My composure, my professional armor, didn’t just crack. It shattered. The tools I used to navigate every difficult conversation in my life were suddenly rendered useless, exposed as cheap tricks.

“I’m not,” I started, but the lie died on my lips. “I’m just trying to say I’m sorry?—”

“No, you’re not,” she cut me off, jabbing a finger in my direction, her voice gaining strength. “You’re ‘actively listening.’ You’re ‘validating my feelings.’ You’re treating me like one of your clients who needs to be talked off a ledge.”

“You’re right,” I admitted, my own voice now raw.

“Where were you when I was getting fired from Bright Futures because of you?” she demanded, the dam of her composure finally breaking. “When my parents cut me off completely? When my friend died a few days ago from an overdose? Where were you when I needed you the most?”

The accusation knocked the air from my lungs. Her friend… dead? My mind scrambled, trying to make sense of it. The only friend of hers I even knew the name of…

“What? Kinna?” I asked, my voice strained.

“No, duh,” she snapped, a look of pure disgust on her face. “Kinna never touches drugs. It’s Colter. He is... was my best friend.” Tears gathered in her eyes.

I’d never heard of him, which made me realize that she had a whole life, a whole world of pain I knew nothing about.

“I tried to call,” I said weakly, the excuse sounding pathetic even to my own ears. “Your mother said?—”

“My mother.” Beth let out a short, harsh laugh completely devoid of humor.

Her posture shifted, her spine straightening as her hurt transformed into pure, molten rage.

“My mother, who’s spent my life trying to control me, who sees me as a reflection of her own reputation.

You took her word as gospel and just… disappeared. ”

Tears gathered in her eyes, but they were tears of fury now. She refused to let them fall. “I was trying to respect what your family wanted. I was trying not to make things worse for you.”

“Make things worse?” She stood abruptly, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. Several heads turned. The sudden attention seemed to fuel her anger rather than temper it. “How exactly could you have made things worse, Sean? By being there? By giving a damn?”

I stood too, the small cafe suddenly feeling like a courtroom where I was the sole defendant. “I do give a damn,” I said, my voice rising to match hers. “That’s why I’m here. I came here because I care about you.”

“Care about me?” Her voice was laced with disbelief. “You don’t even fucking know me.” She grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair, her movements sharp and final. “I’m not a project, Sean. I’m the mess you left behind.”

“Beth, wait?—”

But she was gone, the door chiming softly behind her. The sound was a mockery, a gentle period at the end of a brutal sentence. I sank back into my chair, the gazes of the other patrons feeling like physical weight. I was a fraud. A complete and utter fraud.

My hand went to my pocket, my fingers closing around the cool metal of the bracelet.

“Sean?” I turned to find Danny in the doorway, his expression carefully neutral. He must have seen her leave. “I’m sorry, man,” he said quietly, walking over. “But maybe… maybe it’s for the best. You got to say your piece.”

I looked down at my closed fist, the sharp edges of the bracelet digging into my palm. Danny was right, in his practical way. I’d tried. I’d failed. It was time to go home. The man I pretended to be on stage would have known what to say, how to fix this. I, apparently, had no idea.

The Glasgow morning felt different as we stepped outside. Colder. Grayer. The city that had seemed full of possibility just an hour ago now felt like a place I needed to escape from.

Danny hailed a taxi with practiced efficiency, and within minutes we were heading back toward the hotel to collect our luggage. I stared out the window at the passing streets, at the people going about their normal lives, and wondered how everything had gone so spectacularly wrong.

“You know,” Danny said carefully as our taxi waited at a red light, “maybe this isn’t the end of the story. Maybe it’s just... a pause. People sometimes need time to process things, to figure out what they really want.”

I appreciated the attempt at comfort, but we both knew the truth. Beth had made herself crystal clear. I was the mess she needed to move on from, not the solution to her problems.

The hotel came into view, and I felt something settle in my chest. Not peace, exactly, but resignation. I’d tried. I’d failed. Now it was time to go home and figure out how to live with the consequences.

The silver bracelet pressed against my leg through my pocket, a constant reminder of the connection I was walking away from. A connection that might have been something extraordinary, if I’d been brave enough to fight for it.

If I’d been the man, I pretended to be on stage, instead of the coward I’d become in real life.