You Had Me, You Lost Me, You'll Never Find Me novel Chapter 29

With so many people active in the chat, the person who sent the message didn't even realize Sylvia was still in the group.

"Oh wow, you're right. But their faces are completely different."

"Holy shit, this is practically a real-life doppelgänger trope."

Finally, someone noticed Sylvia's name in the member list.

They immediately tagged her. "Sylvia, do you know that gorgeous guy you were fighting with the other day?"

Sylvia's public argument with Ashton hadn't gone unnoticed by the more observant gossips.

She typed out a brief, dismissive reply:

[Not really.]

"Then why were you guys fighting?"

The group was relentless. Multiple people had witnessed Sylvia slapping the gorgeous billionaire across the face. Nobody believed there wasn't a juicy story there. Combine that with the fact that Reina had magically stolen Sylvia's role, and the chat was practically writing a blockbuster melodrama in their heads.

When it came to gossip, these people were like sharks smelling blood in the water.

"He owes me money," Sylvia replied deadpan.

"Bullshit. The watch he was wearing is worth millions of dollars alone."

The chat clearly wasn't buying it.

Sylvia typed back: "Who knows? The richer the man, the cheaper he acts."

The second she hit send, Ashton's response finally came through her private messages.

[WY]: Bella is at my place. Come get it yourself.

Sylvia had absolutely zero desire to set foot in that house ever again.

Frowning, her fingers flew across the keyboard.

[Half an Orange]: Give it to Finley tomorrow and have him drop it off at the car.

[WY]: If you don't come, forget it. Guess you don't really care about Bella.

Then, Ashton sent a photo. It was a selfie of him shirtless, casually holding the plushie against his chest.

Taken from a high angle, the shot perfectly highlighted his defined abs, tracing the hard, sculpted lines of his V-cut as it disappeared beneath his belt.

The next morning, true to his word, Ashton had the plushie delivered. As Sylvia walked out of the motel, a car honked at the curb.

It was the same car Finley had been driving the day before.

Without overthinking it, Sylvia reached for the backdoor handle, but it was locked. Confused, she double-checked the license plate. It was definitely the right car. She yanked the handle again—still locked. Finally, she pulled the passenger door, and it swung open.

Finley wasn't in the driver's seat. Ashton was.

"What are you doing here?"

"Get in."

Ashton tilted his head toward the seat.

Sylvia turned on her heel and started walking away.

"Grandfather Wyatt is sick. He wants to see you," Ashton's deep, slightly exhausted voice called out behind her.

Sylvia froze. Ashton had taken her back to the Wyatt family estate a few times before. She had met Arthur Wyatt, the patriarch. He was a deeply kind, somewhat lonely old man who spent his days tending to his garden.

The very first time Sylvia met him, Grandfather Wyatt had gifted her an incredibly flawless jade bracelet, insisting it was just a welcome gift.