I leave the clinic with a weight heavier than hope. After swinging by the hotel to grab my bag, I head straight to the airport.

The hum of the jet engines fills the cabin, a low, steady vibration threading through my chest. I stare out the window, watching Dallas shrink below me, anticipation flickering to life in my gut.

The road ahead looks different. But as the plane climbs higher, darker thoughts creep in, coiling tight around my heart. No surgery, no miracle fix, can heal the part of me that’s still broken.

Without giving myself time to second-guess it, I press the intercom button. “There’s been a change of plans.”

A crackle, then the pilot’s voice cuts through. “Yes, Mr. Sebring?”

“We’re going to Charleston instead.”

A beat of silence. Then, “Charleston. Copy that. I’ll need a moment to adjust the flight plan.”

Charleston.

Magnolia.

Closure.

That’s the lie I sell myself—that this is about getting answers so I can finally move on.

My therapist once told me closure isn’t about fixing the past; it’s about finding a way to live with it. Maybe that’s true. Maybe I need to see her one last time. Hear it from her own lips.

Because if I don’t, I’ll stay stuck in this purgatory forever—halfway between healing and heartbreak.

And that’s no way to live.

Chapter 23

Alex Sebring

The wheels of the private jet touch down with a soft jolt, and the unfamiliar Charleston skyline stretches beyond the window.

My phone is heavier than usual as I dial Magnolia’s number. One ring, and straight to voicemail.

Hey. I’m in town. I need to see you. It’s important.

The text sends, but there’s no read receipt. No dots appearing to tell me she’s typing. Only silence.

I try again.

Please. Just five minutes of your time. That’s all I’m asking for.

Still nothing.

The texts continue to sit there, unread, glaring back at me. And now there’s no doubt—she’s blocked me. Not that I didn’t suspect it months ago.

One thing about Magnolia––she never does anything halfway. When she decided she wanted me gone, she made damn sure there was no coming back.

I shove my phone into my pocket. “Fuck! I didn’t come all this way just to hit another roadblock.”

With no other option, I grab my bag and head for the waiting taxi. Sliding into the back seat, I give the driver the address to Soul Sync, the one place I can find her.

As we weave through the streets of Charleston, I watch the city unfold around me—colorful buildings with intricate ironwork balconies, cobblestone streets lined with trees swaying in the warm breeze. It’s picturesque, the kind of place Magnolia would thrive in, full of charm and old-world elegance.