Page 90 of Pucking Billionaire

Fine. I’ll have to talk to her now. Time to put all my cards on the table, or as Coach says: “put the fucking puck on the ice.” I can tell her how much I’ve grown to care for her, and more importantly, what I really think about the imbecilic idea that “what happens on the cruise stays on the cruise.”

“Ladybug?” I turn to her side… but find it empty and cold.

What the fuck? Where is she?

“Sophia?” I get up and knock on the bathroom door.

No reply.

I try the handle and find the door unlocked.

The bathroom is empty.

My stomach drops. The last few days, we’ve spent every morning together, so I foolishly assumed today would be the same.

Maybe she’s packing?

No. She told me she packed up yesterday.

Maybe she forgot to pack something?

My unease intensifies.

Frantically, I dress, brush my teeth, and run over to knock on Sophia’s suite door.

No one answers.

“Ladybug?” I shout, banging my fist on the wood.

No answer.

“Hey,” I say to a passing porter. “Open this door.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” he says, blinking. “If that’s not your?—”

“I heard a scream inside. Someone might need help.”

And hey, it’s not a complete lie: if he doesn’t do as I say, he will be screaming and in need of help.

“Oh.” The porter takes out a keycard and swipes. “Please stay here.”

He runs in and I follow, not trusting some stranger to deal with this—whatever it is.

“There’s no one here,” the porter says, looking around in confusion. “No suitcases either.”

No suitcases.

Until this moment, I could’ve made other guesses, like maybe she went to get some breakfast. But only one explanation fits now: she took her suitcase and left without saying goodbye.

Well, fuck that.

Spinning on my heel, I sprint for the elevator and jab at the button like what’s happening is its fault.

The fucking elevator doesn’t come for what feels like an hour.

I flip it the bird and sprint for the stairs.

I manage to descend only one level down before I run into a traffic jam of people.

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