Page 18 of Rescued By My Small Town Billionaire

The renovations are beautiful, and the community's support has been overwhelming. Donations of furniture, supplies and even a stunning new storefront sign have poured in.

As I walk through the shop, picturing it fully restored, my heart swells with gratitude. This place is more than a business—it’s a symbol of resilience and love.

But my happiness is short-lived.

A sharp crack echoes through the shop.

I spin around, my heart pounding. A brick lies on the floor near the front window, surrounded by shattered glass.

Dread curls in my stomach.

Tied to the brick is a piece of paper, the words scrawled in angry, uneven letters:

This isn’t over.

I stare at the note, my pulse hammering in my ears. The words blur as fear creeps in, cold and paralyzing. My hands tremble as I untie the crumpled paper, half-hoping I imagined it. But the words glare back at me, sharp and real:

This isn’t over.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to stay calm. My first instinct is to call the police, but my fingers hover over my phone. Instead, I take a deep breath and dial the only person I can think of.

Mike picks up on the first ring. “Becky?”

I can barely get the words out. “Mike, someone threw a brick through the shop window.”

Silence. Then a sharp inhale.

“Are you okay?” His voice is suddenly hard, focused.

“I’m fine,” I say quickly. “It happened while I was in the back. But there’s… there’s a note.”

“I’m coming,” he says immediately, then the line goes dead.

It feels like an eternity before his truck screeches to a halt outside. He strides toward me, his expression a mix of anger and concern. His sharp gaze sweeps the shop, landing on the shattered window, the brick, the crumpled note.

“Let me see it,” he says, his voice low and controlled.

I hand it to him. His jaw tightens as he reads the words. When he looks back at me, his dark eyes are stormy—his protective instincts blazing.

“This has to be Paul,” he mutters.

“Who else could it be?” I whisper.

Mike runs a hand through his hair, pacing the small space like a caged lion. “He’s escalating,” he mutters. “This isn’t just him being a nuisance anymore—it’s dangerous.”

A shiver runs through me.

Mike notices and immediately softens, stepping closer. His good hand rests lightly on my shoulder.

“Becky, listen to me,” he says, his voice steady. “You’re not dealing with this alone. I’ll make sure you’re safe. No matter what.”

The sincerity in his eyes makes my breath hitch.

For the first time since seeing that note, I feel like I can breathe again.

“We should call the police,” I manage to say, my voice small.

Mike nods. “I’ll handle it.”

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