Page 31 of Rescued By My Small Town Billionaire

But deep down, I have a terrible feeling.

Paul isn’t done yet.

Chapter sixteen

Mike

Idon’t make threats. I don’t play games.

But when it comes to Becky, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe.

Paul’s words—this isn’t over—have been rattling in my brain all night, gnawing at the edges of my patience. I know his type. Men who can’t take no for an answer. Men who believe they own something just because they once had it.

He doesn’t own Becky. He never did.

And it’s time he understands that.

I find Paul at Murphy’s Garage, the only auto shop in town. His car is parked out front, hood up, grease stains smeared across the fender. He’s leaning against the doorway, scrolling through his phone like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

The sight of him makes my blood run hot.

I pull my truck in, cut the engine, and step out. He doesn’t even look up until I’m standing a few feet away.

“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Perfect Cowboy himself,” Paul drawls, shoving his phone into his pocket. His smirk is smug, like he thinks I’m here to trade insults.

I’m not.

I take a slow step closer, my voice low and steady. “We need to talk.”

Paul snorts. “What, no good morning? No handshake? You small-town types are losing your manners.”

I don’t rise to his bait. I just cross my arms, keeping my stance firm. “I’m only gonna say this once, Paul. You’re done. Stay away from Becky. No more calls. No more messages. No more showing up.”

Paul raises an eyebrow like he’s amused. “And if I don’t?”

A muscle in my jaw ticks. “Then you’ll be dealing with me.”

His smirk falters slightly, but he recovers fast. “You think you’re some kind of hero, don’t you? Riding in to save the helpless florist?”

I step even closer, lowering my voice to something dangerous, final. “Becky isn’t helpless. But she doesn’t need to waste another second worrying about you.”

Paul clenches his jaw, shoving off the doorframe. “She was mine first,” he mutters, voice tight. “You don’t just erase that.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” I say, my tone deadly calm. “You lost her the second you made her afraid of you.”

His nostrils flare. “You think you’re better than me?”

“Yes.”

The word is simple, but it hits him hard.

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. He’s unraveling, and he knows it. “She loved me once,” he says, almost like he’s trying to convince himself.

I shake my head. “No, Paul. She loved who she thought you were. But she’s not looking back anymore.”

For the first time, I see something in his face that looks like real defeat. Like he finally understands that he’s lost.

He looks away, jaw tightening. “Whatever,” he mutters. “You two deserve each other.”

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