Page 1 of The Billionaire's Secret Desire
Prologue
Sawyer Gallo
Palm Beach International Airport
Five years ago
"You sure you want to do this?" I ask, lacing our fingers together as we sit at the gate, waiting to board. My leg’s bouncing like it has somewhere better to be, but it’s nerves. Not cold feet. Hell, I haven’t felt this certain about anything in a long time.
Ava smiles at me, that slow, secret smile she saves just for me. "I wouldn’t have said yes if I wasn’t sure."
She kisses my cheek, then rests her head on my shoulder. I wrap an arm around her, inhaling the scent of her shampoo—vanilla and something floral—and feel that rare thing bloom in my chest: peace. We’ve been planning this trip for months. A week in Turks and Caicos. Just the two of us. Sun, sand, maybe a few conversations about wedding colors if she wants. She’s the woman I’m going to marry.
Ava keeps checking her phone and when I asked about it earlier, she told me it was her mom one time and her assistant the other. I don’t push. I just hold her hand tighter.
“Be right back,” she murmurs, standing and smoothing her skirt. "Bathroom. Don’t miss me too much."
I grin and watch her disappear down the terminal, eyes glued to the sway of her hips. The love of my life. She makes everything feel possible.
Five minutes pass. Then ten as I wait for her to return.
I check my watch. The gate attendant starts boarding group one.
Still no Ava.
I try her phone, but it goes straight to voicemail.
A prickle of unease crawls down my spine.
"Excuse me," I say to the gate agent. "My fiancée stepped away and hasn’t come back. Can you hold our boarding passes a second longer?"
They nod, distracted, scanning another ticket. I grab my bag and head for the bathrooms.
I stand outside the women’s restroom, shifting from foot to foot as people come and go. After what feels like forever, I flag down a janitor and ask if he’s seen a blonde woman in a blue dress. He shakes his head. I even knock once, then twice, before stepping back. Can’t exactly barge in without causing a scene. She’s not in there.
I check the shops, the Starbucks, even the Hudson News. I start asking people. Describing her. Blonde hair. Blue sundress. Smiles like sin.
Nothing.
Twenty minutes later, our flight takes off without us. I don’t even watch it go. My gut says something’s wrong… really wrong.
Airport security is called after I all but demand someone do something. One of the gate agents brings me over to a podium and has me speak with a supervisor. They jot down a description and ask for a photo. My hands are shaking as I scroll throughmy phone to find one from dinner last week—she’s smiling, tan, golden hair shining under the restaurant lights. I hand it over.
They send it to security, and within minutes, a TSA agent is leading me behind a rope line and into a small office where the air smells like burnt coffee and printer paper. A monitor shows split screens of the terminal. People hurrying through the airport. Bags rolling. Faces blurring.
I try not to lose my shit while they ask me basic questions. Her full name. What she was wearing. Where I last saw her. Each answer comes out clipped and angry. Not at them. At myself. At her. At this sick feeling in my gut that something is very, very wrong.
"Sir," someone says. "There’s an officer from the Hibiscus Harbor police department here who can help."
Eli Ford walks in, badge clipped to his belt, eyes scanning until they land on me.
"Jesus, Gallo," he mutters. "You look like hell. What’s going on?"
I fill him in. He says nothing at first, just asks to see a photo of Ava. Then he disappears behind a door with the head of security.
I pace. Try to breathe. Try to understand what the hell is happening.
Ten minutes later, Eli comes back. "We found her."
