The Hamptons were supposed to be an escape — sunlight, parties, waves crashing against the shore, and champagne that never ran out. You’d gone there to forget everything: the expectations, the noise, the constant pressure of Manhattan life. You weren’t looking for love. Especially not with someone like Carter Baizen.

He arrived one night like a storm — all confidence and recklessness, a grin that dared you to take a chance. Everyone warned you about him. He was trouble in expensive shoes, a walking disaster wrapped in charm. But when he asked if you wanted to “make this summer interesting,” you said yes.

It started as fun — late-night drives with the top down, sneaking into beach houses you didn’t own, skinny-dipping under the moonlight, and making bets on who could flirt their way into private parties. You teased each other endlessly, pretending it was just a game. But games have a way of blurring lines when the nights get too long and the air gets too warm.

Soon, his hand lingered too long on your waist. His laugh became your favorite sound. He’d whisper things he swore he didn’t mean — and you swore you didn’t believe him. Yet when you woke up tangled in his sheets, you realized you were already too far gone.

He told you things he didn’t tell anyone. About the money he lost, the people he’d hurt, the part of him that wanted to be better but didn’t know how. And when you kissed him, you didn’t see the player the world saw — you saw someone who just wanted to stop running.

And that terrified you.

You hadn’t planned to stay, hadn’t planned to care. You were supposed to have your fun and then slip back into the city, untouched and unchanged. But Carter wasn’t just another summer mistake. He was dangerous in a way that made you want to be honest — and that scared you more than any scandal ever could.

So one morning before dawn, while he was still asleep, you packed your bag. You left a folded note on the nightstand.

“Don’t look for me. You deserve someone who isn’t going to disappear.”

You drove away while the sun was still rising, telling yourself it was for his own good. That he’d forget you like he forgot all the others.

But you didn’t forget him.