Nine days ago
Claire pressed her forehead against the air plane window, watching the endless stretch of ocean beneath her. Solara Island shimmered like a jewel, its beaches gleaming white, waters shifting through every shade of turquoise.
The stress of the past months—the betrayal, the heartbreak, the suffocating grief—pressed down on her chest. Her fiancé, Evan, had eloped with another woman, leaving her humiliated and heartbroken.
Her parents had finally relented, trusting Erin—her vivacious cousin—to shepherd Claire through a semblance of healing.
"You're going to love this place," Erin said, practically vibrating with excitement beside her. She squeezed Claire's hand. "Sun, freedom… and maybe a little distraction."
Claire forced a smile. "Distraction… sounds about right," she murmured.
Erin nudged her playfully. "Distraction and fun! You can't stay holed up forever."
As the plane descended toward Solara's lush coastline, Claire let herself sink into the moment, letting the warm light and the scent of salt soothe some of the tension coiling in her chest.
Their villa overlooked a stretch of beach bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. Palms swayed lazily in the breeze, the air thick with the smell of salt and tropical flowers.
Erin barely let Claire catch her breath before pulling her toward the island's most popular beach bar.
"The nightlife here is… unforgettable," Erin promised. Inside, the bar pulsed with energy: laughter, music, the scent of exotic cocktails mingling with the ocean breeze. Lanterns strung across the terrace cast a soft, golden glow.
Ever the matchmaker, Erin introduced Claire to a string of men: a young European winery heir, a tall world traveller, a quiet, serious-looking author scribbling in a notebook. Claire smiled politely, engaged briefly, but nothing sparked. No conversation stirred her, no glance made her pulse flutter.
And then, across the bar, she saw him.
He leaned casually against the counter, dark hair falling just over his forehead, eyes scanning the room with calm detachment. He didn't move to draw attention, didn't need to. He simply was, and the space around him shifted imperceptibly.
Claire felt a warmth pool in her stomach. Her pulse quickened. She didn't know who he was—but she couldn't look away.
Erin noticed. "Who are you staring at?" she asked, eyes following Claire's gaze.
Claire barely whispered his name. "That… that man. Over there."
Erin's smile widened. "Oh. Damien Ashford. Billionaire, CEO… infamous for… well, everything. Women either worship him or ignore him. Don't get too close."
Claire didn't care. He drew her in, not just with presence but with something electric, dangerous, and achingly intriguing. Something lonely. Something familiar.
The week unfolded like a slow, intoxicating dance. Claire and Erin explored hidden beaches, jungle paths, and local eateries, danced barefoot under the moonlight, laughed at each other's clumsiness, and let the island's magic seep into them.
But every evening, Claire found herself at the bar, her gaze drifting toward Damien. Subtle signals of awareness passed between them—a tilt of the head, a slight narrowing of eyes, the faintest curve of lips. They weren't interactions yet, but they were something.
On the eighth night, Claire finally stepped toward him. The bar was quieter, the rhythm of the waves louder than the music, the night warm against her skin. She felt a thrill, the pull of curiosity stronger than hesitation.
He was alone on the terrace, eyes on the ocean. When he noticed her approach, he tilted his head slightly, curious but unassuming. Claire stopped a few feet away.
"Hi," she said softly.
"Hi," he replied, voice low, smooth, unhurried. "I don't think we've met."
"I don't think so," she said, smiling faintly. In the pause that followed, something unspoken passed between them, a current she could feel in her chest and stomach.
Hours passed in small talk, teasing, laughter, and tension that made her heart ache. He was intelligent, sharp, slightly tipsy like herself, and every so often, just enough danger to make her pulse spike.
At one point, he leaned back, watching her. "I don't usually do… this," he admitted vaguely. Casual encounters weren't his style—but there was something in the way he studied her, assessing and curious.
The energy between them crackled, almost unbearable. Claire leaned closer, just slightly. His gaze flicked to her lips, then back to her eyes.
Finally, he tilted his head toward the night beyond the terrace. "If you dare," he murmured, "we could leave."
Her heart thundered. She didn't need to think twice. With a slow nod, she followed him into the warm night air. City lights shimmered faintly on the horizon, but the ocean waves played the soundtrack to their steps.
Together, they walked towards his mansion, unspoken understanding passing between them. For Claire, the thrill of the unknown, the danger, and the anticipation of the man before her was intoxicating.
And as the mansion's gates closed behind them, the night stretched endlessly ahead—full of promise, temptation, and everything she had been craving without knowing it.