My island would’ve withstood its ferocity, thanks to the quality craftsmanship of my villas, but a tiny kayak at sea? She would’ve been a cork bobbing at its mercy. No, worse than a cork. She would’ve been a rock, plunging to the depths the moment the boat capsized.

She wasn’t just missing.

She’s probably dead.

The lance to my heart overrode every scrap of common-sense I had left. Hanging up on Arbi, I called my helicopter crew.

The pilot answered on my second ring. “Mr. Sinclair. We’re at the private hangar. Do you still wish to return to—”

“I’m on my way. Make sure you have plenty of fuel on board. Today isn’t a taxi service. It’s a recovery mission.”

Chapter Fourteen

EVERYTHING WAS A BLUR. A drowning, gasping blur.

The rain fell like a heavy curtain, obscuring the island I rowed toward, blocking out light and sight. The thunder split apart my eardrums. The lightning bolts sizzled in the sky.

My parrot passenger squeaked and shot into the swirling, howling air, buffeted left and right as it flew drunkenly toward the land ahead.

The bottom of the kayak rapidly filled with rain, lapping around my toes, then ankles, then shins. Water all around me, water all over me.

Yet I kept rowing.

I had no choice.

The wind grew angrier, throwing my tiny craft against snarling waves. The calm serenity of this paradise had swiftly become a churning hell.

I didn’t remember much after that. All my energy and focus went to my arms.

Row.

Row.

Row.

Quickly.

Quickly.

Quickly.

The island appeared and disappeared in sheets of rain—sometimes closer, sometimes farther, but never close enough to touch.

When the storm reached its pinnacle, I’d already burned through every dreg of energy I had left. I shook from cold and exhaustion. I was totally at Mother Nature’s mercy.

So when the wave finally arrived, heavy and rolling, merciless with gravestones and eulogies, I sucked in a breath and let it happen.

The shock from cold rain to warm ocean wasn’t what I expected. The kayak vanished, my supplies scattered, and the sea cradled me in apology, doing its best to keep me buoyant while air and wind became my enemy.

Strangely, being in the embrace of water rather than being lashed by it gave me another surge of strength.

I traded rowing for swimming.

I ducked under the rolling waves and kept my mouth closed so I didn’t drink rain or sea. I kicked and stroked until the island inched closer still.

My skirt kept wrapping around my legs, acting like ropes dragging me down.

So I kicked it free.

My blouse kept billowing around my face when the current shoved me left and right, suffocating me.

So I yanked it off and let it sink.

By the time my bone-weary toes touched reef, I had nothing left—in belongings or energy.

Reef became sand, and sand became beach.

Crawling on my hands and knees, I traded saltwater and, once again, let needles of rain wash me clean. I collapsed with my cheek on wet gold granules, panting and gasping, protected only by a black bikini.

I didn’t know where the parrot was. The kayak. My carefully packed supplies.

It was just me.

I survived.

Hauling myself to all fours, I eyed the treeline.

So far. Too far.

And in that moment, in some twist of nasty fate, the rain eased a little.

The wind died a little.

The storm hushed into quiet.

My elbows buckled, and I welcomed the soft beach to hold me.

I stayed where I was as the sun speared through empty grey clouds.

Its tentative rays warmed my back, soothing weak and weary muscles.

And I slept.

* * * * *

Thirst and sunburn woke me.

Guessing by the sun’s location in the sky, a few hours had passed since I’d been washed up on this new island. Despite all my attempts at preparing for my escape, my pride at packing rations, and my determination not to be like the other girls who’d run before me, I’d fallen into the same trap.

I’d run from one island, only to be trapped on another. Yet this one didn’t have shade or food or liquid that wasn’t tainted with salt.

I have nothing.

Stumbling up the beach and into the undergrowth, I winced and gasped as sharp twigs and bracken stabbed my bare feet. Hunger drove me forward, but thirst made me panic.

I’d had my last drink before the storm hit.

Not that long ago, but thanks to inhaling sea and pushing my body to the brink of disability, I craved something to drink.

It was all I could think about.

The only thing I wanted.

My sunburned face hurt as I squinted in the sun’s glare, popping out from the undergrowth to a cleared area. No sounds of rivers. No hints of habitation. No one to help.

Tripping forward, I wrapped my arms around myself—not for warmth as the humidity had well and truly returned—but for shade on my rapidly burning skin. Without sunscreen, my white flesh crisped like crackling.

Cutting across the clearing, I struggled to see anything thanks to the brightness of the sun. My eyes stung from seawater. My hair clung to my back in tangled ropes. I coughed against the soreness in my throat leftover from swimming in a raging storm.

Reaching the other side, I gladly ducked under a glossy bush and back into the shady undergrowth.

Looking back, I froze.

A windsock hung in the now non-existent breeze.

The clearing wasn’t natural but man-made.

A helipad.

Sully.

The moment he entered my mind, my knees wobbled, and I collapsed cross-legged in the dirt.

Would he come for me?

Half of my body hummed with hope that he cared enough to search for me even though I’d defied him and left, while the other half of me went icy with dread.

If he did find me…what would he do?

Would he hurt me?

Kill me?

I shivered in my pile of leaves, willing my logic to wake up and lecture me. I’d always been fairly good at assessing a situation and choosing the most coherent and rational answer. I’d chosen to travel with Scott, even though we’d only known each other for a little while, because his goals aligned with mine, and it was safer to travel as a duo rather than as a single girl.

I’d decided to stop being naïve after the bonfire where the boy forced himself on me and I’d enlisted the help of my friend’s sister to drive us away.

I prided myself on accepting my mistakes…if it meant I could salvage something from my screw-up.

And in a nutshell? I’d screwed up.

I shouldn’t have left Sully’s captivity. I should’ve known I wasn’t a qualified seafarer to get far enough to be found and rescued. I should’ve fought for my future in other ways.

But…I’d tried and failed, and now, I had another choice to make.

Stay hidden and hope I didn’t die from exposure, dehydration, and starvation.

Or…let him find me, accept the consequences, and fight for whatever came next.

Time skipped and looped as I remained sitting there, tearing a leaf into shreds, debating if death was preferable over being a glamorised whore for the next four years.

I’d like to be more of a martyr and choose an ending over the acquiesce of letting men use my body against me. But…I was a fighter. A survivor. The sea had spat me out to give me a second chance.