The receptionist gave me a rehearsed smile, polite and immovable.‘I’m sorry, Miss Vance, but you’re not on Mr Laurent’s schedule today. Do you have an appointment?’The words nearly slipped out, ‘I’m his wife.’Then reality caught up with me. I wasn’t. Not anymore.I was still fumbling for an answer when another voice cut across the lobby.‘It’s all right, I’ll take care of it. Miss Vance, why don’t we step this way?’The hairs prickled at the back of my neck. I turned and found myself face to face with Lea.Blonde hair falling sleek around her shoulders, a fitted dress in some shade designed to command attention without looking like it tried, makeup immaculate. She looked as though she had stepped out of one of those glossy magazines featuring formidable businesswomen.‘Ash is in a meeting,’ she said smoothly, already heading for t
The boardroom was silent except for the faint hum of the air-conditioning. Twelve pairs of eyes were fixed on me, each one calculating, suspicious, or quietly resentful.The long mahogany table gleamed under the overhead lights. I sat at the head, as I always did, my right hand resting casually on the arm of the chair, though the bandages beneath my sleeve still itched and ached with every pulse.One of the older men cleared his throat. His name was Laurent too, though barely anyone outside the family remembered his exact connection. Second cousin once removed, perhaps. He was nearing seventy, with a heavy jaw and an air of self-importance.‘Ashton,’ he began, his tone deliberately paternal. ‘No one here doubts your capabilities, but you’ve been through an ordeal. Stranded on an island, injured, feverish. Surely you must admit you need rest. Perhaps it would be wise to step back for a time. Let others shoulder the burden until you recover
The standfirst glared at me, mocking: ‘Ashton Laurent and Lea Lopez at Business Dinner. Romance Confirmed?’My phone screen glittered with the photo, Ashton seated at a long table, Lea leaning close, a smile curved just so, her hand grazing the stem of her glass as if she were starring in some perfectly staged advert for power couples.The article went on to describe them as a natural match, old friends with a shared history, equals in ambition and ruthlessness.A note at the bottom added, almost casually, that Ashton’s ex-girlfriend, a jewellery designer based partly in Paris, had been absent from public view, ‘perhaps laying down roots abroad’.That last line twisted like a knife.I forced myself to breathe. This was not the first time I had seen Ashton in the news with another woman.Rowan Hale had once plastered her smile across the tabloids beside his. That story had been nothing but a manipulation on Rowan
The flight back to Skyline stretched on endlessly, though the captain insisted it was just under seven hours.Time did not obey clocks when your mind was chasing itself in circles.I barely touched the champagne the flight attendant pressed into my hand. Instead, I spent most of the journey staring at the clouds through the oval window, chewing on the inside of my cheek until I could taste copper.The man in the seat beside me, a trim sort of executive with a navy suit and a smile polished to boardroom standards, decided I looked like an easy target for conversation.‘First time visiting Skyline?’ he asked, with the kind of bright cheerfulness that belonged to someone determined to network at thirty thousand feet.‘No,’ I said, adjusting the blanket across my lap.He leaned closer, as if I had just opened the door to more. ‘Do you live there or work there? I’m in tech investments myself. Always interesting
‘How’s he?’Yvaine rolled her eyes at me while she pared an apple with a knife. ‘Shouldn’t you be more worried about yourself? Doc said your fever nearly fried your brain.’‘I’m fine now,’ I said, though my voice was still hoarse.It had been three days since the rescue.The helicopter that landed on the island hadn’t been a rescue helicopter at all. It was a team of location scouts from a TV production crew, searching for a spot to film a survival reality show.The sudden storm had blown them off their course and straight onto the island.But as the saying goes, misfortune can be a blessing in disguise. Thanks to that storm, they had stumbled on an ideal location that wasn’t even on their list.With their help, Ashton and I were flown out and sent straight to the nearest hospital.I drifted in and out of consciousness on the journey, too feverish to keep track o
His right hand was trembling violently. It was still covered by a diving glove.I remembered asking him once why he always kept it on. He had said it made work easier. It seemed reasonable enough, so I hadn’t questioned it.But now...My breath caught as I reached for his gloved hand. He was unconscious, unable to resist, and I peeled the glove away with ease. When it came free, I clapped a hand over my mouth to stop a cry escaping.His right hand.The palm was split by a raw, unhealed gash. The whole hand was swollen, red, eaten away by infection. It was barely recognisable as a hand at all. The wound had been there for days, festering until it rotted like this.My chest ached with worry, but another question gnawed at me. When had he hurt himself? What could have done this?I forced myself to think back. And then it struck me. That afternoon when we dived in the deep sea. After the tsunami, when we lost our torches, Ashton had