로그인The site was quieter than usual. Richard wasn't supposed to be at the site today—an unfinished coastal development still in its skeletal stage, steel ribs rising from sand and stone. The kind of place that lets him think. The kind of place where variables stayed where you put them. Hard hats hung on hooks near the temporary office. A few engineers moved in the distance, voices muted by machinery and wind. The sea stretched beyond the perimeter fence, indifferent and endless. He stood near the edge of the structure, reviewing blueprints on his tablet, when he felt it. That subtle displacement of air. The instinctive awareness that someone had entered his orbit. “Mr. Abbott?” He turned. She stood just inside the safety line, wearing a visitor’s badge clipped neatly to her dress. Pale linen. Sensible shoes. Hair pulled back from her face in a way that made her look younger than she was—or perhaps older. It was hard to tell with her. Elara. Not the uncanny shock of resembl
Richard realized it an hour later. Not because Monet told him anything. Not because Gabriel confessed. Because Monet was standing under the shower, rinsing salt from her hair after her swim she asked—too casually—“Do you know a man named Gabriel?”Richard didn’t freeze. That was the tell. He dried his body slowly, methodically, every movement precise. Years of boardrooms and grief had taught him how to keep his face neutral even when something sharp slid under his ribs.“I do,” he said evenly. “Why?"Monet shrugged, turning off the tap. “I met him in town. Briefly. He seemed familiar, although he didn't introduce himself as an acquaintance of yours.”The word landed heavily. Richard nodded once. “He has that effect.”She studied his reflection in the window, searching for something. “You didn’t introduce me to him all this time though.”“I didn’t know he was,” Richard replied. That part, at least, was true.Monet accepted the answer, but something in her expression said she’d
Monet didn’t know she was being watched.She was standing just inside a shaded boutique off the main strip, fingers brushing over light cotton dresses she didn’t need, trying to decide if she wanted something yellow or something forgettable. The shop smelled faintly of citrus and incense, doors open to the sea breeze and passing voices. She felt almost normal.That should have warned her.“Excuse me,” a man’s voice said behind her. Polite. Cultured. American. Mildly amused.She stepped aside automatically, murmuring an apology she didn’t need to give.“No, no—my fault,” he replied easily. “I forget how narrow these places are.”She glanced up. He was handsome in an effortless way. Not striking at first glance, but the kind of man people remembered later. Warm brown eyes. A smile that arrived fast and left slowly. Something self-assured in his posture, as though the world rarely refused him.He nodded once, friendly. Passing. And then he stopped. Just a fraction too late.His gaze
“Another honeymoon in Seychelles," The voice echoed from behind Richard filled with humor. “You really love Seychelles, uh Richard." Recognition set in as Richard closed his laptop on the Elara's form he'd been reading. “Gabriel." He stated simply to the man who now stood before him with a huge grin on his face. “Longest of times Richard.” Gabriel greeted, flopping onto the wicker chair opposite Richard's. “You couldn't stop by to say hello, so I thought I'd drop by on you.” “Unannounced?” Richard asked with a serious face. “Well, you also didn't think to invite me to your marriage or introduce me to your bride, so here I am.” Richard sighed—Gabriel was a business competitor, part-friend, part-enemy, and a competitor for Hannah's love. “Where's the new wife?” He asked looking around. “I've heard quite enough from Juliet to know she's probably hiding in her cave since the sun's out.” Richard sat alone to work—dig some m
Elara’s message arrived when Monet wasn’t looking for it.Her phone was face down on the bedside table, the room dim except for the spill of lamplight and the distant hush of waves beyond the balcony doors. Monet had just finished showering, her hair still damp, wrapped in one of the villa’s oversized robes, when the screen lit up.One notification. Unknown contact. For a moment, she didn’t move.Some instincts lived deeper than thought.When she finally turned the phone over, her pulse had already begun to quicken.Elara:I hope this isn’t strange. But I couldn't stay away, I need to speak with you. Monet sat down slowly on the edge of the bed.She told herself she could ignore it. That silence was a boundary too. That wanting peace didn’t make her cowardly.But curiosity wasn’t what pulled her fingers to the screen. Recognition was.Monet:It’s not strange. I’ve been thinking too but I did tell you I don't want to unpack anything now. Three dots appeared almost instantly. The
Morning arrived softly, filtered through gauze curtains and sea light that turned the walls pale gold.Monet woke first.Not with a jolt. Not with the old instinctive panic that used to drag her back into herself. Just awareness—slow, gradual, like surf easing toward shore. She lay still for a moment, listening.Richard was asleep beside her, turned slightly away, one arm bent beneath his pillow, the other resting loosely between them. He looked younger like this. Unburdened. Or perhaps merely unguarded.She studied his face in the quiet, the familiar planes of it, the faint crease between his brows that never fully left him, the far too sensuous lips she'd frown to love kissing. Loving him felt less like falling and more like standing in something steady. Like placing her weight somewhere and discovering it would hold.That steadiness was what made the rest harder.She slipped out of bed carefully, dressing without noise, moving onto the balcony with a mug of coffee she barely ta







