Chapter Five

WINTER

“Babe,” I say the second Blair stops cackling about my feelings for Mike. “I need a favor.”

She goes silent... which is never a good sign.

“Let me guess,” she says slowly. “You want me to buy you a room in the resort’s presidential suite and sneak you spa coupons?”

“Better,” I grin. “I need you to help me tow my car back to my house.”

Her groan is so loud I have to hold the phone away from my ear.

“Winter! You drove that haunted Audi all the way into another world and now you want me to tow it back? Do I look like a roadside mechanic? Am I your sugar daddy?”

“You’re my best friend. Which means you're all of the above.”

“Ugh! The things I do for friendship,” she huffs. “Send me the location. I’ll sort it out after work.”

“Thank you!” I blow her a dramatic kiss. “I’ll name my first child after you. Even if it’s a boy.”

“Girl, just promise the car won’t explode when I touch it.”

“Can’t make promises I can’t keep.”

We laugh, exchange some ridiculous threats of emotional blackmail, and say our goodbyes. Blair promises to call once she’s “done dragging my metal coffin back home.”

I end the call, tuck my now-silent phone away, and glance around.

The hot stranger is gone. Of course he is. Men like that appear, save your life, and disappear just in time for you to feel weird about it later.

I head off, determined to find the lodge. How hard can it be?

Turns out, very.

The resort is massive—like someone merged a luxury city and a fairy tale kingdom and dropped it into the wilderness. The paths split in six different directions, and there’s not a single map, sign, taxi, or even a lost guest I can follow.

I pick a random road and start walking, dragging my bags behind me like a wandering suitcase goblin. The path splits into three within minutes. Then five. Then a twisted mess of scenic nonsense designed to confuse poor, sweaty people like me.

“This place is giving evil maze energy,” I mutter.

No signs. No people. No idea where I’m going.

I retrace my steps, spinning in circles like a GPS with trauma.

My feet are screaming. My arms feel like I’m carrying a dead llama. And the only people I pass are the gate guards from earlier, who are now very focused on not helping me.

Nearly an hour later, I finally stumble into what looks like the pool section of the resort.

And oh. My. God.

It’s not just a pool. It’s six glistening blue ones, each sexier than the last, spread out like an open-air magazine cover.

Sun-kissed women in designer bikinis stretch out on loungers, sipping from glasses taller than my self-worth. Shirtless men—six-packs, jawlines, and tattoos everywhere—laugh, dive, flex like they’re trying to get cast in a N*****x original.

Everything smells like pineapple and wealth.

Palm trees sway lazily. The tiles are spotless. Lounge music plays softly from hidden speakers. The towels are folded like origami animals. And here I am....sweaty, and dragging luggage.

I am the Cinderella of this story. And not the glamorous ballroom part.

I need a room. A shower. Dinner. A bed. And maybe a therapist.

I follow the signs toward the lodge area, praying this will be easier.

The lodge itself is another masterpiece—massive glass walls, golden lighting, soft classical music playing as people come and go with drinks in hand and smiles like everything in their lives is fully funded.

Nobody greets me. Nobody notices me. I’m just another woman with too much luggage and no peace of mind.

At the reception, I step forward, trying to act confident despite the sweat under my arms.

“Hi, I’d like to check in.”

The woman at the desk gives me the kind of smile they give people who clearly don’t belong.

“Your invitation card, please.”

I smile. “Right. Funny story....I came with my fiancé. We got separated. Long story. But yes, he has the invitation."

“We’ll need the invitation, ma’am. Resort policy.”

“I’ll pay,” I say quickly. “Cash, card, bank transfer, firstborn child....just give me a room.”

She smiles tighter. “Even paid bookings require valid invitation codes. We apologize.”

I lean closer. “Okay, how about this... my fiance is Mike Jordan.”

That gets her attention. She checks her screen, then nods. “Mr. Jordan has accommodations under his name. However, we’ll need him to validate your claim. Otherwise, we can’t issue a room.”

“I can show you pictures of us together,” I say. I whip out my phone, open our old pictures. “Look. Me. Him. Matching pajamas. Christmas 2023. That’s love.”

“That’s nice,” she says. “Still not policy.”

I attempt a subtle bribe with the money I was saving for emergencies. She smiles sweetly and pushes it back toward me.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. Resort policy.”

I exhale so hard my soul briefly leaves my body.

“Great.”

I leave my bags behind the desk with a warning glare. “If any of these go missing, I’ll call my lawyer. She’s a TikTok paralegal, but still.”

And with that I go hunting.

I don’t bother calling Mike. I know what I’ll get....voicemail, lies, and a migraine. I need to see his stupid face.

But I don’t find him.

Instead, I find her.

Olivia.

Standing at the far end of the pool in a pink and blue bikini so tiny I’m sure it was illegal three years ago.

She’s laughing with two other women who look like her clone army—bikini Barbies with wine glasses and fake laughs.

I scan the area. No sign of Mike. I sigh, pull out my phone, and dial her number.

Voicemail.

From where I stand, I can see her phone tossed on a lounger, untouched.

I have no choice. I square my shoulders, fix my face, and start marching toward her.

As I get closer, Olivia turns and we make eye contact.

She sees me.

She definitely sees me.

But then she turns away like I’m the pool cleaner.

Oh, we’re doing that?

I keep walking. My fists clench. My patience unravels.

And then, just as I reach her...

She turns.

“Oh!” she gasps...and pushes me.

Like a literal Disney villain.

I trip backward, completely off balance, and before I can even process what’s happening...

I hit the water like a sack of potatoes.

My phone slips from my hand, sinking beside me. My heart pounds.

No.

No, no, no.

I can’t swim.

I. Can’t. Swim.

Panic floods my chest faster than the water does. My arms flail. My mouth opens. Water rushes in. My nose burns. My eyes sting. My vision blurs. My limbs feel heavy. The surface gets farther and farther away.

I scream, but nothing comes out.

Nobody moves. Nobody helps. They think I’m playing. Splashing for fun.

But I’m drowning.

Drowning in this stupid luxury pool with rich people sipping wine like they’re watching a show.

My limbs go numb. My vision fades. My thoughts blur.

Then...I feel someone dive in.

Strong arms wrap around me. And the last thing I remember is the sound of a splash…

…before everything goes black.