Chapter Three

WINTER

I hit the road like I’m on a mission from the universe...just me, my dusty Audi, and a playlist full of songs I’m too stressed to sing along to. She—yes, I’ve named the car “she”—isn’t moving as fast as I’d like, but we’re moving. That’s what matters.

An hour in, I feel confident.

Three hours in, I feel hungry.

By the fifth hour, I’ve officially learned a valuable life lesson:

Never trust anyone who says G****e Maps never lie.

I’ve taken two gas stops, one emergency tyre fix...shoutout to my crusty old spare...and at least one snack break that turned into a minor existential crisis.

Seven hours on the road, and just when I think we’re almost there… she gives up on me.

The car coughs once and then dies.

I try everything: pep talk, dashboard tapping, twisting random wires like I know what I’m doing. She doesn’t budge.

“You traitor,” I mutter. “This is what I get for defending you.”

But just as I’m about to panic, I look ahead...and there it is.

Paradise Resort.

In all its glorious, smug, five-star glory.

It’s massive, glimmering in the sunlight like it knows poor people aren’t allowed past the gates. It’s probably a thirty-minute trek from where I’m stranded, and I’ve carried heavier burdens....for less payoff.

So I straighten my back, grab my suitcase, stack the duffel bags, chug some water, and lock my dying car.

“Big girl pants, activated,” I mutter.

Then I start walking.

One broken dream, two busted wheels, and a suitcase full of revenge.

By the time I reach the gates of Paradise Resort, I’m soaked in sweat, my hair looks like I'm crazy, and my arms are screaming from dragging two duffels and a suitcase up a road that felt like it was paved with regret.

But I made it.

Almost.

I stop short when I see a scene straight out of a telenovela: a man in a suit is being chased away by security like he just confessed to a crime.

“I work with Valcour International!” he yells, holding up an ID badge that clearly says Valcour International.

The security guard doesn’t flinch. “Go back and get your invitation, sir. No invitation, no entry.”

Wait… what?

Even staff can’t get in without that stupid golden ticket?

I gulp. “Well… this is going to be a problem.”

There are at least six guards at the gate. Calling Mike is out of the question. I am not ready for more lies.

I scan the area, hoping for a miracle. Maybe a hole in the fence. A distraction. A divine hand to swoop me in.

And then....I see him.

Tall. Sexy. Dressed in luxury outfits. And walking with the swagger of someone who knows where every bone is buried. No luggage. No stress. Just one hand holding the sacred object itself: an official Paradise Retreat invitation.

Before my brain can talk sense into my legs, I’m already rushing toward him like a woman on a mission.

“Hi...sorry! Excuse me! I need your help!”

He turns slowly, like someone pressed the slow-motion button on a perfume ad. His eyes scan me from head to toe, and not in the good way. In the “what is this hobo doing in my airspace” kind of way.

I power through.

“I was supposed to come with my fiancé,” I lie without blinking. “He got upset because I took too long getting dressed, so he left me behind. I’ve been on the road all day...literally. Now his number won’t go through, and those guys at the gate won’t let me in. Please, can I just… go in as your plus one?”

He blinks once. Then keeps walking.

Rude.

I do what any emotionally unstable, heat-exhausted woman would do; I grab his arm and link mine with it.

He freezes. “Unhand me, you crazy woman!”

“Yes, I’m a crazy woman,” I say, gripping tighter. “Crazy in love with my fiancé, who’s probably wondering where I am right now. Can’t you see the ring?” I flash my ring in his face. “Wedding’s in six months. I’ll send you an invite....if you let me in. Please.”

He exhales like I’m the reason his blood pressure exists. “Fine. You can come with me. But don’t touch me again.”

“Trust me,” I mutter, picking up my luggage. “If I had my own ticket, I wouldn’t be within a hundred feet of your cologne cloud.”

We walk toward the gate, and I stay two respectful feet behind him, praying he doesn’t pull a fast one and rat me out.

To my surprise, he doesn’t.

When the security guards stop us, he says smoothly, “She’s my plus one.”

They nod, step aside, and just like that....I’m in.

I’m in.

I almost want to cry. But I’m too busy gawking at the sheer size of this place. The resort is so massive, I feel like I might need a compass and a support group to survive.

I have no idea where to go. But since Mr. Hot & Hostile has the ticket, I figure following him is my best shot at finding Mike...and Olivia.

I trail him through the entrance like a duckling on a revenge mission.

But then he turns sharply and glares.

“I know I’m hot,” he says, voice like velvet dipped in attitude, “but this is ridiculous. I already let you in. That’s the end of our transaction. Do not follow me around like a lost puppy.”

And just like that, he turns and storms off.

I blink.

Then scoff. “What a prick.”

But hey… I’m in.