The Island Benchley Novels & Stories

On the day of the earthquake, my sister Elena shoved me off the third floor, then burst into tears and said she had only been trying to save me. Everyone believed her. The only person who stood on my side was Nicolo, the youngest mafia boss Sicily had seen in decades. He lifted me out of the rubble, then proposed to me in front of everyone and said that from that day on, anyone who touched me would answer to him. Two months later, I was pregnant. Nicolo bought an entire island and planted it with my favorite irises for our wedding. My father spent a fortune on a one-of-a-kind gown made just for me. Everyone said I was the most envied woman in the family. Then I went into labor, and both of them disappeared. My father said the family had a deal on the line. Nicolo kissed my swollen belly, murmured that he would be back soon, and promised to bring gifts for me and the baby. Right before I was wheeled into the delivery room, an anonymous video landed on my phone. Nicolo was wearing a groom's suit. Elena stood beside him with a hand resting on her pregnant stomach. She was wearing my wedding dress. Her arm was looped through my fiance's as if she had won him fair and square. At the end of the clip, my father asked in a lowered voice, "If you and Valentina stay married only on paper, what happens to the child she gives birth to?" Nicolo was quiet for two seconds before he answered. "Valentina grew up with everything. Elena spent her whole life carrying the stain of being illegitimate. Her child will not grow up the same way." So all that tenderness had never been for me. It had all been for Elena. Fine. They could have each other.

I spent a year starving for a man who wouldn't touch me. Then his father and brother decided to feast. Rob called me a slut when I begged him to fuck me. Made me feel worthless for craving his hands on my body. Then he let another woman suck his cock right in front of me—and told me she did it better. I should have left. But I followed him to his family's private island in Italy instead. That's where I met them. Victor Marchetti. Rob's father. Silver hair, ice-blue eyes, and a body built for sin. He looked at me like he wanted to devour me whole. When his hand touched the small of my back, I felt it between my thighs. Dante. The older brother. Dark, dangerous, and built like he could break me apart with his bare hands. One look from those black eyes and I was wet. One word from that deep voice and I was ready to drop to my knees. I tried to resist. Tried to remember I had a boyfriend sleeping down the hall. But they hunted me. Cornered me. Made me admit what my body had been screaming for. When they finally took me—both of them, at the same time, claiming every hole, every sound, every desperate whimper—I understood what I'd been missing. Victor's hand around my throat while Dante buried himself so deep I couldn't breathe. Two men who didn't just want me. They needed me. Owned me. Ruined me for anyone else. Rob made me beg for scraps. His father and brother made me scream their names.

"Please," he said, and his voice had gone rough, desperate. "Let me see you. Let me see your face." My hand came up and covered his where it rested on my mask. "Okay," I whispered. He pulled the mask off slowly, carefully, and I blinked as my eyes adjusted to seeing without the green tint. His hand was still between my legs, fingers still moving in slow circles that made my breath come in short gasps, but he'd gone very still otherwise. I looked up at him, at the green mask still covering his face. "I want to see you too." He didn't move or speak anymore. Something cold started to spread through my chest, cutting through the heat he'd built there. "What?" I asked. "Am I too ugly to be your mate?" His hand jerked away from me like I'd burned him. The loss of contact made me want to cry out, made my body ache with sudden emptiness. He took a step back, then another, and I could see his hands curling into fists at his sides. His whole body was shaking. "What the fuck," he said, and his voice had gone flat and cold. ***** Kaireen was disowned by her parents just because she rejected a marriage proposal, she stayed the night with her friend, got into an impromptu game that changed her fate, she met her mate, the one thing she never knew she could have but it was her nightmare. Her Bully and her brother who would stop at nothing to make life hell for her, to worsen it all, he needed to mark her to survive in an Island of Cruel Lycans. How did they get there? How will her parents and pack react knowing she was mated to the most cruel Alpha brother.

On the death anniversary of Edward Paulson's ancestors, my husband, Shane Carlton's best friend, Valerie York, wants to make an offering to said ancestors by lighting up candles of different sizes. The thing is, she wants to do it in the direction of the wind. This time, however, I don't bother stopping her at all. In my previous lifetime, the entire company accompanied Edward, a rich businessman who happened to be a client of ours, to his hometown so that he could pay respects to his ancestors. In order to show how capable she was in front of Edward, Valerie insisted on lighting tall and huge candles, which was against the law. I quickly stopped her by explaining that it'd be very easy for her to start a mountain fire if she were to do this. But Valerie claimed that I was just trying to embarrass her in front of everyone else. Furious, she ran toward the depths of the mountain, where she accidentally fell down a slope and ended up crippled. Shane continued to keep Edward company throughout the day without reacting to the news. Thanks to my efforts in socializing with Edward, Shane successfully snagged the business deal with him. Later on, the company got listed successfully. When Shane took me on a vacation to a tropical island, he shoved me into the deep sea that was filled with reefs. As I felt seawater gushing into my nose, I demanded Shane for answers while crying loudly. He just stomped on my hands, which were latching desperately to the side of the boat. "If you hadn't publicly humiliated Valerie back then, she wouldn't have fallen down the slope and gotten crippled!" In the end, I drowned in the no man zone. After I died, Valerie, who was supposedly crippled, miraculously stood up. Shane used the accident insurance payout that he had cashed out from my death to enjoy the rest of his life with Valerie. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day Valerie decides to light the candles.

My husband, Shawn Payne, goes bankrupt overnight. That very night, he ships me and our son, Tommy Payne, off to a deserted island, claiming it's the only way to keep us safe from his creditors. Worried sick about leaving him to face the danger alone, I sneak back home halfway there, only to find him throwing a wild party, his arms wrapped tightly around a beautiful woman. His best friend, Ryan Foster, needles him. "You dumped your wife and son in the middle of nowhere. How are they going to survive out there?" Shawn shrugs like it's no big deal. "Yvonne's closing down her dog food factory anyway. I had all the surplus kibble repackaged and shipped to the island. It's more than enough to keep them fed for a few years." The woman, Yvonne Sullivan, purrs and snuggles deeper into his chest. "Oh, babe, you're so good to me and the baby," she coos, gently stroking her belly, which isn't even showing yet. He taps the tip of her nose affectionately. "You're so innocent and soft-hearted. If I don't look out for you, who will?" He pulls Yvonne closer and continues, "For your sake, I had to ship that shrew off to some godforsaken island. If she ever found out you were pregnant, she'd tear you apart. Once you have the baby and she turns two, I'll bring them back. By then, it'll be a done deal. There's nothing she can do about it." His words hit me like a ton of bricks. A cold sweat soaks me to the skin. Three years later, right on schedule, he calls. "Hey honey, how are you and Tommy doing? I'm ready to come pick you guys up." I glance at the man beside me, and a rush of satisfaction washes over me. "We're doing great," I reply. "My new husband treats both me and your son incredibly well."

My mafia boyfriend, Finn, is always bickering with his childhood friend, Amanda. For my birthday, she brought me a bullet vibe. "Here. For round two, just in case. I know his stamina better than anyone." He tossed a bottle of pale foundation at her. "Slap some more on. Maybe then someone will actually want to touch you." They shoved each other on their way out, slamming the door behind them. The candles on the cake burned down to nothing while I sat alone at the dining table. The first time our families sat down for a formal dinner, she smiled and slipped him a small bottle of lube. "Take it. So you don't make the poor girl suffer." His face darkened. "Better than you crying at night, hugging a body pillow." This time, Finn had arranged a private island vacation. A mutual friend quietly gave me a heads-up, telling me he was planning to propose on a cliff at sunset. After a seven-year marathon, I told myself this was it. The finish line was finally in sight. I dressed meticulously, putting on my most expensive dress, and walked toward the helipad. I pulled open the helicopter door. Amanda was already in the co-pilot's seat. She raised an eyebrow at me. "Chloe, you're here? I'm claustrophobic, so you don't mind if I sit up front, right?" Finn, gripping the controls, turned to look me over. "Chloe, you sit in the back. I'm worried she'll have a meltdown and start scratching and biting. It'll ruin the mood." Before I could say a word, Amanda was already arguing with him. "What's that supposed to mean? You think I'm a burden?" "It's not the first time I've thought so. Why are you being so dramatic today?" Their back and forth was so practiced it felt like a script they had rehearsed a thousand times. In that moment, the exhaustion of the past seven years washed over me. And for the first time, I realized I didn't want to say yes to his proposal anymore.

The night before I officially registered my marriage, my friends convinced everyone to play a "mystery box game." The female guests each placed a gift into a box, and the gifts were randomly given to the men at the party. Everyone said it was the fairest way. When I opened my box, there was only a thin card inside. It said, "Thanks for participating." The entire room instantly went silent. Some people couldn't hold back their laughter. My fiancée, Charlotte Kilbourn, reached over and straightened my collar. "Your luck is still terrible." Lyra Sharpe, my childhood friend who grew up with me, whispered, "Just smile. Don't make people think you're a sore loser." Meanwhile, Connor Winfield got the hidden prize in the same round. Inside were a limited-edition mechanical watch personally chosen by Charlotte, a couples' island vacation package I had dreamed about for three years, and a handwritten note from Lyra that said, "We'll always protect you." I forced myself to laugh along, then placed the card back into the empty box. I thought winning a game was just about luck. But when I went to the restroom, I overheard the host checking the prize list in the lounge. "Ms. Kilbourn, you didn't give out the prizes wrong, did you? The hidden prize went to Mr. Winfield, and the participation prize went to Mr. Rayner." Charlotte answered calmly. Lyra laughed and added, "That's right. He won't take it seriously." Standing outside the door, I suddenly remembered the night I turned 18, when I stood in the rain waiting for the midnight fireworks at my debut party. Charlotte and Lyra had given the only umbrella to Connor. Then they turned back and told me, "George, you're closer. Just run a few steps and you'll be fine." That night, after I walked home soaked in the rain, I still believed I was just unlucky. But tonight, I finally understood the truth. They had never planned to give me that umbrella from the beginning. So this time, I tore the card into pieces and canceled my marriage registration appointment. I didn't want to play a "lucky game" they had already planned for me anymore.

Right after I get accepted to my rich biological family, I become my older sister, Josie Sonnenfeld's marriage replacement. In the first marriage alliance, Josie despises the fact that her partner, Zane Lowry, is a hedonistic playboy who can't even hold down a job. On the day of their engagement, she's fled all the way to another country with another man. I pin Zane down and teaches him how to cook up a perfect scheme so that he can overtake his arrogant half-brother who happens to be a bastard son. In the second marriage alliance, Josie looks down on Benjamin Shaw, a low-income college student who comes from an ordinary family. On their wedding day, she makes sure to humiliate him in front of everyone before ditching him at the altar. With the money I've saved up, I spend one long, grueling year in the basement with Benjamin as he works hard to establish his success. I'm with him until the day he becomes the director of the National Research Institute. In the third marriage alliance, Josie scowls in disgust when she realizes Rowan Gallagher is a total momma's boy. She wastes no time traveling to a tropical island with her male best friend afterward. As for me, I walk into the stressful-looking manor and drag the cowardly Rowan out. By the time I'm done reshaping him, he has succeeded in taking over every single business belonging to his family. Three years later, Josie, who has spent every single cent overseas, has no choice but to return to the country while heavily pregnant. "Thanks for watching over these losers in my stead, Laura. Now that I'm back, you can get lost now." Josie intends to pick one out of her three ex-fiances to become her unborn baby's father. Meanwhile, I tap on a group chat titled "Happy Family" and sends a text there. "Josie is back for you three." Everyone in the group chat instantly goes haywire. The men are quick to proclaim their love and loyalty toward me. "Don't worry, honey! Our hearts and bodies are yours!"

Julian Hayes spent eight years climbing from first officer to captain of the most coveted international routes. I stood beside him for every mile of that climb. For him, I walked away from the Valenti family, the most feared Mafia name on the East Coast. I buried Elena Valenti, and became Lina Vale, the girl who smiled in the cabin while he ruled the cockpit. The day I left, my father stood on the marble steps of our estate and said, "Elena, if you walk out that gate for him, don’t come crawling back." Julian never knew. To him, I was a woman with no real family, no real power, and no life worth asking about. I was the one who memorized his flight schedule, packed his stomach pills, and kept dinner warm until midnight. Once, I asked him, "Can you take me into the sky the way you see it? Just once." He didn’t even put down his fork. "The cockpit is a workplace, Lina. Not a theme park." I said okay and never asked again. Then one sleepless dawn, I found the encrypted album on his phone. More than forty cockpit photos: cloud seas, blood-red sunsets, double rainbows after storms, the Milky Way over the Atlantic. Every one had been sent to the same contact. A teddy bear emoji. The newest photo showed half a sun hanging off the wingtip. His caption read, [Next time you’re off, I’ll put you in the observer seat. Sit on the right. That’s where the whole sky opens up.] She replied, [I’ll hold you to that.] I put the phone back. I didn’t change the password, didn’t delete the album, didn’t wake him up to beg for an explanation. At dawn, I brewed his coffee like always, sat alone at the kitchen island, and drank mine in silence. Then I sent my resignation letter and called a number I hadn’t touched in eight years. I watched the first flight of the morning rise beyond the Manhattan skyline and said, "Papa, I’m coming home." When the line connected, my father’s voice was colder than a gun barrel. "Have you thought it through?"

On the night before we're supposed to register our marriage, our friends suggested playing a mystery box game. Each of the men puts a gift into a box, and the boxes are randomly handed out to the women. They all say this is the fairest way to play this game. When I open mine, there's only a single card inside that reads, "Thank you for participating." The room falls silent for a moment. Then, someone can't help snickering. My fiance, Hunter Sinclair, ruffles my hair. "Your luck is still as bad as ever." My childhood friend, Gabriel Unwin, lowers his voice and says, "Smile. Don't make people think you can't take a joke." At the same round, Tiffany West opens her box and finds the grand prize inside. The box contains a pink diamond necklace personally chosen by Hunter and a voucher for the island getaway I've talked about for three years. There is also a handwritten card from Gabriel. It says, "We'll always be here to protect you." I smile along with everyone else and slip my card back into the empty box. A raffle is all about luck, after all. Later, as I head to the restroom, I overhear the host checking the prize list in the lounge. He says, "Mr. Sinclair, everything was handed out correctly, right? The grand prize went to Ms. West, and the consolation prize went to Ms. Lawson." Hunter hums in confirmation. Gabriel laughs and adds, "That's right. She'll find a way to make herself feel better." Standing outside the door, I suddenly remember my 18th birthday. I waited in the rain for the midnight fireworks celebrating my coming of age. But Hunter and Gabriel held the only umbrella over Tiffany instead. Looking back at me, they said, "Natalie, your house is closer. Just run a couple of steps, and you're safe from the rain." That night, I went home soaked to the bone. I even made excuses for them, telling myself that it was just my bad luck. But tonight, I finally understand. The umbrella was never meant for me in the first place. So this time, I tear up that card and decide not to go through with our marriage registration. I'm done playing the game of luck they've rigged from the very beginning.