Elara had been on luxury vacations before. In her past life, Julian had always insisted on booking five-star resorts to keep up appearances for his Instagram followers, always making sure the paparazzi "accidentally" knew where they were.
But as Alexander's private jet touched down on the pristine white airstrip of the island, Elara realized Julian's version of wealth was nothing but a cheap imitation.
There were no paparazzi here. There wasn't even a hotel staff.
The entire island—a lush, emerald paradise surrounded by blindingly turquoise water—belonged exclusively to the man sitting across from her.
"Liam isn't staying?" Elara asked, noticing that Alexander's terrifying shadow hadn't boarded the plane with them in the city.
Alexander didn't look up from the file he was reading. He had shed his suit hours ago, now wearing a simple black t-shirt that stretched tightly across his broad shoulders and chest.
"I told you, Elara," he murmured, flipping a page. "No distractions. Liam has a company to run in my absence. It's just you and me."
A sleek, open-air jeep was waiting for them on the tarmac. Alexander drove it himself, navigating a winding dirt path through the dense jungle until the trees broke, revealing the main villa.
It was a sprawling, ultra-modern masterpiece of dark wood and floor-to-ceiling glass, built directly over the crystal-clear water. It was breathtaking. And entirely isolated.
Alexander parked the jeep and grabbed their bags effortlessly. He walked up the wooden boardwalk to the massive double doors, unlocking them with a biometric scan.
Elara followed him inside, the cool air-conditioning a welcome relief from the tropical heat. The living room was massive, the glass walls fully retracted to open the space up to a private infinity pool that seemed to bleed right into the ocean.
She walked down the hallway, peeking into the rooms. A state-of-the-art kitchen. A private gym. A massive, sunken lounge area.
She stopped at the final door at the end of the hall. The master suite.
It was stunning. The floor was dark mahogany, and the walls were entirely glass, offering a 180-degree view of the ocean. But Elara wasn't looking at the view.
She was looking at the center of the room.
There was only one bed.
It was massive, draped in sheer white curtains that fluttered in the ocean breeze, but it was undeniably singular. There were no couches in the room. No guest suites down the hall.
A heavy, warm hand settled on her lower back. Elara jumped slightly. She hadn't even heard Alexander come up behind her.
"Is there a problem, Mrs. Cross?" Alexander's voice was a low, teasing rumble right next to her ear.
Elara swallowed, trying to keep her voice perfectly steady. "I just... assumed an estate this large would have multiple bedrooms."
"It does," Alexander replied smoothly. He stepped past her, dropping their bags at the foot of the massive bed. "The guest villas are on the other side of the island. But I didn't bring my wife to a private paradise to have her sleep in a different zip code."
He turned around to face her. The playful, teasing tone vanished, replaced by that heavy, suffocating intensity that always made Elara's pulse skyrocket.
"You've been running on pure adrenaline for the last forty-eight hours," Alexander stated, his dark eyes stripping away her defenses. "You crushed your ex-fiancé, bought out a boardroom, and hijacked a press conference. You wore my ring like a shield. Now, the war is paused. The shield comes off."
He grabbed the hem of his black t-shirt and pulled it over his head in one fluid motion.
Elara's breath hitched, her eyes widening.
She had felt the hard muscle beneath his suits, but seeing it was entirely different. His chest and abdomen were violently sculpted, but they weren't flawless. A jagged, faded scar ran diagonally across his left ribcage, and a dark, intricate tattoo of a serpent wrapped around his right shoulder, disappearing down his back. It was a body built for violence, marked by survival.
He tossed the shirt onto a nearby chair and walked toward the sliding glass doors that led to the private pool.
"I'm going for a swim," Alexander said, not looking back. "There are swimsuits in the closet. Put one on and join me."
"And if I don't want to?" Elara challenged, crossing her arms to keep her hands from trembling.
Alexander stopped at the edge of the water. He turned his head, a wicked, dangerous smirk playing on his lips.
"Then I will come back inside," he warned softly, his eyes dropping to her clothed figure, "and I will undress you myself. The choice is yours, little bird."
He dove perfectly into the water, vanishing beneath the crystal surface.
Elara stood frozen in the middle of the master suite. Her heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. In the city, she had felt like she was in control, using Alexander as the ultimate weapon against Julian.
But looking out at the terrifying, beautiful man surfacing in the pool, the reality of her situation finally hit her.
She hadn't just hired a weapon. She had sold her soul to a predator. And he was done waiting.
Question to guide Chapter 13: Elara is definitely going out to that pool! When she steps out in her swimsuit, should Alexander pull her directly into the water for a steamy confrontation, or should he make her sit on the edge and slowly break down her nervous walls through intense conversation first?