16
1525 Words
After breakfast, the villa settled into a quiet lull where the only sounds were the waves rolling against the cliff and palm leaves brushing together in the breeze. Malia and Keoni cleared the table with gentle humming, and Chase stepped away to answer another call from his coach. The moment he left the dining area, I felt my shoulders relax, as if my body had absorbed all of the tension from pretending and needed space to breathe.
I walked toward the balcony doors, drawn by the smell of the ocean. The sunlight spilled across the wood floors like liquid gold, warm under my bare feet, inviting me outside. I hesitated, waiting for Chase to finish, but a soft voice reached me.
“You should enjoy the beach,” Malia said with a smile. “It is very private. No one can see you there, not even cameras from boats.”
Her reassurance settled something tight inside me. Privacy was a luxury, a rare thing in a world where eyes and lenses followed the name Cassandra like shadows. I nodded gratefully and stepped through the balcony and down the stone path that led to the hidden staircase carved into the cliff.
The staircase curved downward, bordered with tropical flowers, until my feet landed on soft white sand. The beach was perfect. Secluded. Sheltered by two tall rock walls that framed the cove in a crescent shape. Crystal blue water washed over the sand with slow gentle kisses. Here, the world felt smaller and safer.
I took a deep breath and let the wind sweep through my hair, carrying away the edges of fear. My mask was still on, but the sunglasses were tucked into my pocket. There were no cameras here, no strangers with questions, no flashes ready to blind me. Only the sea, the sky, and the feeling that this small piece of earth belonged to no one but the waves.
Footsteps crunched behind me.
I turned to see Chase coming down the stairs. His phone call was over. He had rolled his sleeves up and tucked one hand in his pocket as he walked, the breeze ruffling his hair. Something about him felt different here, outside, away from eyes that judged every breath we took.
He joined me on the sand without speaking. For a moment, we walked side by side in silence, our footsteps leaving twin trails behind us. The water lapped at our ankles as we reached the shoreline, cool and refreshing, like a greeting from the ocean.
“Are you feeling better,” he asked finally.
His voice was low, but not cold. Concern shaped the edges of it, even if he did not show it in his face.
“Yes,” I said softly. “Much better here.”
His eyes swept across the empty beach. “It is safe. No one can reach this spot unless they climb the cliff or swim from the other side. And no one will.”
I nodded, turning my gaze to the horizon where the sky melted into the water. A bird skimmed the surface before disappearing into the distance.
“I can breathe here,” I admitted. “Without people watching.”
Chase hummed in agreement. “The world is quieter when no one is looking.”
A gust of wind lifted my dress lightly. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and looked at him.
“Can I ask something,” I said.
He glanced at me, nodding once.
“Why did you become a hockey player,” I asked. “You are an Alpha. You could have chosen anything in the pack. Leadership. Diplomacy. Politics. Why sports.”
He slowed his steps. The waves brushed his ankles again before receding.
“I always liked ice,” he said. “The cold. The speed. The silence on the rink when everything moves fast.”
“Silence,” I repeated.
“When you skate, your thoughts disappear and your body knows what to do,” he said. “There is no noise there. No expectations. It is only movement and winning. I like winning.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, as if thinking through memories. I pictured him on the ice, moving like a shadow, cutting through air with blades sharp enough to slice sound itself. Strong. Unstoppable.
“Do you play for the pack,” I asked. “Or for yourself.”
He thought for a moment before answering.
“Both,” he said. “When I win, the pack wins. When I score, they feel pride. It is the only time I can give them something without being told how to do it.”
There was a thickness in his voice, not emotional, but thoughtful.
I lowered my gaze to the sand. “I think I understand.”
He looked at me with curiosity.
“Since we were children,” I said, “Cassandra always wanted to be seen. She wanted lights and audiences and attention. And she was good at it. She made the world look at her. She enjoyed that so much. Everyone said I should be more like her. Brighter. Louder.”
Chase listened, eyes steady.
“I was always hiding,” I said. “Behind curtains, behind everyone else, behind her voice. When she stood on a stage, I stood outside the room. When she talked to crowds, I listened from the hallway. She was everything people wanted. And I was everything they did not see.”
The wind tugged gently at my hair. The waves rose and fell in slow rhythm.
“It was easier that way,” I whispered. “When no one sees you, no one expects anything from you. You do not disappoint anyone.”
Chase stopped walking. I kept going without realizing until he called softly.
“Isla.”
I paused and turned. He was standing alone in the sand, water swirling around his feet. His eyes looked darker, reflecting the sea.
“You are not a disappointment,” he said.
The words hit hard. Too hard. I looked away quickly, pretending to watch a shell near the waterline.
“You do not know me,” I murmured.
“Maybe not,” he replied, his gaze still firm. “But I know that hiding your whole life does not erase your worth.”
Silence wrapped around us like a warm cloth.
I stepped forward again, but his phone buzzed in his pocket. Chase lifted it and answered with a short nod.
“Yes.”
His voice shifted into the public mask, colder, controlled. He walked a few steps away to take the call, leaving me alone by the shoreline. The distance between us expanded. The conversation sounded businesslike, something about sponsorship deadlines and promotional campaigns.
I took another step toward the water, feeling the sand sink under my toes. The ocean was mesmerizing, a calm pulse stretching infinitely. I let my thoughts drift until the feeling of safety lulled me forward like a slow current.
My feet moved without thinking. I followed the curve of the shore and reached a path lined with trees. It was narrow, shaded by thick leaves and twisting branches, and a soft trail of petals led deeper into it. Tropical birds chirped overhead. The wind carried the sweet smell of papaya and salt.
I glanced back once.
Chase was still on the phone, turned away, voice low. His figure looked strong and unmoving against the blue horizon. I did not want to bother him while he was busy. I stepped forward into the path, convinced it looped around to the beach again.
The air grew cooler under the trees. Shadows danced across the sand, creating patterns that shifted like living shapes. I walked slowly, enjoying the quiet, letting my mind drift for the first time since the wedding.
Then the path split.
It happened without warning.
One branch curved left, deeper into the greenery. The other slanted upward toward what looked like sunlight. Neither had signs. The trail of petals stopped abruptly. My heart tensed.
I turned to look behind me.
The beach was gone.
Only trees.
Only shadows.
Only the sound of birds layered over the sound of waves I could not see.
My stomach tightened.
I tried to retrace my steps, but every tree looked like the last. The ground was smooth, hiding footprints. The branches formed a soft arch overhead that made the path feel like a tunnel.
A gust of fear rushed over me.
I swallowed.
“Chase,” I called quietly.
The trees absorbed the sound.
I tried louder.
“Chase.”
My voice echoed faintly, swallowed by leaves.
I spun slowly, panic beginning to creep across my skin like cold fingers. My palms grew damp. My breath hitched. The forest looked endless, every direction like a mirror of the other. Heart pounding hard now, too hard, I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to remember the way I came.
But all I could see were petals and sand and the way sunlight scattered across the water.
I opened my eyes again.
The forest stared back.
I was lost
- Writer
