19
1674 Words
The morning felt quiet in a way that made me believe we might escape attention again. Sunlight fell over the villa with gentle warmth, painting the stone floors gold. Malia set breakfast out on the outdoor table, and Keoni brought bowls of cut fruit while humming a song that sounded like waves turned into music. I sat across from Chase, sipping juice slowly.
For a brief hour, it felt like the world was only this. The sea, the palms, the bright sky, the soft smell of flowers. No noise. No questions. No eyes.
Keoni walked down to the beach after breakfast, carrying a tray for another villa further down the cliff. I watched him go, envying the way his life seemed to move without weight on his shoulders.
But the moment of peace broke when I saw the manager hurry up the stairs from the path. She looked anxious, her smile strained, her steps too quick. She paused at the edge of the terrace, catching her breath.
“Alpha Chase,” she said gently. “We have a situation.”
Chase turned, expression shifting immediately. “What is it.”
She pointed toward the ocean.
At first I saw nothing but blue water glittering under the sun. Then my eyes caught the shape. A small boat lingering far offshore, sitting too still against the tide. A long camera lens glinted like smooth glass facing our direction.
“Paparazzi,” the manager said, lowering her voice.
The word made my pulse tighten.
Chase’s jaw tensed. He walked closer to the railing, eyes narrowed, watching the boat like a predator watching a threat. The breeze lifted his shirt slightly, showing the tense muscle in his shoulders.
“They should not be able to see anything from there,” he said. “The angle is bad.”
“They do not need much,” the manager replied softly. “A gesture. A silhouette. A photograph of you two on the balcony. It goes everywhere. We need to be careful, but also… visible.”
One word lodged itself inside me.
Visible.
The opposite of what I had been all my life.
Chase turned from the water and faced her. “We came here for privacy.”
“Yes,” she said, bowing her head slightly. “But there is expectation. The wedding is the biggest story of the year. The public will want evidence. Otherwise they write their own version.”
The pressure wrapped around us like invisible rope.
Chase looked tired for a brief second. Not physically, but inside. Something about his eyes showed a weight he usually hid from cameras. The mask did not help now. He was too close to the truth for it to hold.
“What do you need,” he asked finally.
The manager relaxed a little. “A few short moments. Everything staged from a distance. Lunch at the local restaurant. A beach walk. Nothing too intimate, just proof that you are together. It will satisfy them for now.”
She turned to me with a soft smile. “Miss Cassandra will be in disguise. Sunglasses. Hair styled. A mask so she cannot be recognized by small details.”
Her words made my heart jump.
I was already a shadow wearing Cassandra’s face. Now I had to perform it in public.
Chase noticed my tension. He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
“I will stay beside you the entire time,” he murmured. “No one will get close. The pictures will be from far away.”
He said it calmly, but it did not erase the fear. Not of the cameras, but of being seen as someone else. Of living in a spotlight that was never mine.
Malia approached with a soft expression. “We can help with the disguise if you like. Simple changes. The world only needs shapes. Not details.”
I nodded, feeling the weight settle on my shoulders again. This was not the quiet peace from last night. This was the world reaching its hand into our sanctuary, reminding us that no place was completely safe.
Chase thanked the manager and went back inside, calling his agent. I stayed on the terrace, hands pressed on the table, grounding myself with the texture of the wood under my palms.
Malia touched my arm gently.
“You breathe in slow,” she said. “Hold it for a little. Breathe out soft. You can do this.”
Her kindness almost made me cry.
I did as she instructed. Slowly. Softly. Until the knot in my chest loosened just enough to stand again.
Inside the villa, the bedroom became a quiet dressing room. Malia brushed my hair, curling the ends slightly, then pinned it up loosely so strands fell along my face the way Cassandra used to style herself for casual outings.
Keoni entered with sunglasses. He held them out like they were a gift.
“These are perfect for pictures,” he said.
I took them and slid them on. The mirror reflected someone different. The sunglasses covered half my face. The loose curls changed my shape. The mask disguised any expression.
Even I could barely see Isla.
We stepped outside where Chase waited. He held a light linen jacket over his arm. His expression was unreadable. He looked at me for a moment, searching for something under the disguise. I could not tell if he found it.
“Are you ready,” he asked.
I swallowed.
“Yes.”
He nodded once, stepped closer, and reached for my hand. His fingers wrapped around mine with a confidence that made my pulse race. It was not a performance to him. It was instinct. A role he knew how to play better than anyone.
“Follow my lead,” he said softly.
The drive to the village was short, but it felt long because every turn brought another angle from which a camera could see us. The ocean stretched beside the road, bright and endless. The restaurant sat on a hill overlooking the water, with wooden tables under thatched roofs and lanterns hanging like stars in the shade.
The place was beautiful. Natural. Slow.
Yet I could feel eyes.
A camera lifted on the boat. A lens glinted from the distance. It was small, but sharp. It did not need to be close.
Chase leaned toward me as we walked from the car.
“Left arm through mine,” he whispered. “Turn your head a little. Hair forward. Chin down.”
I obeyed.
It felt strange to move because someone told me how to be seen, but I understood why. In pictures, angles were everything. Distance transformed shapes into stories.
We sat at a table near the balcony railing. The ocean lay below us, calm and glittering. The manager stood inside, speaking with staff quietly. Everything felt choreographed without feeling fake.
I reached for the water glass.
Chase placed his hand over mine, gently, as if guiding a lover’s fingers. The contact was electric. His thumb brushed the edge of my hand once. From the shore, it must have looked affectionate. Intimate.
But in the space between us, it felt real in a way that frightened me.
We ordered small dishes. Fruit. Salad. Grilled fish. The food arrived slowly, each plate looking like art made from the sea. I barely tasted anything. Cameras were on my skin like a second layer.
Chase helped me once with my mask so I could drink through a straw, keeping his fingers near my cheek as if shielding me from view. His breath moved gently near my hair. Everything around us slowed.
To the outside world, it must have looked like he could not stop touching his new wife.
Close. Obsessed.
I leaned close to hear his whisper. “They have the photos already. Just breathe. Look at me.”
I did.
His eyes were steady. Dark. Warm in the sunlight.
The world dimmed around the edges.
Then Chase lifted my hand and kissed my knuckles, slow and soft. A gesture meant for cameras, but it made something deep inside me shift.
People in the restaurant gasped. Some smiled. A couple took pictures with their phones.
The boat clicked rapidly.
This would be everywhere.
The return drive was quiet. My hand stayed in my lap, fingers trembling slightly. Chase sat beside me, staring ahead, his jaw relaxed but eyes thoughtful.
Back at the villa, the manager showed us her phone.
Pictures were already online.
Chase and Cassandra Valtor, honeymoon love.
He cannot keep his hands off her.
Obsessed newlyweds in paradise.
Perfect match.
True love in tropical heaven.
Comments flooded beneath.
I wish someone looked at me like that.
The way he touched her, my goddess.
He is crazy about her.
They are glowing together.
He is addicted.
She looks beautiful even with the mask.
The world saw love.
A love built on distance, secrets, and a wedding that never belonged to me.
I stared at the screen, numb. People were celebrating a happiness I did not own. They saw a woman they believed was real, loving the man beside her without hesitation.
Chase watched me quietly.
“This is how it works,” he said. “Public stories take shape on their own.”
My voice came out small. “Do you like it.”
He took a long breath.
“I like winning,” he answered. “But this never feels like winning.”
The screen lit his face with pale light. The ocean waves echoed through the open doors.
I looked at the photos again, studying the distance between the truth and the image.
Online, I looked confident. Beautiful. Loved.
In reality, my heart beat for a moment I could never claim.
Cameras had turned our silence into passion. Our fear into devotion. Our tension into obsession.
And the world believed every pixel.
Because sometimes, all it takes is one angle to rewrite reality.
One picture.
One touch.
One kiss against the light.
And suddenly, Isla no longer existed.
- Writer
