HIS TO CLAIM

Chapter twelve: The Island

The sun stretched lazily across the horizon, spilling gold into the turquoise waves. I lay back on the beach chair, toes buried in warm sand, the salty breeze brushing over my skin. For once, my body felt light—tanned, free, alive. The straps of my swimsuit hugged my shoulders, and I could almost pretend that this body didn’t remember what fear felt like.

The world here was brighter. Softer. I could almost believe it was mine.

I tilted my head toward the sea, watching the way it shimmered beneath the sunlight. Laughter echoed in the distance—men running across the shore, muscles slick with sweat, the air thick with summer and mischief. One of them glanced my way, grinning. I looked back, just for a second, then turned away with a small, amused breath.

For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t being watched.

Or so I told myself.

“Lucy!” Sophie’s voice cut through my thoughts. I turned as she came bounding over, hair in a messy bun, sunglasses reflecting the sea. She dropped onto the chair beside mine, holding a cold drink like it was a trophy. “Tell me this wasn’t the best idea ever.”

I smiled faintly. “You were right. It’s… beautiful here.”

“Beautiful? Babe, it’s heaven.” She gestured to the ocean dramatically. “The water, the view, the men—don’t act like you haven’t noticed them running around half-naked.”

I laughed quietly, shaking my head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m realistic,” she teased, then took a long sip through her straw. “But seriously, you’re finally smiling again. I missed that. No gloomy mansion, no locked doors, no scary shadows named Marcelo—just us.”

My heart skipped at the name. I froze.

It had been months, and still, just the sound of him could twist a knife inside me. Marcelo. The man who destroyed everything I had, who turned my life into something I didn’t recognize. And yet the same man whose voice haunted my sleep, whose presence I could still feel when the night grew too quiet.

“I’m not thinking about him,” I said quickly, maybe too quickly.

Sophie gave me a look, then smiled softly. “Good. Because this trip isn’t about him. It’s about you. About freedom.”

I wanted to believe that. I wanted to believe that I could finally exist without his shadow breathing down my neck. So I nodded, forcing a lighter tone. “Fine. Freedom it is.”

“Perfect,” she grinned, sitting up straight. “Because I just found out something amazing. There’s a huge party tonight. Exclusive crowd, private island club, the works. We have to go. It’ll be like your early birthday celebration!”

“A party?” I arched a brow. “Here?”

“Yes, here. Lucy, come on—it’s your last night as a nineteen-year-old. Let’s make it unforgettable.”

I sighed, but I couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was time to stop hiding behind fear. “Alright, fine,” I said. “Let’s go.”

Sophie squealed in victory, nearly spilling her drink on herself. “You won’t regret it!”

⸻

The night came alive with music.

The villa where the party was held glowed like a dream—gold lights draped over palm trees, the ocean shimmering just beyond the cliff. The scent of salt, sweat, and perfume filled the air, and the beat of the bass pulsed through the ground beneath my heels.

I stood before the mirror, smoothing down the white silk of my dress. It clung to me in soft, fluid lines, backless, elegant but daring. My lips were painted a deep red, my hair falling in dark, loose curls over my shoulders. For once, I almost didn’t recognize myself.

Sophie whistled the moment she saw me. “Holy hell, Luce. You look… dangerous.”

I laughed softly. “That’s not exactly the goal.”

“Oh, it is tonight,” she teased, looping her arm through mine.

We stepped into the heart of the party, and it was everything Sophie promised—music thundering, people laughing, champagne glasses clinking. The kind of world I used to only dream about. We danced until my feet ached, laughed until my throat hurt. For once, I felt… human.

Then, it happened.

The music cut off suddenly, leaving a heavy silence. The crowd quieted, a ripple of murmurs spreading like waves. My pulse stumbled.

“What’s going on?” I asked, glancing at Sophie.

“Maybe a performance?” she offered, but her voice wavered.

Then I heard it. Someone whispered near us—

“That’s him. The owner. The man who owns the island and this entire club.”

A strange chill crawled up my spine.

The crowd shifted, parting toward the entrance. I didn’t need to see him to feel him. The air thickened—an energy I hadn’t felt in months, dark and magnetic. My stomach twisted painfully. No. No, it couldn’t be—

Then he appeared.

Marcelo.

He stepped into the room like a storm breaking over calm waters. His presence sucked the air out of the place. The world seemed to slow as he walked through the crowd—black suit, open collar, eyes sharp as glass.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

Every part of me remembered him. The scent of his cologne, the way his voice could sound like sin and silk, the danger in his stillness.

What was he doing here?

Why here—in the one place I thought I could finally breathe?

He scanned the crowd once, his expression unreadable. And then his gaze found me.

It hit like a physical touch. My breath caught. His eyes—those piercing, relentless eyes—locked onto mine, and for a moment, the noise, the people, the lights—everything blurred.

It was him. The man who ruined me, the man who claimed me, the man I had tried to erase.

And now, standing here, I could feel the same fire—the same magnetic pull that terrified me.

He didn’t speak. He simply looked at me, long enough for the air to burn, before turning and walking up the stairs, his guards following close behind.

The crowd exhaled collectively, music returning like a heartbeat restarting. But I couldn’t move.

“Lucía…I couldn’t see” Sophie’s voice was soft, uncertain. “Do you… know him?”

I blinked, forcing air into my lungs. “No,” I lied, though my voice trembled.

She hesitated but nodded, slipping away into the dancing crowd.

I stayed still. My pulse wouldn’t calm. I could feel him up there—watching, waiting. His gaze burned through the back of my neck, searing, claiming, haunting.

Why was he here? Why couldn’t he just let me live?

And worse—why did part of me feel that flicker of something reckless… almost glad to see him?

I hated myself for that.

I hated the way my heart reacted to his name, the way the thought of him could still unravel me.

I closed my eyes, trying to steady the chaos inside me. You don’t exist here, Marcelo. Not in this place. Not in this version of me.

But deep down, I knew I was lying.

Because no matter how far I ran, he always found me.

And somehow, even on an island thousands of miles away—the air still breathed his name.