CHAPTER ONE
817 Words
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Chapter One
Monte Falco Resort, Cuba – 16.06.2008
The sun was already brutal when Isla Rayne stepped out of the kitchen, tying her apron with one hand and carrying a tray of fresh fruit with the other. Her sandals slapped against the stone walkway as she made her way to the beachside bar, waves crashing gently behind her.
Same old routine. Same old sweat dripping down her back before noon.
She slid behind the counter, dropping the tray beside the blender and brushing a few damp strands of hair off her forehead. Her light brown hair was already frizzy from the humidity, tied up into a barely-there bun she didn’t bother fixing. She wasn’t the type to fuss. No makeup. No filters. Just plain Isla. She had warm hazel eyes, a dusting of freckles across her nose, and pale skin that never tanned—just turned pink and peeled.
Not stunning. Not ugly. Just... Isla.
She was the girl people forgot five seconds after speaking to her. Background noise in a place filled with tropical drinks, money, and models.
“Dios mío, you look like a damp sock,” came Lena’s voice as she strolled over with a cocky grin and sunglasses way too big for her face.
Isla snorted. “Wow. Thank you. I was going for drowned seaweed today.”
“Well, nailed it.” Lena plopped down on a stool and tossed Isla a cold soda. “Drink up. Hydration equals hotness. Kind of.”
Lena was everything Isla wasn’t—fiery, loud, always glowing. Her skin was sun-kissed, her curves filled out the uniform better than anyone else, and her laugh could turn heads from across the pool.
“Any new gossip?” Isla asked, popping the can open.
Lena grinned. “You ready for this?”
“Hit me.”
“They say he’s coming.”
Isla blinked. “He who?”
Lena leaned forward like she was delivering the gospel. “Dante. Freaking. Creed.”
Isla almost choked. “The billionaire? That guy’s a myth.”
“Nope,” Lena said, her grin widening. “He booked the private villas. Staff says three CEOs, private jet, security, the whole package.”
Isla raised an eyebrow. “And what would a guy like Dante Creed be doing here of all places?”
“Same thing all rich men do—spend money, throw parties, break hearts.”
“I doubt he’ll be interested in anything other than champagne and business calls,” Isla muttered, cleaning the counter.
“Speak for yourself. I’m manifesting a billionaire romance.”
“Lena, you can’t even get our manager to remember your name.”
“Shh,” she held up a finger. “Manifesting.”
Isla laughed, leaning back and looking around. Monte Falco was beautiful—white sand beaches, palm trees swaying lazily, clear blue water that felt like a postcard. Tourists flocked in daily, most of them rich or famous or both. Still, it was just a job to her. Tips paid her bills, and quiet nights alone in her staff dorm gave her peace.
She didn’t dream about yachts or diamonds. Just enough money to go back to school someday. Maybe open her own place, far away from the buzz of billionaires and gold-diggers.
“You ever wonder what it’s like?” Isla asked suddenly. “To be one of them? The girls they bring here.”
Lena shrugged. “They’re pretty. Shiny. Boring. Most of them are walking handbags.”
“And we’re what—walking towels?”
“Speak for yourself. I’m a walking fantasy.”
Isla shook her head with a smile. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Don’t be so sure, babe. Maybe Dante likes plain girls with sunburns and sarcasm.”
“Thanks. I feel so seen.”
The day dragged like usual. Tourists complained about the heat, cocktails were spilled, and Lena managed to flirt her way out of a double shift. By the time the sun started to dip behind the palm trees, Isla’s feet were aching and her shoulders were sore from carrying trays.
She walked down the side path near the villas to catch a breeze and watched the staff roll up the beach umbrellas. A golf cart zipped past with two resort managers inside, talking fast and looking anxious.
Weird.
Lena appeared at her side a moment later, eyes wide.
“You’re not gonna believe it.”
“Please, no more billionaire fantasy talk,” Isla sighed.
“I’m serious this time. The jet's real. One of the pilots showed up to confirm the landing. Dante Creed and his crew are coming. Day after tomorrow. It's happening.”
Isla froze, fingers tightening around the edge of the tray she was holding.
She didn’t know why, but a weird chill ran through her.
The kind that tells you something is about to change.
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- Writer
