CHAPTER TWO
787 Words
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Chapter Two
Monte Falco Resort, Cuba – 18.06.2008
The island was unusually still that morning.
The air was warm, heavy with salt and jasmine, but it wasn’t the heat that had the staff whispering behind palm-covered bars or fixing their uniforms every five seconds. It was the buzz. A pulse that rippled through the Monte Falco Resort like a low drumbeat.
Something—or someone—was coming.
Isla Rayne stood near the outdoor lounge, squinting up at the sky as a black speck grew larger. The roar that followed sent birds scattering into the trees.
“Is that it?” she asked aloud, mostly to herself.
Beside her, Lena practically squealed. “That’s not just any plane. That’s his plane.”
“You don’t even know if it’s him,” Isla said, though her heart beat faster too.
“Please. The black jet? The private runway? The last-minute villa shut-downs? It’s Dante freaking Creed.”
Isla had heard the name more than she could count since starting work at Monte Falco. Billionaire. CEO. The face of Creed International. He owned more businesses than she could list. Hotels. Airlines. Tech companies. Nightclubs. Fashion. If it made money, he probably owned it.
But it wasn’t just his fortune that had people spinning. It was the mystery.
He didn’t do interviews. Didn’t do photoshoots or press conferences. He just… appeared, turned heads, and left behind whispers.
As the jet’s wheels touched down on the private strip that only the wealthiest guests ever used, the staff stopped pretending to work. Everyone watched.
The plane door opened slowly.
First came the men in suits—tall, built, expressionless. Then two younger men followed, laughing, dressed like models straight off a Milan runway.
And then he came.
Dante Creed.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in a navy-blue shirt tucked into dark slacks that screamed custom. His hair was jet black, slicked back neatly. His skin was smooth but rugged, kissed golden by the sun.
And his eyes—icy blue, cool as the ocean, and sharp enough to slice straight through someone.
He didn’t smile. Didn’t wave. Just scanned the island like it belonged to him.
“He’s even hotter in person,” Lena whispered. “Like dangerously hot.”
Isla couldn’t find words. She wasn’t drooling like the others, but even she couldn’t pretend he wasn’t… stunning. Dangerous, maybe, but stunning all the same.
Dante walked with two men beside him—Julian and Knox, if the rumors were true. All of them were rich, young, powerful, and untouchable.
By the time they slid into sleek, waiting jeeps, the air felt different.
“Back to work,” their manager barked suddenly. “Eyes off the guests!”
The spell broke. But the curiosity? That stayed.
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Hours passed.
The resort kicked into overdrive. Staff scurried to accommodate last-minute requests, security doubled at every checkpoint, and whispers about the Creed men flooded every hallway.
Isla tried to stay out of it.
She wasn’t here to ogle billionaires. She had bills to pay. Her aunt’s rent to help with. Her life was far from shiny, and men like Dante Creed didn’t look twice at girls like her.
Still… she couldn’t shake the feeling he had.
That strange moment by the jeep—when his head turned, sunglasses lowered slightly, and his gaze swept the crowd.
Maybe it hadn’t been real. Maybe he hadn’t looked at her.
Maybe she just wanted him to.
She pushed the thought aside and focused on work, delivering drinks around the garden cabanas and dodging overly chatty tourists.
As she turned a corner near one of the more secluded villa paths, the sound of low male voices caught her ear.
She paused.
“…You saw the girl at the bar, right?” one of them said—Julian, she guessed. His voice was lazy, smug. “The one with the ponytail?”
Isla froze.
Another voice joined, deeper. Colder. “She looked like a lost puppy.”
Dante.
Isla’s stomach tightened.
“You think she’d scream if we—”
The rest was muffled by laughter. Harsh, sharp, echoing.
Isla backed up slowly, clutching the tray tighter.
She wasn’t sure if they were talking about her. But something about the way they laughed made her legs feel weak.
The tray wobbled, one of the cocktail glasses tipping slightly. The clink of ice on glass sounded way too loud.
The laughter stopped.
She didn’t wait.
Isla turned and walked quickly back the way she came, heart racing, her cheeks hot with confusion and something else she couldn’t name.
She didn’t know what she’d just overheard.
But she had a sinking feeling—
It wasn’t going to be the last time.
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- Writer
