STRICTLY PRIVATE: Property of Rocco Valderama

"Sabi nila, lightning never strikes the same place twice. But as I looked at the man standing over me, I realized... I’d rather be struck by lightning a thousand times than be caught in the middle of his storm." Sa gitna ng rumaragasa na ulan sa Isla Valderama, isa lang ang malinaw kay Chloe: She was doomed. "Please... I just need a phone," Chloe’s voice trembled, her humor—her usual shield—was now cracked and useless. Nakaluhod siya sa putikan, her expensive neon pink dress ruined, but she didn't care. Ang tanging nakikita niya ay ang mga mata ng lalaking nasa harap niya. Rocco Valderama. He didn't look like a hero. He looked like a god who had forgotten how to forgive. He was shirtless in the rain, his chest heaving, holding a heavy iron chain that he was using to secure his boat. Every muscle in his back rippled like the waves of the angry sea behind them. "Phone?" Rocco’s voice was a low, dangerous growl that cut through the thunder. Huminto siya sa paghila at dahan-dahang lumingon sa kanya. "Sa islang ito, Chloe, walang signal na makakaabot sa labas. No one knows you're here. No one is coming to save you." "But... you're an Architect! You build things! Surely you can build a way for me to get home?" Chloe tried to laugh, but it came out as a sob. Rocco dropped the chain. The heavy metal thudded against the sand, sounding like a death knell. He stepped closer—each stride slow, predatory, and deliberate. Nang makarating siya sa harap ni Chloe, hindi siya tumigil hanggang sa magdikit ang mga tuhod nila. He reached down, his large, calloused hand gripping her wet hair, tilting her head back so she had no choice but to look into his dark, obsessive eyes. "I build walls, Chloe. Not bridges," he whispered, his breath hot against her cold skin. "And right now, I’m building one around you." "Why?" her voice was a mere breath. Rocco’s gaze dropped to her trembling lips. His thumb traced her lower lip, pressing hard enough to make her gasp. "Because for three years, I stayed in this silence to forget the world. But then you crashed into my shore, smelling like expensive perfume and trouble." He leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear, making her whole body shiver with a mix of fear and an unwanted, burning desire. "You're not a guest, and you're not a survivor. From the moment you stepped on this sand, you became part of my inventory. Read the sign, sweetheart." He pointed a finger at the weathered wooden board near the dock, illuminated by a flash of lightning. STRICTLY PRIVATE. "You're on my land. You're eating my food. You're breathing my air," Rocco growled, his hand moving from her hair to the back of her neck, pulling her impossibly closer. "And starting today... you're breathing for me." Chloe’s heart hammered against her ribs. She wanted to c***k a joke, to tell him he was being too "main character," but the raw, possessive fire in his eyes silenced her. "I'm not leaving, am I?" she whispered. Rocco smirked—a dark, joyless curve of his lips. "Only if I'm finished with you. And looking at you now? I don't think I’ll be finished even in a hundred years."