Chapter 3

The Napa resort was stunning, a haven of luxury nestled among rolling vineyards. It was supposed to be our engagement paradise.

Now, it felt like a cruel mockery.

I checked in, trying to ignore the sympathetic glances from the staff who probably saw a woman traveling alone to a romantic destination.

The next afternoon, by the main pool, I saw them.

Mark and Victoria.

They were acting like a honeymooning couple. Mark was attentively, almost slavishly, applying sunscreen to Victoria's back as she lounged on a cabana bed.

I froze, my blood turning to ice.

A "work retreat"? Separate rooms? The lies piled up, suffocating me.

Mark spotted me. His eyes widened in panic. He muttered something to Victoria and hurried over, grabbing my arm and dragging me behind a large potted palm.

"Sarah! What are you doing here? Are you following me? Don't you trust me?" he hissed, his face a mask of feigned outrage.

"Trust you?" I laughed, a harsh, broken sound. "This was supposed to be our engagement trip, Mark. This exact resort. And you're here with her on a 'work retreat'?"

He looked flustered, guilty.

"Okay, okay, it looks bad, I know. But please, you have to leave before Victoria sees us. I can't let her get upset."

"Your backup plan, you mean?" I shot back, yanking my arm free. "No, Mark. I'm done."

He was about to get aggressive, his face darkening, when Victoria's voice called out, syrupy sweet.

"Mark, honey? Is everything alright?"

He visibly deflated, casting one last desperate look at me before rushing back to her side, all smiles and attentiveness.

Later that day, I saw them again. They were checking into one of the exclusive villa suites, the kind with a private plunge pool. Mark had his arm around Victoria's waist, and they were kissing passionately before the door even closed behind them.

Devastated, I retreated to the main resort bar. I needed a drink. Or several.

I ordered a strong cocktail, then another, and another. The alcohol did little to numb the pain, but it fueled a reckless, rebellious fire within me.

My eyes, blurry with tears and alcohol, landed on a man sitting alone at the bar. He was handsome, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit that screamed money, and he was looking at me with an unreadable expression.

Ethan Hayes.

Son of my father's closest business partner, a long-time family friend. Sharp, successful venture capitalist. He knew who I was. We hadn't been close in years, a casualty of growing up and my "undercover" life.

In a drunken haze, fueled by betrayal and a desperate need to do something, anything, to reclaim some sense of control, I stumbled over to him.

I grabbed his expensive silk tie.

"Ten thousand dollars," I slurred, my voice thick. "Keep me company tonight."

Just then, Mark appeared, his face thunderous. He must have seen me enter the bar.

"Sarah! What do you think you're doing? She's my colleague, just a little upset," he said to Ethan, trying to pull me away.

Ethan Hayes didn't even flinch. He coolly met Mark's gaze.

"She made me an offer," Ethan stated, his voice calm but firm. "And you, sir, have no say in the matter."

From across the bar, I saw Victoria watching, her arms crossed, a frown on her face.

Mark, caught between his CEO mistress and this imposing stranger, backed down, muttering an excuse and scurrying back to Victoria.

Ethan then gently disentangled my fingers from his tie, scooped me up into his arms as if I weighed nothing, and carried me out of the bar.

He took me to his suite, much larger and more luxurious than the one I'd seen Mark and Victoria enter.

He set me down on the plush sofa. Still drunk, still hurting, I lunged at him, trying to kiss him.

Ethan gently pushed me away.

"Sarah," he said, his voice soft but with an edge. "Do you even know who I am?"

I didn't care. I just wanted to forget. I leaned in and kissed him again, a messy, desperate kiss.

He stiffened for a moment, then, to my surprise, he responded. Briefly, unexpectedly.

Then he pulled back, a strange, almost pained expression on his face.

"Sarah," he muttered, looking down at me, "you're going to owe me for this one."