Page 3

THREE

CHRISSY

C hrissy stepped onto the helipad after her whirlwind trip, her white sundress billowing in the warm breeze.

It was the first outfit she'd chosen for herself in what felt like forever—no stylist, no Leslie barking edicts about her image, and no "let's make you less you" lectures.

Just cotton against her skin and the freedom to finally breathe.

The tropical heat caressed her face, instantly relaxing muscles she hadn't realized were so tense.

After last night's nightmare at the charity gala—Marty's iron grip on her arm and his snarled threat about ruining her if she ran—this place seemed like a fever dream from a completely different universe.

"Oh my God," she whispered, taking in the panoramic view. Crystal-clear turquoise water stretched to the horizon, framed by pristine white sand beaches and lush jungle vegetation. The air smelled of salt and exotic flowers instead of hairspray and the artificial scents of a crowded event.

Gerri moved back closer to her side, her diminutive frame somehow radiating assurance. "No cameras. No schedules. Just plenty of time to breathe," she said, her voice pitched low enough for only Chrissy's ears.

Breathing. What a concept. Chrissy couldn't remember the last time she'd done that properly.

Last night had been pure impulse. Around 11 PM, she'd faked illness to Marty as they got out of the limo at the VIP after party.

She'd rarely lied to him. But last night she'd felt exceptionally desperate.

He'd let her leave, fearing she might puke and cause a scene that would inevitably end up in the tabloids.

Once she got home, she'd paced her empty Huntington Beach mansion while anxiety clawed at her throat for thirty minutes.

Finally, at nearly midnight, she'd called the number on that business card that Gerri had slipped her earlier in the VIP lounge at the gala.

Gerri had picked up on the first ring and proposed an offer to take Chrissy to a very special place with no schedules and no cameras. Maybe it was her exhaustion or maybe it was her anger at Marty, but for some reason Chrissy accepted Gerri's offer.

But one thing didn't quite add up for Chrissy.

After she'd hung up with Gerri and looked closer at the business card, she saw a title under Gerri's name.

Founder and Owner of Paranormal Dating Agency .

What exactly did Gerri do for a living? Chrissy knew shifters existed—some of her music industry colleagues were supernatural, though they kept it under wraps from the general public.

But a dating agency for them? And what did that have to do with Gerri being able to help Chrissy disappear for a while?

"I can't believe I just...left," Chrissy murmured, guilt and exhilaration battling for dominance. She hadn't even told her dad or Maggie where she was going, afraid Marty would harass them for information. "Marty's going to lose his mind."

"Let him," Gerri whispered softly. "You're entitled to a vacation."

"He doesn't think I'm entitled to use the bathroom without permission," Chrissy muttered so only Gerri could hear. "I didn't even pack anything. I just...ran away."

"Sometimes running away is the bravest thing you can do." Gerri's eyes twinkled. "And don't worry about clothes. The resort has everything you'll need for your stay."

Resort. Right. Chrissy had been so focused on escaping that she hadn't bothered asking where they were ultimately going. The black limo at 5 AM, the private jet to Belize, the helicopter—it had all happened in an exhausted blur this morning.

"Where exactly are we?" she whispered, finally taking in the elegant structures nestled tastefully among the palm trees.

"Isle Luna," Gerri answered so that only Chrissy could hear. "The most exclusive private island resort in the Caribbean. And the most discreet." She emphasized the last word meaningfully. "No one will find you here unless you want to be found."

The thought made her shoulders drop another inch. No paparazzi. No fans asking for selfies when she looked like death warmed over. No Leslie criticizing her for eating carbs.

Chrissy inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with fresh air that didn't taste of desperation and exhaustion. Something that she hadn't felt in almost a year unfurled in her chest—a sense of possibility. One impulsive phone call, and here she was, standing on a slice of paradise.

"Thank you," Chrissy whispered, tears threatening to spill. "I didn't realize how much I needed?—"

The words died in her throat as she finally looked forward, across the helipad. A welcoming committee stood several yards away—a woman in a yellow sundress, a broad-shouldered man in a navy polo, and...

Her heart stuttered, then accelerated to a gallop.

Him.

He stood tall and commanding in a white linen shirt that showcased broad shoulders and muscular arms. His stance was unmistakably that of someone in charge—feet planted firmly, chin raised, and eyes intense.

Even from this distance, those eyes burned into her, electric blue against tanned skin.

His thick, wavy brown hair caught the sunlight, and the stubble along his jaw gave him a rugged edge that made her mouth go dry.

Chrissy froze, unable to look away. Something primal and inexplicable pulled at her, a magnetic force that made her skin tingle and her breath catch.

The sensation was both thrilling and terrifying—like standing at the edge of a tall cliff, which she literally was doing on this helipad right now, knowing she should step back but wanting desperately to fly.

"Ah," Gerri said beside her, satisfaction coloring her voice. "I see you've noticed your host."

Heat rushed to Chrissy's cheeks. She tried to look away but couldn't break free from his intense gaze.

Those electric blue eyes seemed to see straight through her carefully constructed walls, past the makeup-free face and simple sundress, and into the real her that had been buried under a year of celebrity polish.

"He's watching me like I'm..." Chrissy's thought trailed off as she struggled to name the expression on his face.

Not the predatory appraisal she'd grown accustomed to in the music industry, but something deeper and more reverent—like she was a long-lost masterpiece he'd only heard about in legends and was finally seeing with his own eyes.

Gerri touched her elbow gently. "That's Zev Landon," she explained. "Alpha of the Isle Luna pack and owner of this paradise."

Alpha. The word sent a flicker of warning through Chrissy's system.

During their flight, Gerri had explained that Isle Luna was home to wolf shifters—not that she'd needed much convincing to believe in the supernatural after working with some shifters in the industry.

What Gerri hadn't mentioned was how her "safe haven" would be ruled by an alpha who looked like he'd stepped straight out of her most secret fantasies.

"He's..." Chrissy whispered.

"Quite something, isn't he?" Gerri finished for her, eyes twinkling.

Chrissy's spine suddenly straightened. Was he another powerful man who thought the world revolved around him? She'd just escaped Marty's controlling grip—she wasn't about to trade one gilded cage for another, no matter how attractive the jailer.

"Chrissy Rivera," Gerri announced as they approached the waiting trio, "this is Zev Landon, the owner of Isle Luna."

Zev moved forward with a fluid grace that belied his size. When he spoke, his voice rumbled deep and rich, sending an involuntary shiver through her body.

"Miss Rivera. Welcome to Isle Luna." His gaze never wavered from hers. "I trust your journey was comfortable?"

"As comfortable as running away from your life can be," Chrissy replied, surprised by her own frankness.

A hint of a smile tugged at his lips. "Then you've come to the right place. No one finds Isle Luna unless we want them to."

The way he said "we" carried weight, reminding her that he wasn't just a resort owner but leader of an entire pack. Power radiated from him without effort, making the air between them practically vibrate.

Zev gestured to the couple beside him. "My operations director, Ewan Chavez, and his wife Olivia, our wellness director."

Olivia stepped forward, her yellow sundress catching the breeze. Her warm smile reached all the way to kind green eyes. "We're so glad you're here, Chrissy. Any friend of Gerri's is a friend of ours."

"Thank you," Chrissy managed, grateful for the woman's genuine warmth that reminded her of Maggie. "This place is... incredible."

"Just wait until you see the rest of it," Ewan added with an easy grin that softened his imposing frame.

But her attention kept straying back to Zev, who hadn't taken his eyes off her for a second. His gaze felt like a physical touch, both thrilling and unnerving.

"I promise you absolute privacy here," Zev said, his commanding tone making it clear this wasn't just a courtesy but a decree. "No press, no schedules, and no obligations."

"Sounds too good to be true," Chrissy said, unable to keep the skepticism from her voice. Men with money and power always wanted something in return.

Zev's eyes darkened slightly, as if he sensed her distrust. "On Isle Luna, Miss Rivera, we prioritize freedom above all else."

Freedom. The very thing she'd been desperate for when she called Gerri last night.

Zev gestured toward two electric golf carts waiting nearby. "We'll take these to the main lodge. It's not far, but the jungle paths can be challenging to navigate on foot."

Walking beside him, Chrissy noticed the powerful confidence in his stride—measured and deliberate.

Like a man who knew exactly who he was and what he controlled.

She'd spent a year surrounded by men who postured and preened, desperate to appear more important than they were.

Zev seemed to possess the opposite quality—his authority so innate he didn't need to broadcast it.