Page 21

SERENA

R estlessness crawled beneath Serena's skin as evening descended on her villa.

She paced between her makeshift office and the terrace, unable to settle despite her best efforts to focus on work.

The documents on her tablet blurred before her eyes, facts and figures refusing to arrange themselves into meaningful patterns.

Even spreadsheets—her usual refuge—failed to provide their familiar comfort.

Damn this island. Three days ago, she'd been running a multibillion-dollar company. Now she couldn't even concentrate on a basic quarterly report.

She pressed her fingers against her temples, where the ghost of her usual headache lingered.

For once, the constant throb had subsided to a dull whisper, a change she reluctantly attributed to Lila's massage that morning.

The memory sent an unwelcome warmth through her body.

The way those hands had somehow known exactly where to press and how to unlock knots she hadn't realized she carried.

"Stop it," she muttered to herself, turning away from the ocean view that had been distracting her for hours.

The sunset cast the room in amber light that felt invasive, as if the island itself were trying to breach her defenses. Serena yanked the sheer curtains closed with more force than necessary, plunging the room into artificial dimness.

Better. Control restored.

Except it wasn't, not really. Her body felt different—looser somehow, as if the rigid structure she'd cultivated over decades had been subtly recalibrated. The massage had unlocked something beyond mere muscle tension, though she refused to examine what that might be.

Work. She needed to work.

Serena returned to the dining table where she'd arranged her papers in precise stacks. A movement caught her eye—her own hand, reaching unconsciously toward her neck where Lila's fingers had released a particularly stubborn knot. She jerked her hand away, annoyed at herself.

This distraction was unacceptable. The board expected her return to New York armed with fresh strategies and renewed focus, not... whatever this unsettled feeling was.

She stared at the investor report she'd been trying to analyze for the past hour, but the words remained meaningless. An unfamiliar heaviness had settled in her limbs—not exhaustion exactly, but a deep-seated weariness that made concentration nearly impossible.

With a frustrated sigh, Serena abandoned the report and picked up her satellite phone. Perhaps Ashley would have updates that might re-anchor her to the real world—the world of deadlines and decisions, not ocean breezes and lingering touches.

The connection took longer than it should have. By the time Ashley's voice came through, Serena was pacing again.

"Frost Innovations, Ashley Kernahan speaking."

"Ashley, it's Serena."

A pause, then, "Serena. I didn't expect to hear from you tonight." The subtle emphasis on 'tonight' caught Serena's attention. She glanced at her watch. 9:30 p.m. on the island meant it was late morning in New York.

"Is this a bad time?" Serena asked, though she'd never bothered with such considerations before.

"Not at all. Just surprising. Nicole mentioned you were on a strict communication schedule."

Of course she had. Nicole and her damned wellness protocols.

"I'm checking on the Blackwood situation," Serena said, forcing her voice into its usual crisp authority. "Any developments since this morning?"

Ashley's sigh came through clearly despite the distance. "Nothing significant. Legal filed the preliminary injunction as planned. Tech blogs are still running the story, but the financial press has moved on to the Microsoft merger. The board hasn't scheduled any additional emergency meetings."

"And Walter?"

"Quietly meeting with investors, but nothing direct. Nicole's monitoring his calendar through his assistant."

At least that was something. Serena moved to the window, pulling back the curtain to look at the darkening sky. Stars were beginning to appear—so many more than were visible in Manhattan, where light pollution reduced the night sky to a dull glow.

"Serena?" Ashley's voice pulled her back. "Is everything alright?"

The question was so unexpected that Serena nearly laughed. When had anyone at Frost Innovations ever asked about her wellbeing rather than her strategic assessment?

"Everything's fine," she replied automatically. "I'm just..." Just what? Restless? Unsettled? Having difficulty concentrating for the first time in her professional life? None of these were admissions she could make to her COO. "Reviewing our position."

"Well, if it helps, things are stable here. Not great, but stable. The team's executing the crisis plan effectively."

The news should have reassured her. Instead, it only underscored how unnecessary she was at this moment and how life continued in the empire she'd built, with or without her constant vigilance.

"Good," Serena said, the word tasting strange on her tongue. "Keep me updated on any major shifts."

"Will do. And Serena?" Ashley paused again. "Try to actually rest. That's the point of these places, isn't it?"

Before Serena could formulate a properly dismissive response, Ashley had ended the call. She stared at the phone in her hand, oddly unsettled by Ashley’s parting comment.

Rest. As if that were the solution to anything.

The word conjured Lila's voice in her mind: "The body keeps the score. It remembers what the mind dismisses."

Serena set the phone down with deliberate care, fighting the urge to throw it across the room.

This emotional volatility was unlike her.

She prided herself on consistency, on rational responses regardless of circumstance.

Yet here she was, irritated by a perfectly reasonable suggestion from her COO and haunted by the words of a wellness coach she'd met exactly twenty-seven hours ago.

The villa suddenly felt too confined, the walls pressing in despite the open floor plan. She needed... what? What did Serena Frost, who had everything she'd ever worked for, possibly need?

Movement. Space. Air that didn't smell of sandalwood oil and subtle perfume.

She stalked to the bathroom, the one place in the villa that felt properly contained.

The shower was yet another exercise in island indulgence, all natural stone and gleaming fixtures.

She turned the rainfall shower to its highest setting, stripped efficiently, and stepped beneath the pounding water.

As steam filled the space, Serena closed her eyes and let her head fall forward. Water cascaded over her hair, down her shoulders, along the curve of her spine. The pressure felt good, though not as precise as Lila's touch had been.

There it was again—that thought, that comparison she shouldn't be making.

Serena reached for the shampoo, focusing on the mechanical routine of washing her hair. But even this familiar ritual felt different tonight. She found herself massaging her scalp the way Lila had worked her shoulders, with slow, deliberate pressure rather than her usual efficient scrubbing.

What was happening to her?

This island was wreaking havoc with her carefully ordered existence. The constant sound of waves, the unfamiliar scents, the way time seemed to stretch and contract without the anchoring rhythm of meetings and deadlines—all of it conspired to unravel her.

And Lila... Lila was the most disruptive element of all. With her gentle challenges and perceptive observations, she had somehow slipped past Serena's initial dismissal. There was substance beneath that serene exterior—intelligence, wisdom even—that demanded reluctant respect.

Worse, there was something about the way Lila looked at her that made Serena feel truly seen for the first time in years. Not as a CEO, not as a business icon—but as a woman. Just Serena.

The thought was so disconcerting that she turned off the water with a sharp twist, as if she could shut down her own mind as easily.

Serena stepped out, wrapping herself in a plush towel. Her reflection in the steamy mirror looked strangely unfamiliar—cheeks flushed, hair wild and ungoverned, eyes bright with some emotion she couldn't name.

She looked... alive. Not polished. Not perfect. Just alive.

The revelation was so unexpected that she turned away, completing her evening routine with deliberate precision. Teeth brushed for exactly two minutes. Face washed and moisturized in specific order. Hair combed and braided to prevent tangles.

Yet even as she moved through these familiar motions, something had changed.

The massage had awakened nerve endings she'd forgotten she possessed.

Her skin felt hypersensitive, aware in a way it hadn't been for years.

She could feel the soft fabric of her sleep shirt against her shoulders, the cool tile beneath her feet, the lingering dampness at the nape of her neck.

Dressed in silk pajamas, Serena returned to the main room only to find her restlessness undiminished.

The walls of the villa seemed to press in around her, the carefully curated luxury suddenly stifling.

Her gaze kept being drawn to the curtained windows, beyond which lay the expanse of night sky and ocean she could sense rather than see.

She tried once more to focus on work, opening a strategic planning document she'd been developing before the Blackwood crisis. The familiar framework of SWOT analysis and market positioning should have centered her, returned her to her element.

Instead, the words swam before her eyes, refusing to resolve into meaning.

Her fingers tapped against the table in an uneven rhythm that matched the waves outside.

Her mind kept circling back to the memory of strong, gentle hands working the tension from her shoulders, to hazel-green eyes that saw too much, to that unexpected moment on the beach when she'd found herself talking about Vivienne Blackwood without planning to.