Page 24

The metaphor wasn't lost on her: boundaries blurring, controlled and uncontrolled merging under certain conditions. Was that what was happening to her on this island? Some integration of the Serena she presented to the world and the woman beneath the carefully constructed persona?

She was still contemplating this question when the sound of footsteps broke the midnight silence.

Serena tensed immediately, her instincts activating before conscious thought fully registered the potential threat.

She pushed away from the edge, moving into deeper water where the darkness provided better coverage.

Vulnerability that had felt freeing moments ago now became a tactical disadvantage.

The footsteps drew closer—light but purposeful, approaching from the garden path she'd traveled earlier.

Serena calculated her options. She looked over and saw her clothes folded by the pool's edge, too distant to reach without exposing herself.

The nearest exit point would place her directly in the newcomer's line of sight.

She moved deeper into the shadows at the far end of the pool, where the underwater lighting was dimmest. There, she waited, body submerged to her shoulders, years of crisis management translating into physical stillness.

The footsteps stopped at the pool's edge. Through the darkness, Serena could make out a silhouette: distinctly feminine, slender, haloed by moonlight catching on loose hair. Something in the posture, the way weight shifted slightly to one hip, was immediately familiar.

"I didn't expect anyone else to be here at this hour," came a voice she recognized instantly.

Lila.

Of all the people who might have discovered her midnight swim, why did it have to be the one person who already occupied too much of her mental space?

Serena could retreat further into the shadows and avoid conversation altogether. It would be the prudent choice, the one that maintained professional distance and personal dignity. The Serena who ran Frost Innovations would certainly choose that option.

But something in Lila's voice—genuine surprise without judgment—triggered a different response.

"Neither did I," Serena replied, her voice carrying across the water with unexpected clarity.

Lila stepped closer to the pool's edge, moonlight now fully illuminating her face. She wore a simple flowing dress, her hair loose around her shoulders, clearly having come from some personal errand rather than professional duty.

"I'm sorry to intrude," she said. "I can leave you to your privacy."

She began to turn away, the consideration in the gesture somehow making Serena's next words spill out before she could analyze them.

"Stay."

The invitation surprised them both. Lila paused, half-turned back toward the pool, uncertainty written in her posture.

"Are you sure?"

No, Serena wasn't sure at all. Yet something about this night, this pool, this moment outside normal time made her nod.

"Yes."

And just like that, boundaries shifted again, controlled and uncontrolled merging under moonlight.

"May I?" Lila gestured to the edge of the pool, a simple request seeking permission to enter Serena's momentary sanctuary.

Serena nodded, suddenly hyperaware of her nakedness beneath the water. The confidence she'd felt during her solitary swim wavered under Lila's presence, yet something stronger than discomfort kept her in place. Curiosity, perhaps. Or something less easily named.

Lila settled at the pool's edge, slipping off her sandals to dangle her feet in the water. The moonlight caught the angles of her face, softening them while highlighting the gentle curve of her cheek and the line of her throat as she tilted her head back to look at the stars.

"I come here sometimes after my evening meditation," she said, her voice low and melodic in the night air. "It's peaceful when everyone else is asleep."

"Is that what you were doing?" Serena asked, keeping her distance at the far side of the pool. "Meditation?"

Lila smiled, the expression visible even in the dim light. "Actually, I was helping Maika with night-blooming jasmine. We use it in the morning oil blends." She glanced toward Serena, eyes reflecting the pool's soft glow. "He mentioned meeting a night wanderer in the gardens earlier."

So the gardener had recognized her. Of course he had. Serena felt a flash of annoyance at the thought of becoming a topic of staff conversation.

"Does everyone on this island report to everyone else?" The question came out sharper than she'd intended.

"No," Lila replied, unruffled by her tone. "But it's a small community. We look out for each other and for guests. Especially those exploring after hours."

The gentle correction made Serena reconsider her assumption. Perhaps the exchange hadn't been gossip but genuine concern.

"I couldn't sleep," she offered, a small concession toward explanation.

"The island has that effect sometimes. It disrupts patterns."

Serena moved slightly closer, drawn by the conversation despite her inclination toward solitude. "Is that the official resort position? Blame insomnia on the island rather than accepting responsibility for uncomfortable beds?"

Lila laughed, the sound carrying across the water like music.

"The beds are ergonomically perfect, and you know it.

" She trailed her fingers through the water, creating ripples that spread outward.

"But there's something about this place that makes people more aware.

Of their surroundings, of themselves. That awareness can be. .. uncomfortable at first."

The observation hit too close to Serena's own experience to dismiss. "You speak as if from personal experience."

"I do." Lila's gaze shifted to the distant horizon. "I came here as a guest first, before I worked here. After my relationship ended."

This personal revelation caught Serena off guard. She'd assumed Lila was simply staff, not someone who had followed a similar retreat path.

"What made you stay?" The question arose from genuine curiosity rather than polite conversation.

Lila considered this, her expression thoughtful. "I found something here I hadn't realized I was missing. Space to hear my own thoughts without someone else's expectations drowning them out."

The words resonated with unexpected force. Serena had spent decades building a life defined by exceeding expectations: her parents', her board's, the market's. The concept of space without expectations felt foreign yet oddly compelling.

"Most people would call that running away," Serena said, playing devil's advocate despite her interest.

"I did, at first." Lila's candor was disarming. "Then I realized the difference between running away and moving toward. One is escape, the other is growth." She looked directly at Serena then. "What about you? Are you running from something in New York or moving toward something here?"

The directness of the question should have activated Serena's defenses. Instead, surrounded by night and water, she found herself considering it seriously.

"Neither," she finally said. "I'm serving time until I can return to my real life."

"Hmm." Lila made a noncommittal sound, neither agreeing nor challenging. "Interesting choice of words. 'Serving time.' Like a sentence."

Serena hadn't intended the prison metaphor, but now that Lila pointed it out, she couldn't deny its accuracy. This island retreat felt imposed rather than chosen, punishment rather than opportunity.

"It wasn't my choice to come here," she reminded Lila, moving closer to the edge where she sat. The water lapped gently against her collarbones.

"True," Lila acknowledged. "But how you experience it is entirely your choice."

Another statement that should have irritated Serena with its simplistic optimism. Yet coming from Lila, with her quiet assurance and lack of judgment, it felt less like platitude and more like practical wisdom.

They fell silent, the night wrapping around them like a shared secret. Moonlight streaked the water's surface, mirroring the distinctive pattern in Serena's hair. In the distance, waves broke against the shore in hypnotic rhythm.

Serena found herself oddly comfortable in this mutual silence. In her normal life, quiet moments were filled with phone checks, email responses, mental task lists. Here, with Lila's calm presence beside her, she simply existed in the space between words.

"It's beautiful tonight," Lila said eventually, gaze lifting to the star-filled sky. "Sometimes I forget to look up, even here. Old habits."

"What did you do before this?" Serena asked, realizing how little she knew about the woman who had occupied so many of her thoughts.

"Corporate wellness in Silicon Valley. Trying to teach meditation to CEOs who checked their watches every thirty seconds." A smile played at the corners of Lila's mouth. "Not entirely unlike my current job."

The gentle tease surprised a laugh from Serena, the sound unfamiliar to her own ears. When had she last laughed without strategic purpose? She couldn't remember.

"I don't check my watch during sessions," she pointed out, moving to rest her arms on the pool's edge, still maintaining careful distance from where Lila sat.

"No, you've been surprisingly present." Lila glanced down at her, something warming in her expression. "Skeptical, but present."

"I reserve judgment until I have sufficient data," Serena clarified, not wanting to be mistaken for a convert. "It's called scientific method, not skepticism."

"Of course." Lila's tone suggested amused disbelief. "And what does your data tell you so far?"

Serena considered the question seriously.

What had her experiences on the island revealed?

The yoga session had been physically beneficial, if nothing else.

The massage had relieved tension she hadn't realized she carried.

And this midnight swim had provided a kind of mental clarity she rarely experienced.