Page 50

SERENA

S erena's villa felt impossibly empty as the day wore on.

After Lila had left that morning, she'd thrown herself into work with mechanical precision—answering emails, analyzing reports, and crafting strategies to counter Walter's moves.

The familiar rhythm of crisis management should have provided comfort and the sense of purpose that had defined her for decades.

Instead, each passing hour only deepened the hollow feeling in her chest.

By late afternoon, she couldn't stand the walls of the villa anymore. The spaces Lila had occupied seemed to echo with her absence. Even the breakfast dishes, long since cleared by resort staff, had left a phantom reminder on the dining table where they'd had their disastrous morning conversation.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered, shoving away from her laptop. She'd reread the same paragraph six times without absorbing a word.

Outside, the island continued its perfect tropical display—palm fronds swaying in the breeze, waves breaking against white sand, birds calling from flowering trees. The contrast between the paradise surrounding her and the chaos inside her head felt almost offensive.

She grabbed her room key and headed for the door. The half-finished reports, the waiting crisis in New York, and Ashley's increasingly urgent messages—all of it could wait. Right now, she needed to escape the confines of walls and ceilings and her own racing thoughts.

The afternoon sun warmed her skin as she walked aimlessly along the resort paths. Other guests offered polite nods that she returned automatically, her CEO mask slipping into place with practiced ease. But beneath that perfect facade, Lila's words from that morning kept circling in her mind.

"You're scared, so you're pushing me away."

The observation had cut through all her carefully constructed defenses, naming a truth she couldn't bring herself to acknowledge.

She was scared—terrified, actually—of how quickly her barriers had crumbled in Lila's presence.

Of how real everything felt between them.

Of the inevitable goodbye looming just days away.

Serena found herself at the main garden, where exotic flowers bloomed in carefully cultivated beds. The landscaping that had seemed bland when she'd first arrived now struck her as almost painfully beautiful—fragile blooms opening themselves completely to sun and rain, vulnerable yet thriving.

"Flowers have the right idea," came a voice behind her. "They don't worry about tomorrow. They just bloom while they can."

Serena turned to find an older man tending to a vibrant hibiscus plant, his weathered hands moving with gentle precision among the blossoms. She recognized him as the gardener she'd met during her midnight wandering days ago—Maika.

"Some of us don't have that luxury," she replied, her voice carrying more edge than she'd intended.

Maika straightened, studying her with eyes that missed nothing. "Ah. The happiness found you, and now you are running from it."

The simple observation, delivered without judgment, caught Serena off guard. "I'm not running from anything. I'm simply being realistic about circumstances."

"Hmm." He returned to his pruning, snipping away a dead bloom with careful attention. "Realism and fear often wear the same clothes. Hard to tell them apart sometimes."

Irritation flared in Serena's chest. What was it with this island and everyone thinking they could see straight through her?

"With all due respect, you don't know me or my situation."

Maika nodded, completely unruffled by her cool tone. "True. I only know what I see. A woman who found something unexpected on our island. Something that made her eyes lighter for a few days." He glanced up at her. "And now the heaviness has returned."

Serena's defenses rose automatically. This was exactly why she kept people at arm's length—to avoid this kind of invasive analysis, this presumption of insight.

"I'm leaving in six days," she said, the words coming out more sharply than she'd intended. "Back to New York, to my company, to my real life. What would be the point of... complicating things with temporary connections?"

"Ah." Maika nodded as if she'd confirmed something he already knew. "The afraid-of-temporary disease. Very common among visitors."

"It's not a disease. It's pragmatism."

He chuckled, the sound warm and lacking any mockery. "Sometimes we smart people use very big words to hide very simple truths."

Serena crossed her arms, wondering why she was even engaging in this conversation with a resort gardener. And wondering even more why his words were landing with such uncomfortable precision.

"And what simple truth am I supposedly hiding?"

Maika set down his pruning shears, giving her his full attention.

"That joy is always temporary, Ms. Frost. All of it.

The flowers bloom, then they fade. The tide comes in, then goes out.

People enter our lives, then leave." His eyes crinkled at the corners.

"Knowing something will end doesn't make it less valuable while it exists. "

The words struck her with unexpected force, echoing what Lila had tried to tell her that morning. Not everything valuable has to last forever for it to matter.

"It's not that simple," she said, though something in her chest loosened slightly.

"Maybe not," Maika agreed easily. "But maybe it's not as complicated as you're making it either."

He turned back to his flowers, clearly considering the conversation finished. Serena stood for a moment longer, watching as he worked with unhurried precision, totally present in a way she'd spent decades avoiding.

As she walked away, his words followed her, settling into spaces inside her that had been empty for longer than she cared to acknowledge.

Serena wandered from the gardens, her feet carrying her instinctively toward the beach.

Maika's words had unsettled her, puncturing the careful rationale she'd constructed around pushing Lila away.

The afternoon heat pressed against her skin as she followed a winding path that eventually opened onto a stretch of pristine shoreline.

This wasn't the private cove where she and Lila practiced yoga or the resort's main beach with its carefully arranged loungers. It was somewhere in between—a crescent of white sand spotted with a few guests reading under umbrellas, far enough apart to create the illusion of solitude.

She slipped off her sandals, letting her bare feet sink into the warm sand.

When had she last walked barefoot on a beach without purpose?

Not during her tightly scheduled vacation in Cannes last year, where every moment had been optimized with networking opportunities.

Certainly not during the Hamptons weekends with Rachel, where appearances at specific social gatherings had been meticulously planned.

Maybe not since childhood, if ever.

Serena moved toward the water's edge, where waves left foamy patterns on packed sand.

The rhythmic sound of the ocean against the shore had become familiar during her time on the island, a constant backdrop to the unexpected transformation she'd been experiencing.

She hadn't needed Lila to point it out that morning; Serena knew she was changing.

What terrified her was not knowing who she'd be at the end of that change.

A couple walked past, hand in hand, laughing at some private joke. Serena watched them with a strange ache in her chest. They looked so... present. So unconcerned with anything beyond their shared moment.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket—probably Ashley with more updates about Walter's maneuverings. For the first time in her career, Serena let it ring without answering. Whatever corporate dumpster fire Walter was stoking would still be there in an hour. Right now, she needed to think.

She settled onto the sand, not caring about her expensive pants or the fact that CEOs generally didn't sit cross-legged on beaches like reflective college students.

The view before her was postcard-perfect—azure water stretching to meet an equally blue sky, sunlight dancing across gentle waves, distant palms swaying in the breeze.

Six days. That's all that remained of her time on Solara Island. Six days until she returned to New York, to boardrooms and strategy sessions and the constant vigilance required to maintain her position against those who would usurp it.

Six days with Lila. Or without her.

The choice suddenly seemed so stark, so consequential. That morning, she'd convinced herself that pulling back was the sensible option. Why deepen something that could only end in disappointment when she boarded that plane back to reality?

Yet sitting here now, with sand between her toes and salt air filling her lungs, Serena couldn't recapture the certainty she'd felt. Instead, Maika's simple wisdom echoed in her mind alongside Lila's parting words.

Knowing something will end doesn't make it less valuable while it exists.

Not everything valuable has to last forever for it to matter.

Had she spent her entire life avoiding true connections because they couldn't be permanent? Because they couldn't be controlled like quarterly projections or secured like intellectual property?

A seagull landed nearby, tilting its head curiously in her direction. Serena found herself smiling at its bold assessment, so different from the careful deference she typically received.

"What would you do?" she asked the bird, half-amused at her own whimsy. "Grab the moment or protect yourself from inevitable loss?"

The seagull offered no wisdom, eventually hopping away in search of more promising food sources. But the simple act of asking the question aloud had shifted something in Serena's chest, making room for possibilities beyond her usual either/or thinking.