Chapter 12

The days were like something out of a dream.

The sun kissed her skin, the salty ocean breeze tangled in her hair as she walked along the pristine white sands. She swam in the crystal-clear waters, floated lazily under the golden sky, sipped drinks under the shade of palm trees.

He watched her—always.

Sometimes from the comfort of their cabana, sometimes from the water's edge, his green eyes unreadable behind dark sunglasses, his lips curled into that infuriating smirk whenever he caught her looking back.

They pretended it was just a vacation.

That this was just about relaxation, escaping reality.

But beneath it all, they were waiting for the night.

Because when the sun went down, when the last light of day melted into darkness—

She was his.

Every evening ended the same way.

She would walk into their villa, her skin still warm from the sun, her body tired from the day—

And the moment the door closed behind her, he would pull her in.

His hands would find her hips, dragging her down onto his lap. His mouth would devour hers, slow and deep, taking his time like he had all the hours in the world.

And then—she took control.

Because he couldn't.

Because his legs didn't work the way they once did.

Because he was a man who was used to having full power, and she was the only one who could give it back to him.

So she rode him.

Night after night, until she was ruined, until her body was sore and weak and completely spent.

She moved for both of them, giving him everything, taking everything in return.

And when she collapsed against his chest, her skin slick with sweat, her breath shaky from too many orgasms to count—

He would wrap his arms around her and hold her there.

Let her breathe. Let her rest. Let her exist in this place where she had no responsibilities, no debts to pay—

Just him.

And for the first time in her life—

She didn't want to leave.

Packing up to leave felt wrong.

The island had become their world, a place where the outside didn't exist, where it was just them, wrapped in the sun, the ocean, and the heat of the nights they spent tangled together.

But reality was waiting.

She zipped up her suitcase, trying to ignore the weight in her chest, trying not to think about what leaving meant—if anything would change when they stepped off this island.

Then, his voice—smooth, teasing.

"I should gift you this wheelchair."

She stilled, turning to find him watching her from his chair, arms resting lazily on the armrests, his lips curling into that infuriating smirk.

She frowned, already knowing where this was going. "What?"

He tilted his head, eyes glinting with amusement.

"You've used it as much as I have."****"

Her face flamed, her body instantly betraying her with the memories.

Of her in his lap.

Of her straddling him, riding him, using his chair as her own personal playground night after night.

Her jaw clenched, her voice flat. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh?" His smirk deepened, his fingers drumming against the wheel. "I'm pretty sure the staff here does."

Her stomach dropped.

Her eyes snapped up to him, panic flickering through her chest.

He was lying. He had to be.

The resort staff wouldn't—

Would they?

She grabbed a nearby pillow and hurled it at his face.

He caught it easily, laughing now, full and rich, his eyes wicked as he watched her.

"You're cute when you're embarrassed."

"Shut up," she muttered, shoving her suitcase closed harder than necessary, trying to ignore the heat burning under her skin.

Because he loved teasing her.

And she hated that she loved it too.

She hated that part of her would miss this—

Miss him.

Because what happened on this island…

Wouldn't last in the real world.

Would it?

Back in the city, everything felt different.

The island had been a world of its own—private, untouchable, a place where they had been wrapped up in each other, lost in a haze of lust and whispered confessions in the dark.

But here?

Reality hit fast.

And he was busy.

Emergency meeting after emergency meeting, barely home, barely even texting.

She tried not to think about it too much, tried to act normal, but after the fifth consecutive day of being left alone in his massive penthouse, he finally said—

"You should go home."

It wasn't cold.

It wasn't distant.

It was practical.

She was just sitting there alone in his space, waiting for him to come back, knowing he wouldn't until it was too late.

So she packed her things and went home.

The moment she stepped through the door of her own small apartment, something in her chest settled.

The familiar smell. The sight of her brothers arguing over the TV. The comfort of normalcy.

She needed this.

Needed a second to breathe.

But just as she exhaled—

A knock.

She turned, confused.

And when she opened the door—

Her stomach dropped.

A woman stood there. Poised. Elegant. Unshaken.

She knew who she was instantly.

The woman who had been their patron since their parents died.

The one who had given her an education.

Given them food, shelter, everything they had ever needed.

And for the first time in years—

She felt it.

That cold, creeping feeling in her gut.

This is bad.

The woman—Eleanor Sinclair—stood in the doorway like she owned the air around her.

Poised. Composed. Dangerous in a way that didn't require raising her voice.

Beside her stood Ethan's uncle, Richard Sinclair—a man who had always been distant, but commanding, his presence alone making her skin prickle with unease.

She swallowed. Hard.

"Miss Everly," Eleanor said smoothly, stepping inside without an invitation. "It's been a while."

Everly.

She hadn't been called by her full name in a long time.

Something about the way Eleanor said it made her stomach twist.

She closed the door slowly, her voice carefully even. "What are you doing here?"

Richard gave her a tight smile, moving to sit in the small living room like he was bored of this already.

"You've been spending a lot of time with my nephew," he said casually, folding his hands in his lap. "Which means you have access to things that are… inconvenient for us to get to."

Her pulse spiked.

She hated how fast her mind worked, how the words left unsaid filled the space.

"You want something from Ethan."

Eleanor's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"We need you to find something for us."

Everly's hands clenched at her sides. "I'm not a thief."

Eleanor tilted her head, her sharp eyes flickering with calculated amusement.

"No," she agreed. "You're a nurse. You were given a job. By us."

Richard sighed, leaning back. "Do you know what you're looking for? A will. One that affects Ethan's inheritance. One that could… complicate things for this family."

A will?

She froze.

Ethan had never mentioned anything like that.

But then again… he never talked much about his family at all.

Eleanor's expression softened—deceptively gentle. "I imagine you think of yourself as loyal to him."

"I don't—" Everly started, but Eleanor cut her off.

"Think carefully."

The tone had shifted.

It wasn't a request anymore.

It was a warning.

Eleanor took a slow step forward, her eyes locking onto Everly's.

"We gave you everything," she continued, her voice quiet, measured. "A home when you had none. An education. Food. A future."

Everly's breath hitched.

Richard spoke next, voice calm, but cold. "We can just as easily take it all back. That comfortable life you've built for your brothers?" He tilted his head. "That safety net you've relied on? It exists because we allow it to."

A chill ran down her spine.

The unspoken threat was loud.

Eleanor smiled, slow and patient. "Choose well, Everly. We wouldn't want to make things… difficult for you. Or your family."

Everly felt the world closing in.

This was bad.

This was so much worse than she had thought.

They wanted her to betray Ethan.

They wanted her to choose.

The air in the room turned suffocating.

Everly's chest tightened, her nails digging into her palms as she tried to keep herself calm, to pretend she wasn't already losing.

Eleanor's voice was gentle, almost reassuring—but the words beneath it were anything but.

"I'll take care of them."

Her stomach plummeted.

Her brothers.

Mark. Leo. John.

She could handle threats to herself. She could endure anything—but this?

This was different.

Her throat went dry. "Please. No."

Eleanor simply sighed, her expression laced with mock sympathy. "You make it sound like I'm being cruel."

Everly's body locked up, heart pounding, her mind screaming at her to do something.

But what?

What could she do?

Richard leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his dark gaze pinning her in place.

"It's simple, Everly. Do what you're told."

Eleanor gave a slow, deliberate nod, her smile just as poised as before. "Find the document. Give it to us. And we'll forget this conversation ever happened."

Everly's pulse hammered against her ribs.

Her breath came uneven, shaky.

She had to get out of here.

She had to think.

Eleanor's voice softened. "You love them, don't you?"

Her jaw clenched.

Eleanor tilted her head, stepping closer. "You've worked so hard for them. Sacrificed everything. I admire that."

Everly squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the words, the manipulation, the creeping terror.

"You don't have to be scared," Eleanor murmured. "We're on the same side. We want what's best for you."

Liar.

Liar.

But it didn't matter.

Because they had her brothers.