The Island
1286 Words
Lena’s throat burned with thirst, but she refused to touch the glass of water that stood on the bedside table.
No more tricks. No more false kindnesses or damn drugs to make her fall asleep. She had already fallen for that once—and look where it got her. In the middle of nowhere with a crazy guy.
Her stomach gave a painful rumble, echoing against the silence of the room, but she ignored it, crossing her arms over her abdomen as if that could muffle the sound.
Maybe it’s for the best, she thought bitterly. I needed to lose a few pounds anyway. A humorless laugh escaped her lips. It sounded wrong in the sterile quiet.
She walked to the large window again, eyes scanning the endless stretch of blue that surrounded her. Hours ago, it had been only water—calm, vast, and mercilessly beautiful. But now, something different filled the horizon.
Land.
She pressed a hand against the glass, her heart skipping. Her chest tightened with cautious relief.
Thank God… land. Maybe this nightmare is finally over.
But as the vessel drew closer, her relief began to twist into confusion. Her brows furrowed.
This wasn’t a city harbor or a marina. There were no buildings, no cranes, no sound of cars or distant life—only dense vegetation, towering palms, and untouched white sand that stretched like silk.
Her breath hitched.
“What the… is this an island?” she whispered, her words barely audible.
Her heart began to race as the truth clawed its way up her spine.
A private island.
The realization was so absurd, so surreal, that for a moment she almost laughed again.
Of course he would.
Of course a man like Zayn Specter wouldn’t just have a yacht—he’d have an island to go with it.
Someone knocked and after the door creaked open, making her flinch. A man in uniform—the same crew member who had brought her meals—stood in the doorway. His face was blank, professional, unreadable.
“Miss Pearson,” he said in a neutral tone. “We’ll be docking in five minutes. Please prepare for offboarding.”
“Offboarding?” she repeated, trying to sound calm but hearing the tremor in her voice. “You mean… we’re docking there?”
The man hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded once. “Yes, ma’am.”
Her mind spun. The walls suddenly felt smaller, the air too thick to breathe. “Where are we exactly?”
“I’m not authorized to say, Miss Pearson. Please discuss this directly with Mr. Specter.”
Of course. She could have predicted that answer.
When he left, closing the door softly behind him, she sank into the nearest chair, her pulse pounding against her temples.
Her mind was a storm of questions and dread.
Why bring me here? What does he plan to do?
She remembered Zayn’s cold, piercing eyes when he’d pressed the NDA toward her. The sharpness in his tone when he’d told her she wasn’t going anywhere.
He would not be that crazy to keep me … hostage… trapped… she thought with a frown. Probably this is just a ruse to intimidate me.
His entire presence was power wrapped in silk—danger hiding behind immaculate control.
She swallowed hard, her fingers trembling as she rubbed her temples. The exhaustion was bone-deep now, but her fear kept her sharp. She couldn’t let her guard down.
When the gentle hum of the yacht’s engines slowed, her heart began to race faster. The movement beneath her feet stilled. She forced herself to her feet and approached the door, bracing herself.
A moment later, it opened again, and sunlight streamed in so bright it made her blink.
“Miss Pearson,” the crewman said again, motioning politely. “If you’d follow me, please.”
She stepped outside onto the deck, and the heat hit her instantly—humid and thick, carrying the salt of the sea. The view before her was almost painfully beautiful: emerald trees swaying against a sapphire sky, the water so clear it looked unreal.
It would have been paradise… if not for the dread curling deep in her gut and the circumstances of her presence here.
As they crossed the narrow plank connecting the yacht to the dock, Lena’s eyes darted everywhere—searching for any sign of habitation, a pier, a hut, anything. But there was nothing except nature, wild and untouched.
And then, at the edge of the sand, she saw him.
Zayn Specter stood there, waiting. His posture was relaxed, but his presence hit her like a physical force. Dressed in a white shirt rolled at the sleeves and dark trousers, he looked sinfully composed against the backdrop of paradise. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of aviators, but she could feel his gaze even from a distance—assessing, calculating, burning through her.
She almost stopped walking. For a moment, she wanted to run back to the yacht, to demand to be taken back. But something in the way he stood there—unmoving, commanding—told her it would be useless.
She learned this about him the hard way.
Her heart pounded harder with every step she took toward him, the sound of waves crashing mixing with her ragged breath.
When she finally reached the sand, Zayn removed his sunglasses slowly, his expression unreadable.
“Welcome to Cayo, my island, Miss Pearson,” he said smoothly, his voice carrying the faintest edge of mockery.
Lena’s throat tightened. “Why am I here?”
Zayn tilted his head slightly, studying her like a puzzle.
“Because you and I,” he said, his tone calm but laced with steel, “still have unfinished business.”
The wind lifted her hair, and for a brief second, she thought she saw something flicker behind his eyes—a flash of conflict, of heat—but then it was gone, buried under the same cold control.
Lena swallowed hard, fighting to keep her voice steady. “You had no right to bring me here. This is illegal.”
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Rights are subjective, don’t you think?”
The words sent a shiver down her spine. She hated how her pulse quickened—not only from fear, but from something she refused to name.
Zayn stepped closer, slow and deliberate, until she could feel the warmth radiating from his body, smell the faint trace of his cologne—dark, intoxicating, the same scent that haunted her since the flight.
“I told you before,” he murmured, his voice low. “You don’t leave until I get your signature and… the truth.”
Lena met his gaze, trembling but defiant. “I will never sign that piece of paper. And regarding the truth, if you already think you know it, why bring me here?”
For a second, he didn’t answer. His eyes softened almost imperceptibly before hardening again. “Because, for whatever reason, you decided to play games with me, painting yourself as the victim, the innocent… despite the incriminating photos…,” he said quietly. “And I intend to find out why.”
Her breath caught, panic and defiance warring in her chest. Around them, the sea crashed endlessly against the shore, the sound swallowing her racing heartbeat.
She squared her shoulders, trying to summon courage she didn’t feel. “You’ll regret this, Mr. Specter, things are not always what they seems to be,” she whispered.
He leaned in, his voice brushing against her ear, velvet and threat intertwined. “I wouldn’t hold my breath.”
- Writer
