Beckett’s POV
After I watch Elodie leave, I wait for a moment before I follow her. I keep back, watching where she’s going until she steps into one of the elevators. As the door slides shut, I turn and head outside, walking toward the stairs nearby, and start to climb them. My shoes echo hollowly against the steps until I reach the upper walkway. My chest still burns with the remnants of our argument, my fingers curling tightly around the cool brass of the railing as I lean forward. Below me, the bright, sun-drenched pool stretches out in front of me, practically empty apart from a few of the production team. My gaze sweeps over the deck until I find Elodie. I watch her retreating figure storm past the nearest loungers to the exact opposite side of the deck, her shoulders tense with resid
