Elena’s POV
The afternoon sun beat down like it had a personal grudge against me. I rubbed on another thick layer of sunscreen—SPF 50, because coming home looking like a lobster was not on my agenda—and watched Darren launch into the pool for what felt like the hundredth time. His squeals bounced off the villa’s glass walls, a soundtrack of pure, wild kid joy.
“Elena! Watch this!” Splash. Again.
Damien stood just inside the shade, looking almost relaxed. But I knew better. His eyes never stopped scanning—the edges of the property, the shimmering water, the house itself. Always alert. Always watching. Including watching me.
Every time I adjusted my sun hat or shifted in my lounge chair, I felt his gaze like a weight, a subtle touch against my skin. I’d changed into a one-piece swimsuit
