Chapter 17
Ms. Leighton sat perfectly composed behind her desk.
The office was silent, save for the faint hum of the ceiling fan above and the soft tap of Antonia’s boots as she crossed the room, tablet in hand.
A crystal carafe of water and two glasses sat untouched on the side table.
Ms. Leighton’s hands were folded, her posture as impeccable as ever, but her eyes, icy blue, sharp as flint, never left the screen as Antonia set the tablet before her.
“Play it,” Ms. Leighton said, her voice calm but edged with steel.
Antonia tapped the screen. The video began with a wide shot of the cove, the jungle lush and sun-drenched, the camera’s time stamp marking the hour of the near-fatal accident.
Madeline, luminous in her white dress, walked barefoot across the sand toward the jungle path.
Ruthi’s voice was audible on the audio track: “And… action.”
Ms. Leighton watched as the scene unfolded with clinical attention.
The moment the tree limb crashed down, she didn’t flinch, though her jaw tightened imperceptibly.
She watched Madeline’s dive, the scatter of leaves and dirt, and the scramble of the crew rushing forward.
Antonia, a blur on the edge of the frame, moving with predatory speed after the fleeing man.
“Again,” Ms. Leighton said. Antonia obliged, running it back, this time zooming in on the perpetrator as he slipped away from the set. The man’s face was visible for a split second. It was unremarkable, forgettable, someone who would melt into a crowd. Ms. Leighton’s gaze grew colder. “Who is he?”
“His name is Bayani Santos,” Antonia replied.
“Hired as a grip through the LA agency, but his references are a dead end. False addresses, burner phone. He’s stopped talking.
Nothing since his initial confession once we brought him back here.
He’s being held in the security suite. We’ve kept it quiet. ”
Ms. Leighton’s fingers tapped a slow, deliberate rhythm on the desk. “How long before we have to involve the authorities?”
Antonia’s mouth pressed into a thin line.
“Not long. I’ve contacted our liaison on the mainland.
They’ll send a discreet team by the end of the day.
Officially, it will be a deportation for falsified credentials.
Unofficially, they’re aware there was an attempt on a guest’s life.
They’ll ask questions, but we’ll control the narrative. ”
Nodding, Ms. Leighton’s gaze never wavered from the screen. “Play the confession.”
Antonia swiped to the next video. The image was grainy, security cam footage from the security suite. Bayani Santos sat slouched at the table, hands cuffed, eyes darting. Antonia’s voice, off-camera, was icy calm. “Who sent you?”
The man’s response was clipped, almost rehearsed. “I don’t know her name. She said ruin the shoot. Double pay if someone got hurt and it looked like an accident. Said your boss would know why.”
Ms. Leighton’s expression didn’t change, but a muscle twitched in her jaw. She watched the man’s face, seeking a clue, but he was a nobody. A pawn. The chill in her chest deepened.
Antonia paused the video. “We ran his prints through every database. Nothing. He’s a ghost.” The silence stretched.
Ms. Leighton’s mind cycled through her enemies.
Competitors, former business partners, even a few guests who hadn’t appreciated her discretion, but none of them fit.
This is personal, almost intimate, Ms. Leighton thought. It is a message.
Antonia’s voice softened, almost apologetic. “We’ll keep him contained until the authorities arrive. But after that…”
“We can’t hold him forever,” Ms. Leighton said with a nod. “I understand. And we can’t let this island become a spectacle.” Her tone was razor sharp. “The guests are scheduled to leave tomorrow. I want no leaks, no drama. I’ll handle the board and the press. You handle the rest.”
Antonia’s eyes flicked to the screen, then back to her boss.
“There’s one more thing.” She tapped to a final video the cameraman took by accident, angled haphazardly toward the path leading from the cove.
It showed Ruthi, her face stricken, and her movements erratic.
The timestamp matched the aftermath of the attack.
“Once we returned, she went straight to Eve’s cottage,” Antonia said. “Didn’t stop to speak to anyone.”
Watching the footage, a flicker of sympathy crossed Ms. Leighton’s usually impassive face. “She was shaken,” she murmured. “Not like her. But then, betrayal does strange things to even the strongest among us.”
Stepping away, Antonia nodded. “The commercial is complete. The crew is packing up already. No one was seriously hurt, and the preliminary edits are underway. Madeline and Kel are in the main house, keeping close. We’ve increased security detail for all principal guests until wheels-up tomorrow.”
Ms. Leighton’s lips pressed into a thin, contemplative line.
She allowed herself a moment to study the grainy freeze-frame of Ruthi’s haunted face, then returned her gaze to Antonia.
“Ensure the staff remain discreet. No speculation, no gossip. I want routine, not panic. If anyone asks, the incident was a freak accident. Nothing more.”
“Understood.” Antonia’s voice was steady, but beneath it, Ms. Leighton heard the same note of unease that threaded her own thoughts.
She swiveled her chair, gazing out at the sweep of the island through the wall of glass.
The gardens discreetly lit against the darkness, the ocean inky black in the distance, every detail as carefully curated as her own composure.
Yet underneath, she felt the fissures widening, a sense of something violated, a sanctuary breached.
“You said the man claimed I’d ‘know why,’” she said quietly.
“But for once, I confess I don’t. I have enemies, yes, but none I’d expect to resort to violence. Not here.”
Antonia hesitated, then spoke with rare bluntness. “Maybe someone wants you to believe you’re not untouchable.”
Considering the woman’s words, Ms. Leighton’s eyes narrowed.
“I won’t be cowed, Antonia. Whoever orchestrated this, whoever is still out there, they want chaos.
They want me distracted.” She lifted her chin, every inch the woman who built the Isle of Dreams from stubborn vision and steel. “They’ll be disappointed.”
After a beat, Antonia gave a single, respectful nod. “We’ll keep eyes everywhere until the last guest is gone. And if our “ghost” tries anything, I’ll handle it myself.”
A faint smile, cold but genuine, touched Ms. Leighton’s lips.
“I never doubted that for a moment.” The office fell silent again, save for the faint buzz of cicadas outside.
Ms. Leighton reached for her glass of water, her hand steady as ever.
Her thoughts, though, churned in the quiet.
Who sent the man? she wondered. Who betrayed the island’s trust?
And what will they try next, now that their first attempt failed?
She looked at the still image of Ruthi’s stricken face and Ms. Leighton’s jaw clenched, but her voice, when it came, was cool and measured. “We’ll do what we always do, Antonia. We’ll close ranks. We’ll protect what’s ours. And we’ll watch for the next move.”
Nodding, Antonia’s gaze was unwavering. “I’ll keep the island tight as a drum. No one gets in or out without my say-so. The staff are loyal, but I’ll remind them what’s at stake.”
“Good.” Ms. Leighton said. “Tomorrow, when the guests leave, I want it to look effortless. No sign of trouble. No hint of the storm beneath the surface. The Isle of Dreams will remain a sanctuary.”
“Understood,” Antonia said, picking up the tablet. “I will let you know if anything changes.”
“Thank you,” Ms. Leighton said with a sigh.
As Antonia slipped from the room, she remained seated, staring out at the deceptive calm of her domain.
Her reflection caught in the glass. It was sharp, composed, but shadowed now by the knowledge that her fortress was not as impregnable as she’d believed.
Still, she would not give her adversary the satisfaction of seeing her falter.
Yet, as she sat in the hush of her office, the weight of betrayal pressed in, cold and familiar.
Whoever had tried to shake her, whoever still lingered in the shadows, had underestimated the woman who had built this island from nothing but will.
I will not be intimidated, she thought, her mouth set in a thin, dangerous smile. Let them come.
Madeline sat cross-legged on the edge of Kel’s bed.
The room was blissfully quiet, but her mind was anything but.
She kept replaying the moment, the camera rolling, the setup for the script’s final shot, and the feeling of something finally going right.
The way the crew’s faces had lit up, the sound woman’s high five, and even Ruthi’s rare, approving nod.
She’d felt, for one shining heartbeat, like she belonged.
Like this was the start of something new, but then the world had exploded.
The crack of splintering wood, the chaos, Kel’s scream and her own body moving before she even knew what was happening.
She still smelled the crushed leaves, felt the sting of dirt on her skin.
A tree limb, deliberate, and meant for her, landing close enough that if she’d hesitated, if she’d doubted for even a second. ..
She forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply, but her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. She pressed them flat to her knees. None of it felt real. Not the commercial. Not the danger. Not even the possibility that, after all this, her life might actually change.