108. Scarlett
Scarlett
T he morning broke in watercolor—streaks of coral and indigo spilling across the horizon like the sky hadn’t made up its mind yet.
Everything looked too calm.
Brielle and I moved through the trees, no noise but the distant hush of waves and the thrum in my chest.
I didn’t look back until we hit the dock.
The villas were soft in the morning light, half-shadowed, half-gold, like the memory of something you’re already losing.
That was the moment it hit.
He was alive.
After all these years, after the silence, the grief, the hole in my chest where a father should’ve been—he was alive.
And I didn’t know if I wanted to run to him or punch someone for keeping it from me.
Brielle stepped into the boat first. Sleek. Black. Unmarked. I followed, settling on the bench across from her, fingers clutched tight in my lap.
The engine rumbled to life, low and steady, and the island began to drift behind us—receding like a dream I wasn’t sure I’d wake up from.
I glanced at her. She sat perfectly still, one hand curled over the side of the boat, nails short and unpainted. Her eyes stayed fixed on the horizon, unreadable as ever.
“You always this quiet before betrayal?” I asked lightly.
That earned a ghost of a smile. “You’ll know if it’s betrayal when we get there.”
I watched her a beat longer. “You could’ve told me he was alive. Sooner.”
“I wasn’t sure you'd believe me.” Her gaze flicked to mine. “Or that you were ready.”
“I’m not.”
Another smile. Barely there. “Good. Neither was I.”
“You like this,” I said suddenly. “The chaos. The secrets.”
She tilted her head. “I like you.”
That stopped me.
Not the way she said it—flat, unflinching, not flirtatious. Just… honest.
“You’re dangerous,” she added. “But you’re not reckless. There’s a difference.”
I sat there, thrown. Because even though she was technically an enemy, all smug smiles and sin—I didn’t hate her.
That was the problem.
She was too sharp, too bold, too something.
And I understood her more than I wanted to admit.
We rode the rest of the way in silence, but it wasn’t empty. It was loaded.
Across the water, the inlet came into view. A thin ribbon of land. Trees. A hangar tucked beneath the canopy like it had always been waiting.
Brielle pulled a hood up over her hair as the plane came into view. Compact. Sleek. Gray enough to vanish in clouds.
Not a soul in sight.
They were ready for us.
And I stood there, heart pounding too fast to feel steady, staring at the plane like it already knew what it was carrying.
This wasn’t just a visit.
It was a reckoning.