Chapter 5: Sneaking into Elite Waters

Maya

The wind coming off the ocean was sharp and cold. It blew salt water onto my skin and made my eyes water.

I crouched behind a cluster of wild blackberry bushes, pulling the hem of Kiki’s black slip dress down over my knees so it wouldn't snag on the thorns. The silk dress was thin and cheap. It was completely wrong for a hike down a rocky cliffside, but it was the only nice thing Kiki owned. My bare legs were covered in gray dirt, and I was wearing a pair of Kiki's old running sneakers. My black heels were stuffed inside her canvas tote bag.

"Do you see the fence?" Kiki whispered from behind a slab of slate to my left. She was clutching her phone with both hands. "My cousin said the service gate is right past that ridge."

"I see it," I said. I wiped a strand of wet hair out of my face.

We had taken a cheap, noisy public bus two hours down the coast, gotten off near an unmarked hiking trail, and spent forty-five minutes sliding down a muddy hill just to reach the back perimeter of the resort. Through the fog, the main hotel building looked huge—all glass, white stone, and warm yellow lights. Music drifted over the water, something slow and heavy played by string instruments.

"We need to move before the guard comes back," I said, my pulse heavy in my neck.

Kiki’s cousin worked in hospitality for the resort. She told us the private security guards walked the cliff path every twelve minutes. We had watched the last guard walk past at 9:14 AM. That gave us roughly eight minutes to cross the gap, slip through the gate, and blend into the catering staff before anyone noticed us.

We moved fast, our sneakers crunching against the wet gravel. The iron service gate was painted dark green to match the pine trees. The heavy padlock hung from the latch, completely unclicked, just like Kiki's cousin said it would be. The maintenance crew left it unlocked on weekends to move supply carts through.

I pulled the iron bars open, squeezed my shoulders through the narrow gap, and stepped onto the lawn. Kiki came right behind me and clicked the latch shut.

The change was instant. The wild rocks and mud were gone. We were standing on manicured grass that smelled like fresh mulch and pool chlorine. White cabanas lined an infinity pool that looked like it poured straight into the ocean below. Waiters in white shirts and black vests walked past us, carrying silver trays filled with champagne and small plates of food.

"Act like you belong here," Kiki whispered, looking toward a group of men in dark suits standing near the pool bar. "Don't stare at the guards."

"I'm fine," I said. My fingers were gripping the canvas tote bag so hard my knuckles hurt.

We ducked behind a wooden trellis covered in white ivy. I sat on a stone bench, unlaced Kiki's sneakers, and shoved them into the bag. Then I pulled out the black heels and strapped them on. My feet were covered in dirt, and the thin heels sank slightly into the soft grass as soon as I stood up, but I kept my back straight.

"The main lounge is through those glass doors," Kiki whispered, checking her lipstick in her phone screen. "That's where the tech founders and investors are hanging out. I'm going to the open bar near the patio to get a drink. Go look around."

"Look for what?" I asked flatly.

"Look for the guys standing alone looking miserable," Kiki said with a dry smile. "The ones who aren't surrounded by women trying to get money are usually the ones who actually have it."

She walked out from behind the trellis, smoothing her skirt down, and melted into the crowd near the patio like she had been invited.

I took a slow breath, squared my shoulders, and pushed open the heavy glass doors into the main lounge.

The air inside was warm and smelled like expensive cologne, aged liquor, and roasted meats. Soft jazz played from speakers hidden in the ceiling. The room was packed with people in floor-length gowns and tailored suits. Everywhere I looked, tall men with clean haircuts, smooth skin, and loud laughs were holding drinks and talking to groups of women.

My stomach turned over. Every single one of them looked like Trevor. Different clothes, same empty, arrogant faces.

I walked along the edge of the room, keeping my head up. A waiter walked past, and I took a glass of mimosa off his tray just to give my hands something to hold. I took a heavy gulp. The cold orange juice and champagne burned down my throat, but it cut through the chill in my chest. I drank the whole glass in three swallows, set the empty flute on a small table, and pulled my phone out of my hoodie pocket.

My head felt slightly light from the alcohol and the lack of sleep. I unlocked the screen and looked at my settings.

A sudden spike of hot, stupid anger hit me. Three days of sitting on Kiki's couch, three days of staring at peeling paint, and now I was standing in a room full of rich people while Trevor was probably sitting on my old sofa in Colette's apartment.

I opened my blocked contacts list, unblocked Trevor's number, and typed out a text with shaking thumbs: You're a pathetic parasite living off my mother because you can't pay your own rent.

I hit send.

I didn't know that the resort used a private, secure network designed to flag any unregistered mobile device that tried to send an external signal from inside the building.

The second the message went through, my phone screen flashed bright red with an alert. A sharp, loud chime echoed from a security terminal near the entrance archway. Two tall men in black blazers stopped talking, whipped their heads around, and stared directly at me.

"Ma'am in the black dress," one of them barked into his lapel microphone. "Stop right there."

Panic hit me like a bucket of ice water. The alcohol in my blood turned instantly sour.

"Central security, we have an unregistered device in the main lounge," the guard's voice cracked through the small speakers near the ceiling. "Interceptors move in."

I didn't think. I turned on my heel, threw the strap of Kiki's canvas bag over my shoulder, and ran.

"Hey! Stop her!"

My heels clicked violently against the polished marble floor. I swerved around a small group of women in silk dresses, knocking over a high cocktail table. A wine glass shattered on the floor, sending red wine splashing across the white tile. People gasped and jumped out of the way as I ran toward a set of double mahogany doors leading into the quiet back hallway.

"Grab her!" a guard yelled behind me.

I threw my weight against the mahogany door, shoved it open, and tried to sprint into the hallway. But the sharp heel of my left shoe caught the edge of a heavy Persian rug. My ankle twisted sideways. My hands flew out, and I pitched forward, bracing myself to smash face-first into the hardwood floor.

Instead of hitting the ground, two thick, heavy arms caught me around the waist.

The impact knocked the breath out of my lungs. I was hauled upright and slammed back against a solid, heavy chest. The man smelled like rain, sandalwood, and expensive scotch.

"Where are you running, little thief?" a deep, rough voice rumbled right above my ear.

I shoved hard against his chest, my hands pushing against his dark suit jacket, and stumbled backward two steps. I was breathing hard, my hair damp and sticking to my forehead, my face hot with embarrassment and sweat.

I looked up at him.

He was broad-shouldered and extremely tall, towering over me by at least a foot. He wasn't handsome. He had a heavy, harsh jawline, thick dark eyebrows, and a wide chest. But the first thing I noticed was the right side of his face. Running from the bottom of his right cheekbone, past his jawline, and down into the open collar of his white shirt was a thick, dark, jagged burn scar. The skin was puckered and uneven. It was a face carved out of rough stone.

The two security guards came skidding around the corner, out of breath, their hands on their radios.

"Mr. Montgomery!" the lead guard panted, stopping short. "Sir, step back. She bypassed the perimeter gate—"

The scarred man didn't look at them. He slowly raised one broad hand, lifting his index finger. The guards stopped talking instantly, stepping back into the shadow of the doorway.

The man stared down at me. His dark eyes were completely unblinking. He looked at my messy hair, my flushed face, the dirt dried on my legs, and the black running sneakers sticking out of the top of Kiki's canvas bag under my arm.

"Leave," he told the guards. His voice was low, flat, and raspy around the edges.

"Yes, sir," the guard muttered, pulling his partner back into the ballroom and letting the heavy doors swing shut.

We were left alone in the long, quiet corridor. The noise from the party was muffled behind the heavy wood.

I stood there, my knees shaking slightly inside my heels, chest heaving. The panic was turning back into hot, defensive rage. I hated being caught, I hated being looked at like a criminal, and I hated the way he was staring at me.

"What are you looking at, you scarred freak?" I snapped, my voice sharp and loud in the quiet hallway. "Let me go before I call the police on your ugly face!"

The man didn't flinch. His expression didn't change at all. A slow, heavy stillness remained in his features, but the dark depth of his eyes shifted slightly, like he was looking at something strange under a microscope.

"Ugly face," he repeated. His voice was a low, slow rumble. "You sneak onto private property, get flagged by central security because you're dumb enough to pull out an unapproved phone on an encrypted network, trip over a rug, and I'mthe one with the problem?"

"I am not dumb!" I yelled, taking a step forward and poking my finger hard against his chest, right over his tie. "And you look like a burnt criminal! Who stands in a hallway looking like a villain from a cheap movie? Get out of my way, you creepy, scarred weirdo!"

Before he could answer, fast footsteps echoed down the hallway behind me.

Kiki rounded the corner, her face pale as a sheet, clutching her clutch purse to her stomach. "Maya! Oh my god, I heard security on the speakers—"

She stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes went wide as saucers as she looked from my finger, which was still pressed against the man's chest, up to his scarred face.

Kiki froze. She recognized him instantly from the news articles and corporate brochures her cousin had left on her kitchen counter.

Dominic Montgomery. The reclusive, billionaire real estate and tech mogul who owned the resort, half the coastal shipping lines, and hated being in public.

"Oh... oh Jesus," Kiki stammered, her voice squeaking as she grabbed my arm and yanked me back hard. "Mr. Montgomery. Sir. I am so sorry. She's not okay today. Her boyfriend just cheated on her with her mother, she's drunk, she doesn't know what she's saying!"

Dominic didn't look at Kiki. He didn't even acknowledge that she had spoken. His dark, heavy eyes stayed pinned entirely on my face, watching the red flush on my neck and the glare in my eyes.

"We're leaving right now, sir! I am so sorry!" Kiki babbled, pulling me backward by my wrist down the long hallway toward the service exit.

I didn't break eye contact with him as Kiki dragged me away. Dominic stood under the warm hallway light, tall, broad, and quiet, his scarred jaw set tight as he watched me disappear around the corner into the dark.