When Lucius grabbed my hips with both hands, I squeezed the grass between my fingers, digging my nails into the soft, damp earth, and waited. I closed my eyes, ready to intertwine my very soul with his power, forging us together beneath the perfect rain of the sprinklers.
We had come out here as man and woman, but now we were stripped of all consciousness, completely wild. He desired me, and I desired him. A sharp gasp was forced from my lungs as his manhood entered me—intense, firm, stealing my breath away.
Surrendering to him set me vividly ablaze, but deep down, I knew the truth: it made me enjoy it even more to see that I held him too, that I enveloped him, and that the absolute dominance he usually displayed was yielding entirely to instinct. In that space, we became equals.
I couldn't refuse him, and he couldn't let me go. Over and over, he gave me everything he was, and I reacted to his every movement. My mouth parted, cries escaping my lips as I bit them, turning my head as my eyes silently questioned him: How are you capable of being like this? What are you doing to me?
My breath belonged to him, fueling his relentless thrusts. It set the pace I craved, and Lucius amplified it, making me understand that the rules were strictly his, losing me entirely in the primal passion of fertility. Right now, I needed him. We were beautiful, young, and in love. Not a single doubt crossed my mind, because thoughts had absolutely no place here.
We came together in an endless frenzy, his hands sliding up to my shoulders as his mouth claimed my neck, his tongue drinking the droplets pooling on my back—droplets that seemed ready to vanish into pure steam. We collapsed, staring up at the sky. A crescent moon and a blanket of stars bore witness to what I'm telling you, girl: the man knows exactly what he's doing. I don't know if he was born this way or if he graduated from some university for studs, but he has a degree stashed away somewhere that reads, "The Absolute Master of Sex."
I couldn't stop kissing him, and I didn't want to speak. My voice would betray that it was him, that I knew just how much he wanted me, and that I was scared now. Deep down inside, I was certain that destiny was going to try once more to drag me into the mud, where anguish traps you and refuses to let you go without a fight. And the day I finally defeat it, rising up just as I always do, it will only be to face time itself—and I can't win against time. No one can.
A shadow of sadness crept over me, prompting me to get dressed. I took my soaking-wet clothes from his hands and walked back to my room on his arm to pack my bags.
Clara the psychic had explicitly told me in her letter, "Pack the suntan lotion." So, just in case, I followed her instructions to the letter. Even though the sunscreen bottle was practically empty, I tossed it into my travel bag and headed toward the helicopter with Lucius.
Killian brought the magnificent machine down at the airport, but this time we boarded a different plane—a much smaller one, practically a miniature compared to the other. It was sleek, glossy black and looked like it had been built for warfare. He explained that their father's island was uncharted territory for them, that they hadn't even known it existed, and from what he could see on the satellite imagery, the runway wasn't long enough for the large jet. I loved seeing how much Killian enjoyed dominating that aircraft. He looked like a little boy who had been given the responsibility of looking after us—he wanted to play around, but knowing we were on board, he held back. How did I know? He said so himself from the cockpit mid-flight:
"Carmilla! Lucius! Welcome to my humble custom design, the KLongfield 04. Did you know this plane can pull off a Pugachev's Cobra? A spectacular maneuver popularized by Russian fighter jets. Yes! This beauty is the only aircraft in civil aviation capable of pulling it off."
Neither of us answered. After a few seconds of silence, just to be safe, I spoke up:
"Don't you dare try whatever it is you just said."
He shot back:
"Boring!"
I drifted off to sleep an hour later, and we landed on the island by mid-morning. Oh, girl! I don't know how many years Mr. Longfield went without coming here, but the second we stepped off, we realized it was anything but private. The houses were absolute beachside palaces, the sea was a brilliant emerald, and the staff wore incredible uniforms. But the water was completely swarming with tourist boats coming in from all the other islands in the region.
Attracted by the luxury of the private dock, the grand Longfield estates, and the sheer mystery of it all—since nobody knew who owned the place—everyone was staring at us, crowding the coastline, utterly awed by the plane. And when they saw us step out, when those hundreds of sun-tanned boaters raised their binoculars, the illusion shattered.
An hour later, we realized we were the most famous people around, the press's ultimate targets. Three helicopters were already closing in. Lucius was the first to reach my door, Killian right behind him. The command was instantaneous:
"To the plane. Let's get out of here!"
Once inside the aircraft, Lucius rattled off a set of coordinates from memory and asked him:
"Do you have enough fuel to land there?"
Killian confirmed:
"It's close, pretty much at the same latitude, but out in the Pacific. What's out there?"
Lucius replied:
"A real private island. Mine. It's where I was planning to escape when I faked my death so I could finally have some peace. That's the difference between you and me, little brother. While you dream of the same thing everyone else does—living in a world without pressure, vanishing overnight to be truly free in some place that only exists in your mind—I actually built it here, in the real world."
I watched Killian's face; he was genuinely impressed. Then he smirked and took off, saying:
"Lucius, Lucius, you are full of surprises!"
In the air, I couldn't help but ask them:
"Have any of you billionaires actually done that—faked your own death to escape? Because you won't stop talking about it."
Killian told me:
"Several have tried, but they couldn't hack it for long and crawled right back to the business world. Most of them ruined themselves, of course. And there are a few who might have actually pulled it off, but naturally, we only have suspicions that they staged their deaths. Zero certainties."
Lucius added:
"I remember Sir Luminat, a friend of my grandfather's. He made an absolute fortune off a technology that became obsolete overnight. With more than enough health and money to live a thousand lifetimes, he felt his own wasn't worth living. The pressure of his industries, the relentless need to patent another invention—it was all too much for him. One Sunday, we had to attend his funeral. The first to find out the truth was my grandfather. An untraceable letter arrived, reading, 'I'm sorry. I finally did it; I faked my own death. Don't tell Tiffany; I was planning on divorcing her anyway, but now it's not even necessary. It's better this way—let her move on with her life. No hard feelings.' The problem is, Sir Luminat regretted it after only two years. And do you know why? He missed his wife, Tiffany, of all people. But she had already married someone else by then."
From the air, the jungle island came into view, featuring a runway off to one side, a dock, and a hangar. It was sprawling, with a massive estate halfway camouflaged by the dense vegetation.
A man and his young son arrived in a vintage, yet absolutely gorgeous pickup truck. He greeted Lucius, and we drove from the hangar up to the main villa. The view from the upper floors through the massive windows was breathtaking—the crystal-blue water, the sound of the birds. It seemed unreal that Lucius had built this gigantic, comfortable, weatherproof fortress. It was just like him: a bit cold, but modern and flawless.
Killian was visibly stunned, confessing to his brother:
"Okay, okay! This is impressive. But I have three castles: one in Scotland, one in Ireland, one in Norway... wait, sorry, four. I have one in Biertan too, but that one is smaller. I'm only bringing it up so you don't go thinking you're the only one keeping secrets."
They both laughed. Koa, the man from the truck, offered to prepare something for us to eat, but Killian declined. He flung open the freezers, which were fully stocked with everything imaginable, announced that he would handle the cooking, and headed down toward the ocean with them. I ran right after him, leaving Lucius behind, who was entirely engrossed in inspecting the latest renovations on his secret estate.
The water was warm, and watching Killian play on the beach with that little boy made me sigh. Yes, girl, I had no doubt he would make an incredible father one day. I can't lie to you, and you should admit it too—come on, you know it's important and it makes a man so much sexier. Though, come to think of it, he had just stripped off his shirt to swim alongside me, and under the tropical sun, his muscles practically gleamed like gold. He didn't even need the help, but that sweet paternal instinct gave Killian the final ingredient for the perfect man.
The villa had eleven bedrooms. I picked one with an enormous window and inaugurated the bed by jumping all over it like a little girl. I was still riding that whimsical high when I drifted off to sleep. Killian woke me up later with a kiss on my lips; he was wearing an open beach shirt and was completely barefoot. He murmured the most beautiful words I could ever hear: "I love you."
Yes, those too, girl, but I was so ravenous that the moment he said, "Come downstairs to eat," I threw my arms around him and bolted down the steps.
When I saw the table set out on the open patio, filled with the mouthwatering aroma of grilled meat and olive oil salads, I looked at Killian with pure desire. He was walking down the steps with that signature smirk, radiating the kind of effortless peace only possessed by men who are entirely confident in themselves. I wanted to praise him for the delicious meal, but the words wouldn't even come out. I was so starved that I savored every single bite.
Lucius, however, barely ate. He informed us:
"Tomorrow morning, I'm heading out to the city of Papeete. It's about thirty miles from here. I assume with dark sunglasses and a hat, no one will recognize me. There are things in this house that need upgrading, and I need to speak with the architects."
Killian cut in quickly:
"Not in the plane. I am not playing your personal chauffeur forever."
Lucius snorted, visibly offended, and countered:
"There's a dock out back, and I have one of those speedboats. I won't be long. If we're seen together, it'll trigger pure hysteria. You two rest. I'll go alone."
Killian slid his hand onto my thigh beneath the table the second he heard that, and smirking, he replied to his brother:
"Yeah, I could really use some time to unwind."
I asked them both for permission to excuse myself and rest. Not only was I completely exhausted, but that unexplainable sadness was creeping back in. They both hugged me and let me head upstairs. Once there, I noticed with a wave of tenderness that out of all the massive rooms available, both brothers had chosen two small ones right next to mine. Killian's even had a tiny bed—one he definitely wouldn't fit into comfortably. I smiled a little, and the thought of having them so close made me feel a bit better.
In the dead of night, I woke up, finally realizing why I had been feeling so strange. I checked the calendar on my phone and confirmed it: it was Carol's birthday. We used to celebrate it with music and cake, even when she was already sick. I whispered a prayer to heaven, but sleep refused to return. I pressed my hand against Killian's wall and knocked twice... no answer.
I slipped out without making a sound and cracked open his bedroom door. He was fast asleep on two mattresses dragged onto the floor; it made sense, he couldn't fit in the bed. I simply lay down beside him, resting my head against his chest, and began to cry.
He woke up, and with the innate gentleness of his immense heart, he pulled the covers over me, wrapped me in his arms, and caressed my face, brushing away every tear that rolled down my cheeks. He didn't ask a single question. He just waited for me to empty out all my sorrow, and when I finally stopped crying, when I felt completely secure in the powerful embrace of his love, only then did he speak:
"I've got you, little girl. Don't you worry, I'm going to take care of you. Just breathe. You're with me. You're home. Your enemies will be my enemies, and I promise you, nobody can defeat me."
In my thoughts, I silently thanked Carol for teaching me that anguish fades when you surround yourself with beauty. Killian held me even tighter, shielding me from all harm. He was right—in his arms, I was home. He really was the perfect man for me. And that realization, soul sister of mine, changed absolutely everything.