The private jet sliced through the clouds, leaving the chaos of the city—and the ruins of the hospital room—far behind.
Aria sat in a cream-colored leather seat, staring at the endless blue of the ocean below. She was still wearing Julian's suit jacket over her shoulders; she hadn't let go of it since he carried her out. It smelled of cedar and safety.
"Stop thinking," Julian said from the seat across from her. He was swirling a glass of amber liquid, his long legs crossed. "You're frowning so hard you're going to get wrinkles."
Aria sighed, turning away from the window. "Julian, we just destroyed an ultrasound machine and assaulted a doctor. Grandmother is going to be furious. We can't just run away."
"We aren't running away," Julian corrected, taking a sip of his scotch. "We are going on a 'babymoon'. It's very trendy."
Aria choked on air. "A what?"
"A vacation for expecting parents," Julian explained, his face perfectly serious. "I told Grandmother that the stress of the hospital incident was bad for the... fetus. So, I am taking you to Sapphire Island for complete bed rest. No visitors. No phone calls. Just us."
Aria rubbed her temples. The lie was getting so big it had its own passport.
"And how long are we staying on this island?"
Julian checked his watch. "Until Grandmother cools down. Or until I finish acquiring the Gu family's shipping routes. Whichever comes first."
[Sapphire Island - The Private Villa]
Two hours later, they landed on a private airstrip in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
Sapphire Island was breathtaking. White sand, turquoise water, and a single, massive villa nestled into the cliffs. It was a paradise owned entirely by the Qin family.
A row of island staff, dressed in crisp linen uniforms, waited on the tarmac.
"Welcome, Mr. Qin! Welcome, Mrs. Qin!" the island manager, a cheerful woman named Mrs. Lee, greeted them. She immediately rushed to Aria's side, looking at her stomach with reverence.
"Oh, Madam! careful with the steps! Here, let me hold your arm!"
Aria stiffened. "I'm fine, really—"
"Nonsense!" Mrs. Lee scolded gently. "First trimesters are delicate! We have prepared everything. The villa has been baby-proofed. We removed all the sharp corners. And the chef has prepared a special menu—no raw fish, no caffeine, no soft cheeses, and absolutely no alcohol."
Aria looked at the tray of welcome drinks being passed around. Julian took a glass of chilled champagne. The waiter handed Aria... a glass of warm milk.
Aria looked at Julian. He was hiding a smirk behind his champagne flute.
"Drink up, darling," Julian said, his eyes dancing with amusement. "Calcium is good for the bones."
Aria glared at him and downed the milk in one go. This man is enjoying this too much.
[The Master Suite]
The villa was open-concept, blurring the lines between indoors and outdoors. The ocean breeze flowed through the living room.
Mrs. Lee led them to the Master Suite.
"Here we are!" she announced, throwing open the doors.
The room was spectacular. But Aria's eyes went straight to the center of the room.
There was a bed. A round bed. Covered in rose petals. With two towel swans kissing in the middle.
"We wanted to make it romantic," Mrs. Lee beamed. "Since this is your first trip together."
Aria stared at the swans. "Mrs. Lee, this is... lovely. But is there another room? I toss and turn a lot. I wouldn't want to disturb Mr. Qin's sleep."
Mrs. Lee's smile faltered. She looked confused. "Another room? But... the other wings are being renovated. The paint fumes would be bad for the baby."
She looked at Julian, worried. "Is there trouble in paradise, sir?"
Julian stepped forward, wrapping an arm around Aria's waist and pulling her against his chest.
"Not at all," Julian said smoothly. "My wife is just shy. We love the room. Thank you, Mrs. Lee. You can go."
As soon as the door closed, Aria wiggled out of his grip. She walked over to the bed and flicked one of the towel swans. Its head fell off.
"Renovations?" Aria asked skeptically.
"I might have ordered them to paint the guest wings yesterday," Julian admitted, loosening his tie and throwing it onto a chair. "I didn't want you running away to a guest room again. We are on an island, Aria. You can't hide."
"I'm not hiding," Aria said, crossing her arms. "I just don't want to sleep in the same bed as you while living a lie. It feels... complicated."
Julian walked over to the glass doors that opened onto the private pool. He looked out at the ocean, his back to her.
"Aria," he said quietly. "Do you think I brought you here just to annoy you?"
"Didn't you?"
He turned around. The playful look was gone.
"Isabella has spies everywhere in the city. The hospital was a warning. If we stayed in the main house, you wouldn't sleep. You'd be looking over your shoulder every five minutes."
He walked toward her, stopping just inches away.
"Here, there are no spies. No cameras. No Grandmother. You can just be Aria. You don't have to be the 'Avenging Wife' or the 'Fake Mother'. Just... breathe."
Aria looked up at him. For a moment, the barrier between them—the contract, the money, the revenge—seemed to thin. She realized he was right. She had been in fight-or-flight mode for weeks.
She let her shoulders drop.
"Okay," she whispered. "But if you snore, I'm pushing you into the pool."
Julian chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest. "Deal."
[Nightfall]
Dinner was a torture of dietary restrictions for Aria (steamed chicken and spinach) while Julian enjoyed a medium-rare steak and a vintage Merlot.
After dinner, Aria sat on the terrace, watching the moon reflect off the water. She wore a silk nightgown, the breeze cooling her skin.
She heard footsteps behind her. Julian appeared, holding two glasses.
He handed one to her.
Aria looked at it. "Milk again?"
"Sparkling cider," Julian said, sitting on the lounger next to her. "I felt bad about the wine."
Aria took a sip. It was crisp and sweet. "Thank you."
They sat in silence for a while, the sound of waves crashing against the rocks below filling the air.
"Julian," Aria asked suddenly. "Why me?"
"Hm?"
"You could have married anyone," Aria said, turning to look at him. "Isabella wasn't wrong. She brings connections, history, status. I bring... baggage. A vengeful ex-husband. A scandal. Why did you agree to my proposal that rainy night?"
Julian looked at his glass. He swirled the liquid, watching the bubbles rise.
"Do you really want to know?"
"Yes."
Julian set his glass down. He turned his body toward her.
"Three years ago," Julian began, his voice low. "I was in a car accident on the mountain pass. My brakes were cut. My car flipped into a ravine."
Aria's eyes widened. She remembered reading about that. The news said he was missing for two days.
"I was trapped," Julian continued. "Leg broken. Bleeding out. It was raining. I thought I was going to die there."
He looked at Aria intensely.
"Then, a girl found me. She was hiking. She didn't have a phone, so she climbed down into the ravine. She tore up her own shirt to bind my leg. She stayed with me for six hours in the rain, keeping me awake, telling me stupid jokes to keep me from passing out."
Aria froze. The memory hit her like a lightning bolt.
The man in the ravine.
He was covered in mud and blood. She hadn't seen his face clearly. She had just dragged him under a rock overhang and talked to him until the rescue team arrived. She left before the reporters came because she was late for a date... with Mark.
"That was... you?" Aria whispered.
"You left before I could get your name," Julian said. "But I remembered your voice. And I remembered the charm on your bracelet. A silver star."
He reached out and touched the bracelet on her wrist. The cheap silver star she had worn since college.
"When you called me that night in the rain," Julian said softly, his thumb brushing against her pulse. "I didn't answer because I owed you a favor. I answered because I had been looking for you for three years."
Aria stared at him, her heart pounding so hard she thought he could hear it.
This wasn't a contract. This wasn't just revenge. He had known. All along.
"You knew," Aria breathed. "And you watched me marry Mark?"
"I found you a week after your wedding," Julian said, a flash of pain in his eyes. "You looked happy. So I stayed away. I watched. I waited."
He leaned in closer, his face inches from hers.
"But when I saw you standing in the rain, discarded by that idiot... I decided I wasn't going to wait anymore."
He didn't ask for permission this time. He closed the gap.
His lips brushed hers—tentative at first, then firm, possessive, claiming the years he had lost.
Aria didn't push him away. She melted into him, the glass of cider slipping from her fingers and shattering on the terrace floor.
But neither of them noticed the sound.