Adrian Sullivan pushed open the door to find Isabella Valentine stepping out of the bathroom.

She hadn’t bothered with the hotel robe. Instead, she wore the same pale green spaghetti-strap dress she’d arrived in. The clingy fabric traced every curve of her body, the hem swaying just enough to reveal legs so pale they seemed to glow.

His throat tightened. He forced himself to look away.

"The engagement is off." His voice was ice. "You're free."

Isabella’s fingers twitched.

She’d expected this, but hearing it aloud still felt like a slap to the face. Swallowing the humiliation, she curved her lips into a smirk.

"One last time?" Her fingers hooked under a strap, sliding it slowly down her shoulder. "A farewell gift."

Adrian’s breath hitched.

She knew exactly how to unravel a man. Her skin glowed like pearls after the shower, water droplets trailing from her hair down her collarbone and into the neckline.

"I didn’t bring—"

"I did." She pulled a gold-wrapped box from her purse. Four condoms glinted under the light. "Extra thin."

The way she bit her lip shattered his restraint.

The couch groaned under their weight. Isabella’s nails raked red lines down his back as she writhed beneath him, kissing with a ferocity that bordered on violence.

Four rounds left them spent.

By the time Adrian fell asleep, Isabella forced herself up. Wincing at the ache between her thighs, she dug through the trash, wrapping the used condoms in tissue before tucking them into her clutch.

On her way out, she left a note with a lipstick stain.

"Adrian, I’m pregnant."

Under the cover of night, she slipped off the island. Victoria Windsor’s eyes gleamed when she saw her daughter’s "trophy."

"We’re going to the hospital tomorrow for IVF!"

Isabella lit a cigarette, irritated. "Why should I be the one to carry it?"

"Can you afford a surrogate’s fifty thousand?" Victoria sneered. "Think about your designer bags. Want to keep buying them?"

She stubbed out the cigarette on the coffee table.

"Fine. I’ll do it."

Meanwhile, Kyle Grant was patrolling the island. He paused outside Sophia Laurent’s door.

"Alert me immediately if anything happens."

The door swung open before he finished. Ethan Sullivan rushed out, phone in hand, his shirt collar disheveled.

"Sophia’s burning up."

Kyle’s chest tightened. "How high?"

"103.1°F." Ethan strode past him. "I’ll get fever reducers."

"I’ll go." Kyle snatched the car keys. "You stay with her."

The speedboat cut through the dark waves. Twenty minutes later, Kyle returned with medicine.

Sophia’s cheeks were flushed, her forehead damp with sweat. Ethan dabbed her wrists with a damp towel, handling her like fragile glass.

"Cooling patches." Kyle handed them over.

He lingered in the shadows, watching Ethan gently lift Sophia to give her the pills. She leaned weakly against him, her lashes casting delicate shadows under the light.

An invisible hand squeezed his heart.

Kyle slipped out unnoticed. The salty sea wind slapped his face as he fumbled for his cigarettes, his hands shaking too badly to light one.

Some obsessions, it seemed, were harder to quit than nicotine.