They called me the Crowned Heiress of Bennett Industries, a title that opened doors, turned heads, and chained me to expectations I couldn’t escape. My life was a curated list of business meetings, luxury vacations, and perfectly planned futures. But none of that mattered when the plane went down.

We were en route to a remote island for a high-profile conference, but the turbulence turned deadly. The last thing I remember was the deafening sound of the engines failing, the icy rush of seawater, and darkness.

When I woke up, my designer dress was in tatters, sand clung to my skin, and the horizon stretched endlessly, unbroken by civilization. I was stranded, alone, on what looked like an untouched island. It was impossible—how could such a place still exist in the 21st century?

The first hours were a blur of wandering through dense greenery and trying to rationalize the surreal reality. The sun burned high, casting shadows that stretched like ghosts. My heart nearly leapt out of my chest when I stumbled across a base—a makeshift wooden hut, the kind you’d see in a survival show.

Desperate for answers, I bolted toward it, my bare feet scraping against the uneven ground. I threw the door open, only to freeze in place.

Standing before me was a man who looked like he had been carved from marble. His overgrown dark hair framed a chiseled face, and his tanned, scarred skin gleamed with sweat. A leather strap hung across his waist, as though he’d crafted it from the wild itself. He was shirtless, muscles rippling as he turned to face me, his sharp blue eyes piercing through the dim light of the hut.

"You’re either a mirage," he drawled, his voice low and rough, "or I’ve officially gone crazy."

I stood there, speechless, as Zade Reynolds—the genius engineer who had disappeared years ago—stared at me like I was the ghost of his forgotten past.