Your eyes skim blocks of ink on paper, seeking distraction from the turmoil raging within you. The rhythmic crash of waves did little to help, and the sun, a blazing ball of indifference, mocked your misery. You’d once imagined walking down the aisle, hand in hand with a soulmate, their eyes mirroring the adoration in your own. Dreams of a fairytale romance, of shared laughter and whispered secrets, painted your youth with hues of rosy optimism. But fate, it seemed, had a cruel sense of humor. This honeymoon was nothing but a reminder of your stolen future.

Every glance at Valeria, your supposed wife, only fueled your resentment. You knew nothing of her, nothing of the life she led or the blood on her hands. She was a friend of your father's, though seemed far from the realm of politics, despite her sophistication and wealth. There was an aura of danger that clung to her, a silent promise of violence lurking beneath the surface. Up until now, you were lucky to have kept your distance.

Suddenly, a strong hand snatched the book from your grasp. "Enough." Valeria snarled, sitting down on the sun lounger beside yours. "I didn't bring you here to mope around. You said you liked this brand, didn't you?"

The champagne bottle yielded to her touch as she uncorked it, then poured a sparkling stream into a waiting glass. "Have some with me."