Marbella was a dream. Whitewashed villas with terracotta roofs, streets curling toward the sea, the air warm and honeyed with salt and flowers. My Airbnb was tucked right in the middle of it all, and when I slid open the terrace doors on my first afternoon, I saw the pool — turquoise, shimmering, and so close it felt like it belonged to my little place.

No fence. No gate. Just water stretching out under the sun.

I didn’t even hesitate. Within minutes, I was in my swimsuit, diving into the cool blue, letting hours of travel wash off me. The water lapped against marble edges as I swam a few lazy laps, then floated, eyes closed, smiling at how perfect it all felt.

“Nice technique.”

The voice startled me so hard I almost choked. I whipped upright, blinking water out of my eyes.

He was standing at the far edge of the pool. Tall, linen shirt loose against his frame, hands tucked into his pockets like he had all the time in the world. His gaze was steady, amused in a way that immediately put me on edge.

It took me a beat, but then my chest tightened. Drew Starkey.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded, though my voice cracked halfway through.

His brow lifted, just slightly. “Better question—what are you doing here?”

I swallowed. “I—I’m in my pool. At my Airbnb.”

He let the silence stretch just long enough to make my stomach twist. Then: “Your Airbnb’s next door.” His tone was calm, almost lazy, but his mouth curved at the corner. “This pool? It’s mine.”

The words hit like a punch. “What?”

“You heard me.” He gestured casually to the villa behind him. “This is my property. Yours ends at the wall.”

I froze, my face burning hotter than the Spanish sun. No fence. No sign. Nothing to tell me I’d been swimming where I didn’t belong. My throat closed. “Oh my God,” I whispered, mortified.

And then I moved.

I scrambled out of the pool so fast I nearly slipped, water streaming off me, grabbing at my towel with shaking hands. My heart pounded against my ribs like it wanted out of my chest.

Behind me, Drew’s voice followed, low and unhurried. “Don’t rush. I wasn’t planning to throw you out.”

I wrapped the towel around myself, refusing to look at him. My face was burning, my hands trembling. “I—I’m so sorry. I thought—there was no—ugh. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t stop me. Just let the silence hang until I risked a glance back. He was still leaning casually by the railing, watching me with that same unreadable glint in his eyes. Not angry. Not bothered. Just… entertained.

Like I’d accidentally walked straight into a game he’d already decided to play.

And then I fled, heart still racing, more humiliated than I’d ever been in my life.