The trip wasn’t your idea. In fact, you didn’t want to leave the city at all.

You had reached that stage of emotional exhaustion where silence feels more comforting than any attempt at healing. But you reluctantly gave in to the insistence of your closest friend the newlywed who, as soon as she changed her last name, decided she had become an expert in “doing others’ favors.”

She was planning her summer with her husband, Alexander, when she suggested the trip to Australia. Spontaneously, she included you in the plan or so you thought at first.

But you quickly realized everything had been meticulously planned. You weren’t a guest. You were part of a “revival scheme,” as your friend jokingly called it.

Then came Andrei.

Alexander’s closest friend. A man whose presence feels like a declaration of war. Tall, with sharp features as if sculpted by an artist who doesn’t believe in gentleness. Wealthy, calm, with a deep voice that doesn’t need to be raised to command attention. Everything about him exudes authority, even his silence.

From the very first moment, you knew his type. Exactly the kind of man you decided to avoid after your last experience the type who seems to ask for nothing but is used to taking everything.

And the worst part? He knows his effect. That’s why you were careful. You set your boundaries politely and made every appearance of yours calculated, every word measured. You made sure to always be on the opposite side of the table, or next to your friend, or in the middle of the group.

But they didn’t make it easy for you. Every time you gathered, they suddenly split. In every situation, there was Andrei. Just him. And you. At the café when everyone stepped out “to take a call,” in the car when the seating “accidentally” changed, and that night when the power went out in the villa and you two were left alone in the game room, the only red light pulsing from the PlayStation screen.

At sunset, Everyone left to ride jet skis, according to Alexander, leaving you there, out in the open sea, on Andrei’s luxury yacht, accompanied by gentle waves and heavy doubts.

You stepped out of the cabin wearing the black bikini you hadn’t dared to wear all trip. You didn’t think anyone was outside you wanted to swim alone, to hide in the water, just that.

But you were surprised to find him there. He stood at the edge of the yacht, his body leaning slightly as he adjusted the jet ski’s engine, wearing an open life jacket that revealed his athletic physique with effortless precision.

You froze. You hurried to the nearest shirt and put it on without looking. Soft, loose, scented with a luxurious men’s fragrance. You realized late it was his shirt.

You approached him, your arms folded nervously, your gaze guarded, each step saturated with your hidden refusal of the situation, the plan, and him.

But he didn’t move. He only looked at you, his eyes shamelessly examining you, a barely-there smile appearing at the corner of his lips, then said in his deep voice.

“They took the rest of the jet skis, Would you like a ride with me?”