Chapter 90: The Roar of the Propeller Gradually Faded

The roar of the propeller gradually faded. Paige Lawson gazed through the window at the dreamlike blue. The island-resort waters were even clearer than she'd imagined—like a massive sapphire set between sky and sea.

"We're here," Grant Holloway said tersely.

Paige eagerly pulled out her phone, snapping photos of the view. Grant's profile suddenly flashed across the screen, making her pulse quicken. She subtly angled the camera toward him.

"Don't," Grant blocked the lens with his hand, exhaustion evident in his voice.

"Just one picture," Paige wheedled. "It's our first international trip together."

Grant closed his eyes. "I don't like photos."

Her smile froze before she quietly put the phone away.

The seaplane docked at the resort's pier, where white-uniformed staff had been waiting. Paige inhaled the salty breeze, trying to dispel her disappointment.

"Mr. Holloway, your suite is—" The receptionist's words cut off as elevator doors opened.

Connor Hayes strolled out leisurely, his floral shirt fluttering in the ocean wind. Removing his sunglasses, he flashed a knowing smile. "What a coincidence, Grant."

Grant's gaze turned icy. "Indeed."

"Seems we share similar tastes." Connor's eyes lingered on Paige for a second. "Both choosing Harbor Cay."

"Some people just follow trends." Grant smirked. "Arriving a day early changes nothing."

Connor toyed with his shades. "At least it proves I'm more thoughtful."

The tension between them thickened. Paige nervously tugged Grant's sleeve.

"Let's go." Grant shook her off, striding toward the elevator.

Hurrying after him, Paige heard Connor's meaningful farewell: "Enjoy your stay."

The moment the doors closed, Grant's expression darkened completely. "Go to the room alone. I have matters to handle."

"But—"

Before she could finish, he was already gone. Paige stood frozen, clutching the keycard, her heart hollow.

Meanwhile, on the beachfront opposite the hotel...

"What's this?" Clara Whitmore examined the fox mask in her hands.

Sloane Bennett winked mysteriously. "Your ticket to tonight's masquerade. I picked this little vixen especially for you."

Clara fastened the mask. Her red-and-white dress fluttered in the breeze as sunlight glinted off pearl hairpins, making her skin glow like snow.

"Perfect!" Sloane clapped. "You'll be the belle of the ball tonight."

Clara turned before the mirror, the corners of her lips curling beneath the mask. A sudden premonition struck her—this vacation might not be as peaceful as expected.