Fuck THIS, Eve thought with anger flickering in her chest, knowing there was still much more to the story. “Little one, do you want me to unbind you so I can hold you while you finish telling me what happened?” she asked Ruthi calmly. “Or would it help to stay in my ropes for now?”
“This helps, being like this,” Ruthi whispered. “I feel safe.” Nodding, Eve resumed tying as Ruthi went on. “When they noticed me standing in the bedroom doorway, they both screamed. That broke my momentary paralysis, so I scooped upthe luggage I had dropped and fled, ignoring Lynn’s screeched entreaties to come back. I was in such shock, I didn’t know where to go or what to do, so I mindlessly drove south from my home in Beverly Hills for a while. Finally, a hotel in Lake Forest, about sixty miles away, appeared. For about a week, all I did was hunker down and cry, not eating because the thought made me want to vomit, and refused to answer Lynn’s phone calls. There was a constant stream of voicemails that clogged my mailbox, which I kept deleting.”
Ignoring the tears streaming down her face, Ruthi gave Eve a look of despair. “After that week, I felt a bit calmer and more able to cope with the destruction of my relationship, so I returned home, steeling myself for the inevitable confrontation with Lynn. And then, I received my second shock, unlocking my front door and walking into a house that had been all but stripped bare. The only things remaining were the handful of belongings I’d brought to the relationship when Lynn and I had moved in together. She had taken every single scrap of furniture and furnishings I had bought when I’d completely furnished the house for her.”
This bitch is dead,Eve thought but merely nodded, waiting for Ruthi to go on.
“On top of her betrayal, in revenge for me refusing all contact with her and not automatically forgiving her indiscretion, the incessant phone calls started up again, these from industry insiders who asked if what Lynn was saying was true. That I had been abusive and had thrown her out of our house with only the clothes on her back. Lynn was determined not to look like the bad guy. It was… it was traumatic because everyone sided with Lynn over the accusations at first. Projects dried up and no one would return my phone calls. Life became a nightmare for some time, with me wondering daily if I should pack it in and go back to my native state, turning my back on California forever.”
“But shelied,” Eve said, keeping her voice even although she was livid. “None of it was your fault.”
Despite her tears, Ruthi laughed a bit. “That’s the conclusion I eventually came to, that I had done absolutely nothing wrong. Plus, I’m stubborn.” She blushed when Eve quirked an eyebrow at her as if saying, “no kidding.” “I vowed I was going to stay and fight until I reclaimed what had been so maliciously taken from me. In the end, straightening the mess out had taken quite a while, but I’d eventually been able to prove it was Lynn who had cheated on me, that she was the one who been abusive, vengeful, and had stolen everything from me when I was shell-shocked and had left for a while to recover from the shock of finding Lynn fucking another woman in our bed. The rumor mill exploded with the news, but I did my best to ignore it and went about reassembling the tattered shreds of my life.”
Eve nodded, feeling Ruthi relax even further from the soothing motion and feel of the rope. “And, in retaliation for Lynn’s cruel lies and vindictive behavior, you ensured Lynn Crawford was finished in Hollywood by the time you were done. I think anyone connected to Hollywood on any level is familiar with that part of the story.”
“I did,” Ruthi said. “My own career recovered quite nicely. I sold the house in Beverly Hills, a place I’d never wanted, frankly, but Lynn had insisted on, and moved into an apartment close by, where I still live today. But Mistress Eve?” The tears started again. “What if Lynn has found a way to strike back at me and is the one responsible for sabotaging the set? What if everyone is in danger because of me? They don’t deserve to have this happen to them. I know I’m a hard ass and..” She blushed again. “I haven’t been a very nice person since Lynn cheated on me and put me through hell, but I don’t want to be that woman anymore. Neither do these people deserve to be the target of some vindictive witch when it’s not their fault.”
“Little one. Look at me.” Eve stopped her tying for a moment and put one finger under Ruthi’s chin as her tearful submissive looked back at her. “First of all, it’s more than apparent that Lynn Crawford is dumber than a box of rocks, so I don’t think she has the intelligence to be responsible for anything that has happened here this week.” A laugh startled out of Ruthi as her eyes widened. “Second, you need to understand that I am extremely proud of you for sharing this story with me as you have. What you did took a great deal of bravery, in light of everything you have been through. We still have a lot of talking to do to work our way through this. But, remember how I told you that trust was the most important thing between a Domme and her submissive?” Ruthi nodded. “You took a huge step toward that today. There’s still work to be done, that’s true. However, I have every confidence we can get there because you chose to trust. And that, beautiful one, is the greatest gift a Domme can ever receive from her submissive.”
Later, once Ruthi was stable and gone, Mistress Eve Mondragon looked at the stars from her balcony and thought about the events of the day, knowing she still had a bit of a mess to untangle despite the enormous progress that had been made. One thing was perfectly clear, however. Eve was in love with Ruthi Shay. What the director had been through would have brought most women to their knees, but Ruthi had stubbornly fought on, finally finding the courage within herself to reach for her heart’s desire. With every breath in her, Eve vowed she would do everything in her power to ensure she was worthy of the submission, trust, and bravery Ruthi gave to her.
“You are mine, little one,” Eve whispered into the darkness. “I don’t know where our journey will take us when we leave the Isle of Dreams, but I refuse to let the universe separate us. You feel the same way as I…I know you do. And if this island was meant to bring us our hearts’ secret desires, nothing will keep usapart when we leave, if only you are willing to pledge yourself to me in all ways. No matter what it takes.”
17
Ms. Leighton sat perfectly composed behind her desk. The office was silent, save for the faint hum of the ceiling fan above and the soft tap of Antonia’s boots as she crossed the room, tablet in hand. A crystal carafe of water and two glasses sat untouched on the side table. Ms. Leighton’s hands were folded, her posture as impeccable as ever, but her eyes, icy blue, sharp as flint, never left the screen as Antonia set the tablet before her.
“Play it,” Ms. Leighton said, her voice calm but edged with steel.
Antonia tapped the screen. The video began with a wide shot of the cove, the jungle lush and sun-drenched, the camera’s time stamp marking the hour of the near-fatal accident. Madeline, luminous in her white dress, walked barefoot across the sand toward the jungle path. Ruthi’s voice was audible on the audio track: “And… action.”
Ms. Leighton watched as the scene unfolded with clinical attention. The moment the tree limb crashed down, she didn’t flinch, though her jaw tightened imperceptibly. She watched Madeline’s dive, the scatter of leaves and dirt, and the scrambleof the crew rushing forward. Antonia, a blur on the edge of the frame, moving with predatory speed after the fleeing man.
“Again,” Ms. Leighton said. Antonia obliged, running it back, this time zooming in on the perpetrator as he slipped away from the set. The man’s face was visible for a split second. It was unremarkable, forgettable, someone who would melt into a crowd. Ms. Leighton’s gaze grew colder. “Who is he?”
“His name is Bayani Santos,” Antonia replied. “Hired as a grip through the LA agency, but his references are a dead end. False addresses, burner phone. He’s stopped talking. Nothing since his initial confession once we brought him back here. He’s being held in the security suite. We’ve kept it quiet.”
Ms. Leighton’s fingers tapped a slow, deliberate rhythm on the desk. “How long before we have to involve the authorities?”
Antonia’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Not long. I’ve contacted our liaison on the mainland. They’ll send a discreet team by the end of the day. Officially, it will be a deportation for falsified credentials. Unofficially, they’re aware there was an attempt on a guest’s life. They’ll ask questions, but we’ll control the narrative.”
Nodding, Ms. Leighton’s gaze never wavered from the screen. “Play the confession.”
Antonia swiped to the next video. The image was grainy, security cam footage from the security suite. Bayani Santos sat slouched at the table, hands cuffed, eyes darting. Antonia’s voice, off-camera, was icy calm. “Who sent you?”
The man’s response was clipped, almost rehearsed. “I don’t know her name. She said ruin the shoot. Double pay if someone got hurt and it looked like an accident. Said your boss would know why.”
Ms. Leighton’s expression didn’t change, but a muscle twitched in her jaw. She watched the man’s face, seeking a clue, but he was a nobody. A pawn. The chill in her chest deepened.
Antonia paused the video. “We ran his prints through every database. Nothing. He’s a ghost.” The silence stretched. Ms. Leighton’s mind cycled through her enemies. Competitors, former business partners, even a few guests who hadn’t appreciated her discretion, but none of them fit.This is personal, almost intimate,Ms. Leighton thought.It is a message.
Antonia’s voice softened, almost apologetic. “We’ll keep him contained until the authorities arrive. But after that…”
“We can’t hold him forever,” Ms. Leighton said with a nod. “I understand. And we can’t let this island become a spectacle.” Her tone was razor sharp. “The guests are scheduled to leave tomorrow. I want no leaks, no drama. I’ll handle the board and the press. You handle the rest.”
Antonia’s eyes flicked to the screen, then back to her boss. “There’s one more thing.” She tapped to a final video the cameraman took by accident, angled haphazardly toward the path leading from the cove. It showed Ruthi, her face stricken, and her movements erratic. The timestamp matched the aftermath of the attack. “Once we returned, she went straight to Eve’s cottage,” Antonia said. “Didn’t stop to speak to anyone.”
Watching the footage, a flicker of sympathy crossed Ms. Leighton’s usually impassive face. “She was shaken,” she murmured. “Not like her. But then, betrayal does strange things to even the strongest among us.”
