Chapter One
Lily St. John's sandals crunched over the uneven terrain as the boat that deposited her onto this forsaken strip of beach chugged away, leaving a frothy trail in the turquoise water.
She squinted at the horizon in confusion. Where were the thatched umbrellas and bronzed bodies of a tropical paradise?
Definitely not among the unforgiving landscape of jagged rocks and sprawling brush.
Lily scanned the dense and untamed greenery. A raucous noise of chattering birds echoed from the jungle like the obnoxious ringtone factory-installed on your phone that nobody liked. The humid air pressed against her skin like a damp towel, thick with the scent of salt and something earthy she couldn't quite place.
How'd she end up stranded on the set ofSurvivor?
Pulling the brochure of Isla Paradiso from her beach bag, she stared in dismay at the obvious disparity between reality and the power of marketing.
The beach looked nothing like the brochure with its promises of sun-kissed sands and hammocks swaying gently between palm trees.
This was the place people went when they wanted to disappear from human life—or needed punishment.
"Okay, let's think positive," she coached herself, brushing a stray lock of hair from her flushed face. "Maybe the real party is just beyond these bushes. Buck up, Lily, you're getting your steps in today. You," she groaned as she hoisted her luggage over a stubborn patch of beach weeds, "got this!"
Her designer suitcase snagged on a gnarled root and nearly sent her sprawling. So much for the glamorous arrival she'd envisioned for her channel's next viral getaway episode.
I need a cool shower and a frosty strawberry margarita with salt on the rim immediately.
Obviously, the boat simply dropped her off on the wrong side of the island. As soonas she rounded this next corner, she'd see signs of civilization and all of this struggle would end up a funny story to share at parties.
She could already picture the way she'd tell it—dramatic pauses, self-deprecating humor, her audience hanging on every word. "And then I realized," she'd say, leaning in conspiratorially, "I was on the wrong island entirely." Cue gasps, laughter, another round of drinks.
Except the punchline felt less funny with every step.
The sinking feeling in her gut grew heavier as she marched forward. No laughter floated through the air, no clinking glasses or splashing pool water. The only sounds were the haunting calls of distant birds and the relentless whisper of waves colliding with the shore.
"Hello?" she called out, the word feeling foolish as it hung unanswered in the salty breeze. "Anybody here?"
Her voice startled a nearby iguana, its scales a flash of emerald as it scuttled into the thicket. Lily forced a laugh that sounded more like a hiccup as she muttered to the empty beach, "Okay, just saying, so far, zero stars for Isla Paradiso."
She scanned the surroundings, looking for any sign of human life, but the absence of footprints in the sand mocked her hopes. With each step, her optimismwaned, the charm of adventure bleeding out like the color from her cheeks.
"Come on, there has to be something..." she mumbled, pushing through another barrier of leaves that protested with a dry rustle. Yet all she found was more desolation—a symphony of isolation played on the strings of swaying grass and creaking branches.
Find the silver lining, Lily. There's always a silver lining.
The mantra rose unbidden, worn smooth from years of use. She'd started saying it at twelve, the night her father missed her middle school graduation to close a deal in Tokyo. Her mother had made excuses. Lily had smiled for the photos. And somewhere between the empty seat in the auditorium and the tearful drive home, she'd decided that if she couldn't control what happened to her, she could at least control how she reacted.
Disappointment is a choice, her father liked to say, usually right before disappointing her.Winners don't waste energy on things they can't change.
So Lily didn't. She found silver linings. She stayed positive. She built an entire brand around the relentless pursuit of bright sides.
Even when the bright side required a goddamn search party to locate.
The realization that she stood utterly alone weighed down on her like the tropical humidity, her typically sunny disposition clouded by worry.
What was supposed to be a week of sipping Mai tais and snapping selfies had turned into a glaring example of Murphy's law. And Murphy had a twisted sense of humor and zero appreciation for her six million follower base who expected an epic beach crawl for her next episode.
Her assistant, Becca, was going to get an earful when Lily finally got cell service again. "Just trust the booking," Becca had said. "What could go wrong?" Famous last words from someone who was probably currently sipping an iced latte in an air-conditioned office while Lily sweated her way through what appeared to be the world's most aggressive nature preserve.
Her sandals skidded across the uneven rocks, her suitcase wheels catching on every other stone as if the island itself wanted to devour her luggage.
The sun began its descent, painting the sky in hues of fiery orange and pink—beautiful yet utterly terrifying when you're stranded.
