Chapter 2 The Owner

• The salty air rushed inside the car the minute Phoebe turned off the engine in the marina parking lot. Behind the open window the ocean smelled like cold brine, expensive gasoline and mischief.
• Even from twenty yards the low-frequency humming of the bass through the wooden docks was heavy enough to shake my ribs. The warm amber and neon purple floodlights pierced the darkness of the harbor and illuminated a three-level mega-yacht, which didn't look like a ship but rather like a floating glass and steel complex.
• The Assy Serena.
• The name was written in shiny black letters on its hull, reflecting from the lights on the dock.
• "Welcome to your heartbreak cure, baby," Phoebe exclaimed, turning off the headlights and taking her designer sunglasses off. "This is the Grey University tradition. Old money meets complete lack of impulse control."
• I sat motionless in the passenger seat, holding my borrowed duffle bag like a lifeline. I could still feel how my heart was tightly pressed, the aftertaste of my sobs was still burning behind my nose. "Phoebe, this doesn't look like a campus party. It seems like an expensive and intimidating one."
• "That's why it's the Grey University tradition," she replied, laughing. "Old money meets complete lack of impulse control. Come on, let's get out of the car. Time is running out, and by time I mean the open bar."
• I hesitated, staring at my reflection in the side mirror. There were some shadows under my eyes, but the heavy makeup and lip gloss that Phoebe applied on me did their work. I released my breath, opened the door and stepped out on the gravel.
• The pier was packed.
• A number of students from our campus were waiting there. Girls walked in shear crochet cover-ups with micro-bikinis underneath, their platform sandals clicking loudly on the wooden deck while boys in linen button-down shirts (almost completely unbuttoned) laughed with seltzer cans open in their hands. There was a specific atmosphere of restlessness, impatience and tension there. People who knew they would break every rule for an entire weekend.
• "Stay close to me," Phoebe said, effortlessly cutting through the crowd with her entitled tone. "And let me talk. The door guard can be hard to persuade."
• In front of the wide gangway of the yacht, there were two velvet ropes protected by private security in black polos. A huge man with a tight face was sitting and checking names, barely lifting his eyes when students offered their digital passes.
• "Leo!" Phoebe yelled and easily passed through the group of giggling sorority girls.
• The man lifted his head and his stern expression immediately melted into a grin. "Phoebe. How nice to see you. Julian told me you were late for the anchor drop."
• "Always love dramatic entrance," she purred, leaning against the chrome stanchion. "Tell me my boy has the top-deck suites ready for me."
• "You know Julian. Everything is gold-tier for his inner circle." Leo tapped twice on his tablet and took two metallic gold bracelets from the lockbox on the podium next to him. "Who's the guest?"
• "This is Lucy," Phoebe replied, taking my arm and looping it through hers. "My VIP."
• Leo looked at me quickly, noticing Phoebe's oversized sweater falling from my shoulders and the white-knuckled duffle bag. He raised his lips in a slow, appreciating smile. "Lucy. Nice to meet you. Do you know the house rules?"
• "Tell her," Phoebe said with a smile. "She's never been to the yacht party."
• "Rule number one," Leo said, putting the cold bracelet on my right wrist and closing the magnetic clasp on it. "Everything beyond the harbor line stays in international waters. Second rule: no recording devices and personal cell use in the communal lounges. At the foyer check-in, your phones should go into Faraday bags. Anyone caught with a recording device is immediately kicked off the yacht in the next port without compensation."
• "Got it," I mumbled, feeling nervousness fluttering in my stomach. No phone. No calls. No more lies from Liam and no drunk texts to him in the middle of the night. I was scared, but for the first time tonight I felt the relief.
• "Enjoy yourselves, ladies." Leo stepped aside, unhooking the velvet rope. "Sun deck stairs are on the right from the salon."
• As soon as our sneakers touched the polished teak planks of the main deck, the noise hit me in a physical wall. Bass was shaking the soles of my feet, thumping all the way through my spine. The deep house music was played from the invisible speakers perfectly balanced so that you could still hear the conversations but without shouting over the music.
• The main deck of the yacht was built around the heated infinity pool that extended towards the sea. Steam rose above the cool air, reflecting the pink and violet neon lights of the water. Some people were already swimming in the pool with cups in their hands, laughing as servers with black waistcoats served chilled vintage champagne from silver trays.
• "Take one," Phoebe ordered, grabbing two flutes of the champagne and passing one to me without me having time to protest. "Drinking quickly. You need to adjust to the room's frequency."
• I raised the cup to my lips, drinking the icy liquid. The bubbles danced on my tongue, instantly dispelling the bitter aftertaste of my betrayal, which was still there ever since I went to Liam's apartment.
• "See? It already feels better," Phoebe yelled, her eyes scanning the huge party. "Julian promised me he'd be near the grand salon bar. We better go and dump our bags in the VIP suites before the main announcement."
• She grabbed my hand and dragged me to the frosted glass doors to the interior lounge, but before we even moved three feet away from the doors, the conversation at the central spiral staircase leading from the penthouse deck suddenly changed.
• There was no complete silence. The music was still on, and people were drinking, but there was definitely some shift in the air. The same kind of silence that comes in the room where the boss walks in.
• I turned my head around immediately.
• Walking down the stairs was a man who looked as if he had just stepped out of a dark, high-fashion editorial. He was tall, at least six foot two, with broad shoulders cutting a sharp silhouette against the tailored charcoal button-down shirt rolled to his forearms. His dark, messy hair was falling over his sharp, angular jawline with the shadow of stubble on it.
• Unlike the other men on the deck who were trying to look as cool as possible by flexing, showing off by the pool and staring at every girl in bikinis, his gaze was cold and detached. He was walking lazily, with the predatory confidence, one hand comfortably in his trouser pocket, his eyes scanning the crowd. He wasn't looking for a party; he was inspecting.
• And he can’t be a student.
• He was definitely older
• Next to me, Phoebe's glass was halfway to her lips, her body froze suddenly. "Holy shit," she said.
• "What? Who is that? Julian?" I asked, looking at her and the man walking down the stairs.
• "No," she whispered with the voice that sounded totally unlike her bold self. "Julian is the organizer of the party. This is Gabriel Vance. He is the owner of the ship, he never stays for the party."
• As if sensing our conversation, the man stopped near the stairs.
• He turned slowly to us. His dark piercing eyes pierced the neon haze, piercing the moving bodies and lights, fixing on me.
• I couldn't breathe. My body stopped moving. The whole world dropped off until it was just his cold, calculating gaze meeting mine, stripping away every defense I had.