Stripped of all the things they molded me into, I feel surprisingly unburdened by society’s expectations or my own relentless standards. Exposed to the point of unrecognizable, and yet oddly empowered by this glimpse of my true self - stripped bare in more than just the physical sense, and unequivocally real.
I breathe deeply, releasing a sigh that bears the weight of resilience and resignation alike. It’s been ages since I allowed myself to exist without armor—or as much armor as the right clothes, immaculate makeup, and perfectly styled hair can provide. There’s something profoundly healing about seeing myself as I am, without embellishments or lies.
I kinda like it. Perhaps it’s time I stopped trying so hard to live up to other people’s expectations and just start being me.
Finally wrapping the scratchy motel towel around me, I step back into the room and rummage through my bag. I don a silk nightdress for comfort and hang a flattering black sheath dress to wear tomorrow, so the wrinkles fall out.
I guess that armor will be making one final appearance. When I meet the man I’m apparently married to, and my sister’s aristocratic husband, I want to at least look a little put together.
Sleep continues to elude me as the hours crawl by, even though I desperately need it. I flip restlessly through the few TV channels, my mind refusing to focus on anything for long. Around midnight, a burst of drunken laughter echoes from the parking lot, making me flinch. I'm on edge, jumping at every sound, not used to having no protection. No big brute between me and the world.
As the first hints of dawn creep through the thin curtains, I give up on sleep entirely. I dress quickly, double-checking I have everything packed. Then I do what I can with the makeup products I have with me, and hope the expensive brands live up to their hype and don’t melt in the heat.
The Miami Seaplane Base is a small, unassuming facility nestled along the waterfront. I’m early, but there’s a decent cafe, so I sit down and try to relax with a pastry and a steaming mug of rooibos tea, while I watch the palms sway in the light ocean breeze.
An hour later, I spot a pristine white helicopter preparing to land, and my heart rate picks up as it approaches. Is this it? There’s nothing to identify the machine except its registration number.
I’m still wondering when a man in a crisp pilot's uniform walks over to greet me with a polite nod. "Ms. Bascov? If you'll follow me, please."
I hesitate for a moment, suddenly struck by the surreal nature of the situation, and the fact he called me by my maiden name. Well, I guess I’m not really a Radaeva. Apparently, I never have been, so I have no right to that name, even though it’s the one I’ve grown used to. I thought it would be the last one I’d ever have to use after the dozens of aliases my mother forced on me. Stupid what little things have so much meaning without us truly realizing it.
I take a deep breath and follow him across the sunbaked concrete.
The interior of the helicopter is plush and cool, a stark contrast to the sticky Miami heat, and a welcome respite. As we lift off, the sprawling city shrinks beneath us, giving way to the endless blue of the Atlantic. I stare out of the window, watching the coastline recede, and wondering what this day will bring.
"We'll be arriving at Elysium in about thirty minutes, ma'am.” The pilot's voice crackles through my headset.
Half an hour. Thirty short minutes until I face whatever awaits me on the island. My stomach churns with a mix of anticipation and dread. I try to distract myself by watching the endless expanse of turquoise water below, dotted with the occasional fishing boat or yacht.
As we approach Elysium, the island rises like a lush green jewel from the azure sea. Sandy white beaches circle the coastline, giving way to areas of tropical forest and open spaces dotted with more formal landscaping which provide glimpses of elegant buildings through the foliage.
The helicopter banks and begins its descent toward a small landing pad and my heart pounds as we touch down with a gentle bump. This is it.
When the rotors have slowed to a stop, the pilot helps me out onto the tarmac. The humid air envelops me immediately, heavy with the scent of flowers and brine.
"Lyah!"
I turn at the sound of my name and see a slender woman with the same familiar fair hair as mine striding toward me. Gabi. My half-sister. We've only met a handful of times, mostly as children when our father was still alive, but I'd recognize her anywhere.
She pulls me into a long, unexpected hug. "I'm so glad you made it safely. Come on, we don't have much time. Marcus had to make special arrangements to allow you to come here at all."
Gabi links her arm through mine, guiding me toward a sleek golf cart, and I quickly realize there are no other land vehicles here. As we climb in, I study her profile - the same high cheekbones and delicate nose as our father. She looks tanned and relaxed in linen shorts and a flowing blouse… and happy.
I’m pleased for her. I don’t understand everything that happened after we were pulled apart, or why she insisted on so much secrecy in our relationship as adults. Maybe this visit will clarify some of that and allow us to have a new beginning.
"I'm sorry for the rush," she says as we zip along a winding path. “But I wanted to have a proper chance to catch up before you visit with Zack.”
My stomach drops. "He's actually here?"
I know she said she’d deal with it, but I honestly never thought it would be this easy.
Gabi nods, her expression sympathetic. "I know it's a lot, and I don’t know how much you know, but he’s been desperately trying to find you, and under the circumstances, I agreed a meeting was necessary.”
I swallow hard, trying to process this. In my mind, tracking down Zack Kincaid was going to take time. Days, maybe weeks of legal maneuvering. Not an hour after I land on the island.
"What... What's he like?" I manage to ask. With everything that’s happened with Niko and the chaos of my own life, I’ve never really considered what this must be like for him. Is he going to be angry? Shit, I should have thought this through a little better.
"Zack? He's a good man. Kind. You don't need to worry," Gabi says, obviously reading my concern.
