Sebastian Vaughn Lancaster stood at the shoreline, hands tucked into the pockets of his worn jeans. The early morning breeze stirred his hair as waves slapped the beach lazily, a rhythm that matched the silence he needed.

That stranded girl was resting. Or at least, that’s what he saw before leaving earlier. She hadn’t told them much—no name, backstory, or clear memory of how she ended up on his island. A place no one should have access to unless they were either suicidal or sent. And it seemed she didn’t look suicidal.

He took one last glance toward the cabin, then turned and headed toward the old dock, where his small motorboat was tied, and tossed a duffel bag into the boat.

“I’ll be back by nightfall,” he had told her before leaving.

She didn’t reply, just nodded groggily from the couch, one arm loosely curled over her middle, eyes heavy-lidded but watchful. He didn’t press either.

He had lied, of course. Not entirely. He was going to get supplies, yes—food, batteries, medicine, fuel, a new water filter—but that wasn’t the real reason.

This time, he needed to settle things.

As he pulled into the harbor, the city's skyline peeked through the haze. A sleek black SUV waited for him at the pier. The driver stood at attention the second his boots hit the dock.

“Mr. Lancaster. We weren’t expecting you.”

“No one was,” he said coolly, tossing his bag into the backseat and sliding in. “Take me to the tower.”

The car sped through the city’s outer streets and up into the core of downtown, where the monolithic glass building known as Lancaster Tower rose like a sentinel above the sprawl. It had been nearly eight months since he stepped foot in that place. Eight months of silence, ghosting the board, pretending he had cut ties from the world that had made him.

But the second he walked in through the private entrance, suits swarmed.

“Sir, welcome back!”

“Mr. Lancaster, there’s a backlog of approvals—”

“Will you be returning permanently?”

He ignored them all.

Inside the executive elevator, he pressed the code to the 87th floor. His floor. The top. The cold, polished suite that once held his world together.

It was all the same. Too clean. Too empty.

A woman in a sleek navy pantsuit waited for him inside the boardroom, posture straight and eyes sharp behind thin-rimmed glasses. The tablet in her hand barely wobbled as she stepped forward.

“Mr. Lancaster,” she greeted smoothly. “The board will be thrilled. Shall I arrange the meeting now?”

Her name tag gleamed subtly on her lapel—Clarissa Wynne, Executive Secretary to the Chairman. Efficient. Unshakable. The kind of woman who knew how to run a company in the background while letting the suits take credit for it.

“Not necessary,” he said, shrugging off his jacket. “I’m not here to retake the reins.”

She blinked. “Oh, then…?”

He pulled a sleek folder from his bag and tossed it onto the polished table. Inside were all his documents—shareholder rights, voting proxy, company directives—everything.

“I’m handing over full interim control to Gerald,” Sebastian said, tossing the sleek folder onto the conference table with a dull thud. “Let him choke on the numbers for a while.”

Clarissa blinked. “Gerald… the CEO?”

“Acting CEO,” Sebastian corrected, his tone dry. “And yes, him. He knows the company inside out. He’s boring, predictable, and completely risk-averse—which is exactly what the board needs while I’m gone.”

Clarissa hesitated, her brows lifting just slightly. “Not assigning your son, then?”

Sebastian’s eyes darkened. “He’s not ready yet.”

He didn’t elaborate more. He didn’t have to.

Gerald Maynard, the ever-loyal numbers man, had been with the company since before his son was out of college. Reliable, methodical, and painfully by-the-book, Gerald had never once overstepped. That’s why Sebastian trusted him—not to build an empire, but to keep it from burning down in his absence.

“Gerald will follow the rules,” Sebastian added, already walking toward the window. “My son doesn’t even know what rules are yet.”

Her brows lifted. “You’re really letting go?”

“For now,” he murmured. “But I want full access to the private records, communication logs, satellite feeds… including the past thirty days.”

“Satellite feeds?” she echoed warily.

He looked her dead in the eye. “Someone found my island. That’s not an accident.”

Clarissa’s throat bobbed as she swallowed, her composure faltering for the first time. “Right away,” she said quickly, fingers already tapping on the tablet.

But then she paused, glancing up at him with a flicker of hesitation.

“Sir… forgive me, but that island—wasn’t it listed as black zone clearance? No air routes, no shipping lanes, scrubbed from all external records?”

Sebastian’s jaw flexed. “Exactly.”

Her brows knit, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “Then how the hell did someone end up there?”

She paused, clearly trying to piece it together. “What does it mean, sir?”

“A girl was stranded there. Alone. Injured.”

Clarissa was flabbergasted, her fingers froze over the tablet. “…Alive?”

He nodded once. “Barely.”

She hesitated again, then added, more cautiously, “Was it a drone malfunction? A leak in internal flight paths? Or…”—her voice dipped lower—“was someone sent there on purpose?”

Sebastian didn’t answer right away.

Clarissa stepped closer, lowering the tablet just slightly. “Do you think this is corporate sabotage? Or something… personal?”

He finally turned to her, his expression unreadable. “I don’t know yet.”

Clarissa’s eyes widened just a fraction. “Do you want me to initiate a full trace on coastal activity near the island? Any unauthorized vessels, signal pings, distress calls—satellite, maritime, or civilian?”

She tightened her grip on the tablet. “Because if someone drifted in, someone else might’ve seen it.”

He stared at her for a beat.

Then said quietly, “Yes. Do it discreetly. And run a private surveillance scan on all offshore activity in the last ten days. If someone breached my island, I want to know who gave them the map.”

Later, after a long afternoon of cryptic meetings and redirecting the panic his return had caused, he stood in his private office, staring out at the city skyline.

He was still in the office, but his mind was already back on the island. On the girl who looked like she’d been through hell… yet somehow ended up in the one place she shouldn’t have reached.

He didn’t believe in coincidences. Someone had sent her, or chased her. Or maybe… someone tried to erase her. And she had landed on the one island the world had forgotten.

Sebastian’s jaw tightened as the phone in his hand lit up with a message. He didn’t open it yet. Whatever it said could wait until he got back.

He had questions to ask her himself, and if she couldn’t answer them, he’d find out who could.