Page 44 of Surfer's Paradise

Like she was just part of his orbit, something to be accounted for and put somewhere safe.

Like he hadn’t wrecked her years ago without even realizing it.

She should be mad. She should be furious.

But instead, all she felt was tired.

Because this was Isaac.

This was what he did.

He swooped in, fixed things, protected her—even when she didn’t want him to. Even when she needed to stand on her own.

She inhaled slowly, fingers brushing over the message again.

She wouldn’t let herself break over this.

Over him.

Not anymore.

She had fought for every single piece of her life.

And she would fight for this, too.

For herself. For the life she wanted.

Even if it meant walking out of this house, this bed, this thing between them that had never been enough.

Even if it meant letting him go.

Rosie swallowed hard, blinking against the sharp sting in her eyes, before tossing the phone onto the mattress and pushing herself up.

She wouldn’t be that girl.

She had survived worse.

And she wasn’t about to let Isaac fucking Rayleigh be the thing that broke her now.

Rosie woke slow, the kind of slow that felt indulgent. The sheets were soft, too soft, too nice—and that alone made her uneasy.

She wasn’t used to luxury.

She wasn’t used to things like this.

The house was quiet, the sun slipping through the blinds, the sound of distant waves rolling up the shore. For a moment, she just lay there, letting herself take it in.

Then she shook it off, because this wasn’t her life.

She pulled herself out of bed, stretching, her oversized black t-shirt slipping down one shoulder as she padded into the bathroom.

And Jesus, the bathroom.

Isaac might be military, but he lived like a man who had money now.

Luxe shower.

Big. Open. Hot water on demand.

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