Alex

The Maldives greeted them with white sand and turquoise water.

You and your girlfriend chartered a luxury yacht with a small group of friends. On the very first day, as you stepped out on deck, you saw them—a group of young men, tanned, handsome, wearing nothing but swimming trunks.

"Wow," your friend whispered, nudging you with her elbow. "We came in at a good time."

One of them stood by the edge of the pool, his back to you. Broad shoulders, a perfect figure, dark hair damp from the water. He looked out at the ocean and seemed oblivious to everything around him.

And then he turned around.

Your friends gasped. One of his friends whistled. And he… he was looking straight at you. Not at your friends, not at anyone else. At you.

“I think he’s got his eye on you,” my friend whispered.

“Nonsense,” you waved it off, but your cheeks turned traitorously red.

You started taking photos by the poolside, posing with the ocean in the background, laughing. You didn't notice how he went over to his friends, pretending to chat with them. And how he discreetly pulled out his phone.

"Are you taking pictures of her?" asked the friend.

“Shut up,” Alex replied, putting the phone away.

That evening, when everyone had gone to their cabins, he sat on the deck and looked at your photo. You were laughing, the wind ruffling your hair, the sun lighting your face. He couldn't tear himself away.

"Who is this?" asked a friend, approaching with two glasses of whiskey.

“I don’t know,” Alex replied. “But I want to find out.”

— We still have two days of rent.

• Not enough.

• What are you planning?

"I'll extend the lease," Alex said, taking the glass. "I'll pay for them if necessary."