Chapter 5: Eviction from Paradise
The rhythmic thump-thump-thump of the medical helicopter blades cut through the night air. The chopper touched down on the private helipad, kicking up sand and wind.
Paramedics swarmed the terrace, lifting Mia onto a stretcher with gentle efficiency. They started an IV and immobilized her arm. I held her good hand, whispering promises that everything would be okay.
As we moved toward the chopper, the screaming started.
“Elena! Wait! Please!”
My mother broke free from the confused crowd and ran across the grass, her heels sinking into the turf, causing her to stumble. My father and Sarah were right behind her, flanked by the security guards who were herding them away from the resort buildings.
“Elena, sweetheart!” my mother panted, grabbing the sleeve of my dress. Her eyes were wide, desperate, calculating. “We didn’t know! Why didn’t you tell us? Oh, my God, we are so proud of you! A hedge fund! I always knew you were special!”
I looked at her hand on my arm. The same hand that had slapped me when I was a child. The same hand that waved away my daughter’s pain ten minutes ago.
I ripped my arm away.
“Don’t touch me,” I said.
“Elena, please,” Sarah cried, tears streaming down her face, ruining her makeup. “We were just stressed! It’s a wedding day! We love Mia! It was an accident! Don’t leave us here!”
“You watched her fall,” I said, my voice flat. “And you worried about the dress. You aren’t family. You are monsters.”
“But how do we get home?” my father yelled, panic finally setting in. “The guards said they’re cutting off our access to the resort! We have no rooms! We have no food! We have no money!”
“You can swim,” I said coldly.
“Swim?” Greg wailed. “It’s forty miles to the mainland!”
“Then I suggest you sell that fifty-thousand-dollar dress to a local fisherman for a ride,” I said. “Or maybe you can eat the wedding cake before the ants get to it. I really don’t care.”
“You can’t do this!” my mother shrieked. “We are your parents!”
“I have no parents,” I said. “I have a daughter. And I am taking her home.”
I climbed into the helicopter. The pilot looked at me for the signal.
“Take off,” I ordered.
As the helicopter lifted into the night sky, I looked down.
The resort was going dark. One by one, the lights of the main villa, the guest suites, and the restaurants were flickering out. I had given the order to cut the power to the residential grid.
My family stood huddled on the landing pad, tiny figures in the darkness. The guests—the wealthy business partners and socialites—were already boarding the emergency ferries I had arranged for them, leaving the “wedding party” behind.
They were alone. Stranded on a rock in the middle of the ocean. No champagne. No accolades. No audience. Just the dark, the heat, and each other.
It was a hell of their own making.
