... the Angry Ex...

Chapter III: Shadows and Reflections

It was hotter now, the day’s early coolness swept away by the rising sun. The air on the beach vibrated with the kind of heat that felt alive, as if the whole resort were holding its breath just to see who would sweat first. Andy felt it, his shirt plastered to his back, dampness gathering at his temples, fingers refusing to stop fidgeting with the edge of the chair’s armrest. On the sand, the shimmer was more than heat; it was an outright distortion, a raw pulse at the edge of vision, as if reality itself had grown impatient.

He had not dared to say a word to any of the women since Liesa’s arrival. Dawn and Claire had huddled into their own silences, the three of them arrayed around the circle like chess pieces waiting for a move. Even Liesa, who as he recalled, usually filled any void with sharp wit or a long, scornful look, simply bounced her foot and watched the horizon.

It was Arabella who broke the spell. She had been lingering behind Andy’s throne, silent, observing, her figure radiating patience like a lighthouse. She turned her head just slightly, emerald eyes glinting, and murmured, “Andy. Our next guest is nearly here.” The tone was subtle, but it carried, threading through the humid air and drawing all eyes down the path to the distant, wavering horizon.

The shimmer started again, this time more violently. The fabric of the world pulled, wrinkled, then snapped. The glare on the sand was blinding for an instant. Out of the blue-white wound in the morning, a figure stumbled onto the beach with a sharp, almost hostile energy.

Andy’s breath caught. Even at a distance, he knew the silhouette. He’d seen it hunched over a desk for hours at a time, running laps around the undergrad quad at dawn, wedged into a battered parka at a climate rally. He had seen it on the doorway in the morning, holding a steaming mug of tea. He had seen it in the evening, holding him in bed, when they were still young and foolish and he thought he wasn’t fully broken. He didn’t need to see the face to know who it was.

Erin.

Her hair was longer than he remembered—red-brown, pulled into a quick, utilitarian braid—but her walk was the same as ever, every step telegraphing self-possession and impatience. She wore a slate-gray athletic jacket, unzipped over a white tank top, and a pair of compression leggings with running shoes already streaked with beach sand. She scanned her surroundings in one sharp, predatory sweep, then honed in on the only person she instantly recognized: Andy.

He froze in place, hands gripping the armrest so hard the frame creaked. For a moment, it was all he could do not to duck under the throne and hide. Erin’s eyes narrowed—old anger flickering into instant, high-definition focus. He saw the line of her mouth harden and her jaw set. If he’d ever doubted she’d moved on, the set of her jaw, the precision of her glare, told him she’d at least moved somewhere. An unpleasant place.

She strode straight up to the edge of the gazebo, not breaking stride even when she nearly collided with one of the low marble steps. Her arms were crossed, shoulders tense, as if the wind itself might say something she’d need to shoot down.

Arabella inclined her head, welcoming, but Erin didn’t so much as glance her way. Instead, she locked her gaze on Andy and kept it there, a cold green spotlight that burned.

“Andrew,” she said, voice flat.

He tried to smile, but his lips barely twitched. “Hi, Erin.” His throat was sandpaper dry.

She didn’t return the greeting, just flicked her eyes to the throne, then to the line of stools, then back to Andy. “I see you’re still keeping people waiting.”

Andy winced. “It’s not—I mean, I didn’t—”

“Right.” She didn’t look convinced. Without waiting for an invitation, she picked the stool farthest from him and sat. Her posture dared anyone to ask her to move.

Arabella stepped forward, radiant as ever, but Andy saw the subtle calculation in her gaze: how best to handle the new arrival, who radiated ‘not here for this’ from every muscle.

“Welcome, Erin,” the Host said, her tone smoothing every syllable like river stones. “I’m Arabella. I hope your journey was… not too jarring.”

Erin looked at Arabella as if noticing her for the first time. “Was I ****?” she asked, voice clipped. “Because if so, I’m pressing charges the second I wake up.”

“No ****,” Arabella replied, hands folded with infinite patience. “Just a very special invitation.”

Erin’s eyes narrowed, assessing. She looked down the row of stools—at Claire, at Dawn, at Liesa. Her eyes landed on Liesa, and a flicker of recognition crossed her face.

“Liesa Claes? You’re here too?” There was surprise, maybe even a touch of relief in her voice.

Liesa managed a small, nervous smile. “Yes. Hi, Erin. I am… also confused.”

Erin’s tension shifted, slightly, into something more inquisitive. “How long have you been here?”

“Ten minutes?” Liesa guessed. “Fifteen?”

Erin nodded, then glanced at Andy, suspicion hardening her features again. “And what about you, Andrew? How long have you been holding court?”

“I just got here,” he said, voice strained. “I swear, I don’t know what’s going on either.”

She gave him a look that said, ‘I don’t believe you, but I’m too tired to fight.’ She turned back to Liesa. “What happened to you? How did you get here?”

Liesa hesitated, searching for words. “I was jogging. Then… licht, geluid. Ah… light, sound. Then here. Arabella says it is a contest? A game?”

Erin shook her head, not buying it. “So you didn’t sign up for this?”

Liesa shook her head again. “No. Never.”

Erin’s gaze darted to Andy, then Arabella. “So. We’re all just **** and dumped on a beach, and Andrew gets to wear the fancy shirt?”

Dawn, perhaps emboldened by the arrival of someone even more hostile than herself, piped up: “Nobody has any idea what’s going on. We’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Claire, who had been quietly observing, risked a small addition: “So far, there’s just been a lot of introductions and a few glasses of water that appear out of nowhere.”

Erin ignored them. She pressed her lips together, her jaw working in silence. She looked over the setup—throne, stools, the expensive carafe—and Andy could see her running through possible explanations, none of them pleasant.

She turned to Liesa again, as if she were the only trustworthy witness. “So. There are no cameras?”

Liesa shrugged. “Not that I have seen.”

Erin eyed the sea, then the volcano, then finally, Arabella. “So what is it, then? Some kind of **** operation? A re-education thing? Are you the headmistress, or just the flight attendant?”

Arabella’s smile was unwavering. “I am your Host, Erin. And yes, it’s a competition. But not the kind you’re used to.”

Erin’s eyes rolled so hard Andy feared she might pass out. “Great. So what do we do, mud-wrestle for beachfront property?”

Arabella’s smile deepened, the corners of her mouth almost imperceptibly sharp. “That is… a possibility,” she said, tone ambiguous enough to be a threat or a joke. “But I assure you, the rules will become clear very soon. For now, you may relax. No one is in danger.”

Erin’s mouth twitched. “No one is in danger,” she echoed, as if reading the words off a warning label. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

She turned her gaze back to Andy. “So, Andrew. How’d you pull this off?”

He flinched. “I didn’t. This isn’t—I mean, it’s as much a shock to me as it is to you.”

She snorted. “Sure. You just woke up in paradise with a ready-made throne. And a bunch of concubines.”

Andy’s face flamed. “That’s not what this is.”

She raised a brow. “You’re the only man here. And you’re the only one who looks like he belongs.” She gestured at his shirt, then at the throne. “So yeah, looks like a pick-your-concubine thing to me.”

Liesa reached out, gently touching Erin’s forearm. “I do not think Andy chose this. Arabella says he is… ‘Master’, but I think it is just title. He is as confused as us.”

Erin’s face softened, barely, at Liesa’s touch. “You really think he’s not involved?”

Liesa shrugged, a little helpless. “He seems lost, too.”

Andy sat back in the throne, wishing it would swallow him. He saw Dawn watching the exchange, her eyes wide; Claire, carefully taking notes in her mind. Arabella cleared her throat, bringing the tension back to a simmer. “We’re still missing several guests,” she said. “But please—enjoy the breeze, and the view.” She offered Erin a glass of water, and the girl downed it in a gulp.

Erin muttered something under her breath, then uncrossed her arms, hands balled into fists on her knees. She looked up at Andy, the old challenge burning in her eyes. “I want answers, Andrew. This better not be another one of your games.”

Andy met her gaze, but this time, he didn’t look away. “I promise. If I knew what was happening, I’d tell you.”

She nodded, but he could see she wasn’t convinced. He couldn’t blame her.