Chapter 8 - The Relocation to the Beach
Realizing that the house in the city was permanently lost to them, and that the police were actively tracking his location, Marcos panicked. He knew I owned a private beach house in Florida—the very property I had refused to let Pilar use for her vacations because it was my personal sanctuary.
Desperate to find a place to hide and regroup, and assuming I wouldn't be there with a newborn baby, Marcos and Pilar used the last of their cash to book a flight back down to Florida. They thought they could slip into the beach villa, use the old spare keys, and figure out a way to force me into a legal settlement.
They didn't know that I was already waiting for them.
Chloe, Arthur, and I had flown down to the beach house the previous evening. The ocean breeze was clean, and the sound of the waves brought a deep sense of healing to my soul. I didn't want to hide from them anymore. I wanted them to see exactly what they had lost.
From the wide terrace of the beach house, the sun was shining brightly over the white sands. Palm trees swayed gently in the wind, and luxury cabanas lined the private shoreline. It was a beautiful, picture-perfect day.
Suddenly, the gravel driveway clicked as a local taxi pulled up. Marcos and Pilar stepped out, dragging their heavy green and brown leather suitcases across the sand. They looked disheveled, their expensive clothes wrinkled, their faces masks of desperate exhaustion.
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When Pilar saw me standing on the sand, her face lit up with an ugly, aggressive grin. "There she is! I knew she’d be hiding here!"
They marched onto the beach, their boots sinking into the white sand. But before they could even reach the boardwalk, the heavy wooden gate of the villa opened, and two uniformed local police officers stepped onto the beach, blocking their path.
