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A quiet shutter sound reaches my ears and I give Bree a perfunctory peck on her shoulder because Greg Masters is eyeing us from the back corner.

More camera clicks follow in rapid succession, but this time, it’s from Olivia snapping away at everything—the clear skies today, no clouds to be seen, the vibrant turquoise waters we’d never see in New York, the dramatic rock formations and partially submerged caves jutting out in the distance.

When she sets down her camera, she lets out a heavy sigh, her lips tilting in a bittersweet smile. Her throat ripples as she blinks rapidly.

Is she fighting back tears?

I start to get up before I can stop myself. But then I freeze, remembering the eyes on me.

The thought of her being upset is unbearable. I want to haul her into my arms and tell her to let it out.

To cry, to hit me, or to scream.

Then to tell me what’s wrong, so I can hunt down the bastards who hurt her and unleash my pent-up violence on them.

Why are you sad, little Olive?

I touched a raw nerve yesterday when I accused her of hiding because she was getting through my defenses.

But now, watching her whiskey eyes take on a faraway look, I’m surer than before.

She’s haunted by something. Her perfectly collected exterior is as fake as my Rex-a-Million persona.

Unbidden, I whip out my phone and point it toward the ocean, pretending I’m taking a picture of the view.

But all I’m doing is capturing her, because something about her is captivating. Bewitching. Inflames my senses.

I know I can’t have her, that I’m a fuckup and shouldn’t drag anyone into hell with me, least of all the kindhearted Olivia, who’s battling demons but still trying her damned best to heal others.

But I’m selfish. I want to steal a little piece of her for those lonely nights when I wake up bathed in sweat. I want to imagine a world where I was deserving of someone like her, gentle and beautiful from the inside out.

In this imaginary world, I’d have my own happy ending like Maxwell, a doting wife who loves me, a cheeky son with my smirk, or a cute daughter hugging me like I’m her hero.

But I won’t get that. These dreams. Who’d want a man slowly going out of his mind?

And so I take photos of Olivia, the woman who’s come closest to seeing my darkest parts. Stealing a sliver of light I’ve no right to touch.

I’ll add thief to my titles after murderer.

A few minutes later, the guide stops our boats and sets the stage for the “Float and Forget” theme of this excursion, where we’ll drift on saltwater in the semi-submerged caves, wearing waterproof headphones preloaded with custom sound therapy. An hour later, we’ll be reborn, our troubles forgotten.

It’s a load of shit, but it’s luxe, and we’ve paid a hefty sum to rent out the entire area so no other visitors can intrude.

The patrons are gobbling it up.

“There are myths surrounding these caves. They say there once was a beautiful siren, Calliope. She, unlike her sisters, protected the ships sailing past these cliffs because Helios, a handsome sailor from Athens, would pass by this route monthly.” Our guide, Helena, gestures toward the caves in front of us.

“But one day, her older sister, Daphne, fed up with her tactics, which would send the men far away, leaving the sisters hungry, decided to punish her. She told Calliope that Helios wanted to thank her for protecting him. That he was also secretly in love with her. Overjoyed when Helios passed by with his fleet this time, Calliope allowed her sisters to use their voices to lure the men in, so they could have a sweet moment before sending them back out to sea.”

Olivia gasps, her hand flying to cover her mouth. My lips twitch. For someone who believes in science, she sure is paying rapt attention to a mythical story.

Helena says, “Daphne lied. As soon as the men were reeled in, the sisters tied Calliope up and feasted on the sailors in front of her, teaching her a lesson that sirens and humans could never be together. They were forbidden. Brokenhearted, Calliope refused to eat or drink, eventually wasting away and dying in these caves. It’s said her soft cries can sometimes be heard inside, usually to people in danger of following in her footsteps.”

Helena continues with her story and some instructions, and I don’t really pay attention. I watch a staff member set circular, multicolored floats onto the water, each containing a bottle of water, a plate of fruit, and a headset. He’s helping passengers into their individual floats.

“Perhaps the stories sound outlandish—but knowing what these caves have seen over the years, can anything truly be impossible? One thing is for sure—there’s magic in these caves. People come out changed for the better. Rejuvenated, enlightened. Ladies and gentlemen, enjoy your excursion.”

I shake my head. Ridiculous story, but she sold it. I make a note to give her a good tip later on.