I kept everything hidden because I wanted to know if Dylan loved me as I was, or only what I could provide for him financially.
Three days later, we stood at the private airstrip, and the jet I had arranged rolled into view as part of the so called prize package. Brooke Foster arrived in a rideshare wearing oversized sunglasses and dragging two designer suitcases that were clearly fake.
She looked me up and down with a faint smirk as I stood there in a simple linen dress. “Megan, you look like you are going to a weekend market, not a luxury island, so please try not to embarrass us in front of people who actually belong there.”
She handed me her bag without asking and said, “Hold this while I fix my makeup, because appearances matter in places like this.”
I took the bag silently and glanced at Dylan, but he was too busy laughing with his father Harold Foster while talking about expensive drinks. I boarded last, carrying luggage for people who treated me like I did not belong, stepping onto a jet that I owned without their knowledge.
I told myself I would endure one week, because that was all I needed to see who they really were.
Azure Crown Resort looked flawless when we arrived, with villas floating above clear water and marble walkways that reflected the sunlight. The air smelled of salt and flowers, and everything was designed to feel like perfection.
At reception, the staff stood in line, and the general manager Peter Collins stepped forward in a crisp uniform. His eyes met mine for a brief moment, and I gave him a subtle signal to remain silent about my identity.
He understood immediately and turned toward Dylan with a professional smile. “Welcome, Mr. Foster, we are honored to host you as part of our special guest program.”
Dylan straightened his posture and said confidently, “Make sure our luggage goes to the best villa, and bring my father a strong drink right away because we expect premium service here.”
“Of course, sir,” Peter replied calmly, even though I could see tension in his expression.
The days passed with me running errands while Brooke demanded magazines, Harold complained about every small detail, and Dylan ordered me to take photos of him for social media. “Angle it better, Megan, because you are making me look shorter than I am,” he said with irritation.
On the third night, we dined in the underwater restaurant surrounded by glass walls where fish drifted slowly in the blue water outside. Brooke had already been drinking heavily, and her voice carried across the table.
“So Megan, are you still doing those little drawings you call a job,” she asked with a mocking tone.
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