From what Trina had said earlier, the island was only about an hour and a half away from the dock.
But this?
This yacht?
This was insane.
FORMOSA loomed like something straight out of a billionaire’s daydream—glossy decks, sun-slicked railings, and a structure that whispered old money with every polished inch.
Maya blinked at the yacht, then at Harper, then back again.
“This screams luxury for royalty,” she murmured. “For a small PR team? This is way too—”
“OMG!!” Harper squealed, twirling in place like she’d just walked into a music video. “This is sooo cool! I swear I just got a tan from staring at that sundeck!”
Then she leaned in, voice dropping low enough for only Maya to hear. Mischief sparkled in her eyes.
“The king of Daya is a king indeed—literally! Girl, can we use this
