The private jet touched down softly on a small island airstrip far away from the noise of Manhattan.
There were no reporters waiting by the tarmac. No flashing cameras. No bodyguards standing in sharp suits. Just warm tropical air, bright blue ocean water, and quiet palm trees blowing in the wind.
I took Sienna's hand as we walked down the metal steps of the plane.
She looked around at the empty beach and the tiny white villa sitting right on the sand. A bright, shocked smile spread across her face.
"Dom," she gasped, her dark eyes shining wide. "Where are we? Is this your private island?"
"Not an island," I smiled, leading her toward a waiting golf cart instead of a black limousine. "Just a quiet little villa on the edge of the world. No phones, no meetings, and no family emergencies
