The Caribbean sun didn't just rise; it basically smacked you in the face. Back home, morning light is soft and apologetic, but here, it was aggressive, turning the ocean into a sheet of glowing turquoise and the beach into a pile of crushed diamonds that hurt to look at. I was out on the balcony, chest bare, feeling that deep, heavy thrum in my muscles from the night before. But honestly? It wasn’t just physical fatigue....

The humid air of the Caribbean hung heavy over the balcony, thick with the scent of salt, hibiscus, and the faint, expensive perfume of sex that seemed to permeate every corner of the resort. I leaned against the railing, the wrought iron digging into my forearms, watching the sun begin its slow, bleeding descent into the ocean. From down below, near the pool, the murmur of laughter and clinking glass drifted up—the sound...