The Lies He Told | PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER ROMANCE |

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Gloria's Odyssey, a luxurious superyacht with a gleaming aluminium superstructure and expansive beach deck, was named in honour of my mother.

Crafted with precision and boasting exquisite amenities, she was a lavish gift from my father to his wife to mark their second wedding anniversary, commemorating the pinnacle of his financial success prior to the devastating consequences of his gambling addiction.

Upon my birth, it was decreed by my parents that the magnificent vessel would be bequeathed to me on my twenty-first birthday.

Today, as I stand on her plank-like deck as her proud custodian, she resonates not just as a marvel of maritime luxury but also as a poignant reminder of my parents' deep love and the apex of my father's prosperity. I am honoured to carry forward the embodiment of our cherished lineage.

Her exterior spaces are exceptional, starting from the sun-kissed deck with two large bars and a lounging area with plush sun pads, a touch-and-go helipad aft, as well as a large covered alfresco dining area at the rear of the vessel.

But for me, the essence of the yacht is the main saloon with panoramic sea views, a welcoming space with two sparkly dining tables already set with exquisite china and crystal. I have spent many evenings in that room, sharing wine with the people I love and care about.

Staterooms and cabins are splendiferous and well-appointed, with cosy bedding, private bathrooms and sweeping ocean views.

In addition to accommodation, the yacht has a dedicated wellness area, cinema, spa, gym, massage room, treatment facilities, beauty studio, various lounges, entertainment spaces and walk-around side decks for promenading.

She really is the heart of the ocean.

"Holy fucking shit," Drew's voice was tinged with awe. "You have been holding out on us." His investigatory hands smoothed along the steel handrail on the side of the deck. "This boat is insane."

Royce stood motionless, his hands thrust deep into his jeans pockets. His was fixated on the fleet of moored superyachts that gleamed like beacons in the deep, crystal-clear water berths, the dramatic cliffs and the rugged coastline.

"Great. I am glad you approve." My feet hurried towards the waterline, eager to re-board the tender boat, a sleek black RIB bobbing gently at the yacht's stern. I climbed aboard and sat in the bow, waiting for the others to join me. "Now, let's get out of here before the harbour committee catches wind of our surprise arrival."

"Why do you care about the harbour committee?" Chase poked a set of stainless steel cleats, testing the tensile strength of the rope. "It's your vessel. You can come and go as you please."

Yes, I know, but The Harbour Master will inform Daniel if he catches me out here at this time of night and then what? How do I explain being on the boat with a bunch of men to my husband?

"I'm not ready to leave." Chase is an unofficial tender operator, having familiarised himself with a variety of boats during fishing trips, so if he does not agree to drive us back to the dock, I am stuck out here until further notice. "I want to stay."

Hannah sulked, clutching a bottle of bourbon she had swiped from Mac's Bar earlier. "We have yet to show them the saloon," she said dejectedly. "Come on, Oli. No one has to know. It can be our little secret."

Her lips puckered.

Her doe-eyes blinked.

Her head disappeared into her bloody shoulders.

"Oh, for heaven's sake." Falling for the woman's feel-sorry-for-me expression, I clambered out of the tender boat and re-boarded the yacht, holding onto the handrails for dear life as I did not want to fall backwards into the bottomless pit of the ocean. "Hannah, I am seriously re-evaluating our friendship."