I woke to the first whisper of dawn, a fragile thread of light slipping through the shutters, teasing me awake before the world fully stirred. The sky beyond my balcony was a canvas of soft pinks and golds, hues bleeding into one another like watercolor left to run wild. My island my sanctuary stretched out below, a private slice of Mexico carved from the chaos of my life, a place where the relentless clamor of the outside world could not reach me. It was more than a retreat; it was a fortress, a testament to the years I had spent clawing my way out of the shadow cast by the Arquette name. Here, surrounded by cliffs and sea, I could breathe. Here, I could pretend the past did not exist.The air was thick with the scent of salt, sharp and briny, mingling with the sweeter, headier notes of hibiscus that climbed the villa’s walls in reck
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