She spent the morning gathering records. The spa emailed the reservation confirmation. Leonardo had booked it six weeks before the wedding. Not four days into the honeymoon. Not as a sudden need for space. Six weeks before he stood in front of her father, cried during vows, and promised he could not wait to wake up beside her every day.
Three days away.
Prepaid.
Nonrefundable.
Scheduled exactly during the middle of their honeymoon.
Elena forwarded the email to Mia and saved it in three separate folders.
At noon, she called the villa resort and pretended to be cheerful.
“This is Elena Pierce,” she said. “My husband and I are in Villa Marisol. I think I left some jewelry in the safe, and I want to make sure housekeeping doesn’t touch anything.”
The concierge was warm and polished.
“Of course, Mrs. Pierce. Only registered guests have access to the villa. Is there a concern?”
Elena looked toward the ocean from her spa balcony.
“Actually, yes. Could you confirm who is listed as staying in the villa?”
There was typing.
“Mr. and Mrs. Leonardo Pierce.”
“No other guests?”
A pause.
“No, ma’am.”
“Interesting,” Elena said softly.
“Is something wrong?”
“I came back last night and saw a woman in my villa wearing my jewelry.”
Silence.
Then the concierge’s tone changed.
“Mrs. Pierce, would you like security to check the property?”
“No,” Elena said quickly. “Not yet. But I need the entry logs. All keycard access. All gate entries. Any security footage of visitors. Email them to me.”
“I’m not sure we can release—”
“I understand. Then preserve them. I’m making a formal report later today.”
The woman hesitated.
