The Last Breakfast | 10:30 AM | Garden Terrace

The table had been set beneath a vine-covered pergola in the hotel’s private garden courtyard. White linens, fresh flowers in small glass vases, and a table that overflowed with everything good: mimosas, fruit platters, croissants still warm, thick-cut bacon, smoked salmon, soft scrambled eggs, roasted vine tomatoes, avocado halves, cheeses, preserves, granola, yogurt, and flaky pastries.

The girls were already seated, sunlight dappling across bare shoulders, soft cotton dresses, and sunglasses.

Lindy in a white and gold yoga-flow dress. Melany in a pink sundress with her hair in a bun. Ana and Jade side by side — still glowing, still quietly watching the world. Aubrey radiant, simple in white, almost no makeup, hair soft and loose.

And finally — Christopher, casual but crisp, a button-down half-rolled at the sleeves, sitting at the head of the table with a plate full enough to embarrass a rugby player and a mimosa in one hand.

The laughter was already rolling.

“Okay,” Jade said, raising her glass halfway. “I feel like someone needs to make a toast before I explode.”

Christopher smiled. “You’ve had four mimosas. You already exploded.”

She threw a strawberry at him. “Rude. Now toast.”

Aubrey cleared her throat, stood slowly, holding her glass.

They quieted.

“To... whatever that was.” Lindy snorted.

Aubrey smiled, eyes scanning them all.

“No, really. To every moment we didn’t plan, every line we crossed, and every part of ourselves we didn’t know we needed to find. I’m not the same person I was on Thursday.”

She paused.

Her voice softened. “And I don’t want to be.”

They all clinked glasses — quiet and thoughtful now.

Even Melany.

Especially Christopher.

As the second round of food was passed and coffee and more mimosas poured, the conversation turned… honest.

“I don’t think I’ve ever let go like that. Not just my clothes.” Lindy grinned. “But the masks. The filters. The need to be the loudest or the funniest or the one who doesn’t care. I cared this weekend. I still care.”

Ana looked down at her cup. “Same. I’ve always been the observer. The safe one. The girl with the boyfriend who keeps her out of trouble. But this weekend, I felt… free. And that scares me. And I kind of loved it.”

Jade, nudging her, said, “You were still the responsible one. You made sure we didn’t float to Namibia.”

Everyone laughed — and then it quieted.

Melany lifted her sunglasses, locking eyes with Lindy briefly, then looked at Christopher.

“Sometimes we want something so much we pretend it’s not real. Until it’s too real to ignore.”

A pause. “I’m not ready to name anything yet. But I’m not pretending anymore.”

Christopher nodded, slow and honest. “Neither am I.”

After the laughter, after the third round of coffee, Aubrey placed her fork down and said, “I’m scared I’ll wake up tomorrow and this will feel like a dream.”

She looked around the table.

“But you all made it real. You didn’t judge. You didn’t shame. You didn’t run. And maybe that’s all we needed from each other — to say yes to the parts of ourselves we don’t always show.”

Melany reached over and squeezed her hand.

No words.

Just a bond sealed by salt, sunlight, sweat, and skin.

They lingered long after the plates were cleared. Feet curled under chairs. Legs tangled. Laughter flowing easy again.

Christopher poured one last mimosa.

“To the best weekend of our lives.”

“So far,” Lindy added.

And they raised their glasses again — all six of them — brighter, bolder, freer than they had ever been.

The cars were waiting in the circular drive outside the hotel: the sleek, black Mercedes van — windows tinted, luggage already loaded.

The air smelled of citrus, lavender, and something else — the finality of goodbye.

They lingered at the edge of the garden, where the sun had warmed the flagstones. Hair tousled by wind, lips glossed with coffee and fruit — they looked like a memory that would live in photographs, even if no one ever took any.

Hugs began.

Long ones.

Jade and Ana first — tight and laughing.

Melany kissed Christopher on the cheek. Just once. No words. Just a look — one that said not yet, but not never.

Lindy waited, unusually quiet.

And Aubrey stood with her arms loosely folded, sunglasses hiding what might’ve been too much truth.

Christopher stepped forward. Hands in his pockets. Shirt slightly wrinkled, hair perfectly imperfect.

“I’ll say my real goodbyes at the airport.”

The girls smiled. Nodded. No one argued.

But then—

Lindy stepped toward Aubrey. Pulled her aside.

Behind the cars. Behind the conversation.

Just them.

“Please,” Lindy whispered. “Let me drive with him.”

Aubrey blinked.

Lindy wasn’t playing it cute. She was flushed. Emotional. Fierce.

“I started this whole thing with a look. With him. I need to finish it. I need… a moment. Just us. No pretending.”

Aubrey’s gaze lingered on her for a beat. Then over her shoulder — to Christopher, waiting by the open rear door of the Mercedes.

She smiled. And nodded.

“You don’t need my permission, Linds. You just needed to say it out loud.”

Lindy hugged her. Tight. Held her for longer than either expected.

Then pulled away.

Aubrey walked back — calm, composed, stunning in the midday sun.

She stepped into Christopher’s space. He turned toward her, instinctively reaching for her hand.

She placed a soft kiss on his lips — one not meant to stir heat, but to promise depth.

Then, just before she stepped away, she gave him a wink. Subtle. Slow. Certain.

“Be gentle,” she whispered.

He raised a brow.

“Or don’t.”

A smile. One final look.

And she turned to join the others in the van.

The estate was quieter now — sun climbing, birds busy overhead.

The girls had left.

All but one.

Lindy stood near the Ferrari, hands at her sides, her dress light and flirty in the breeze. The fabric clung to her skin in places it shouldn’t, her thighs still tingling from the kiss of champagne and sin. But her nerves weren’t from modesty.

They were from want.

Sharp.

Hot.

Now.

Christopher walked to the passenger side, opened the scissor door with a clean sweep, and held it.

She looked at him — lips parted slightly, breath caught somewhere between anticipation and defiance.

He leaned in. Close. Confident.

“Get in.”

And she did.

But she didn’t sit like a lady.

She swung in slow, deliberately — knees parting as she slid back into the seat, her dress riding up her thighs, revealing that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. No lace. No silk. Nothing.

She wanted him to see.

She needed him to see.

Christopher circled the Ferrari, his expression unreadable — but his eyes burned. He slipped into the driver’s seat, started the engine — the low, guttural purr vibrating beneath them.

But he didn’t pull out.

Not yet.

His hand moved across the console — slow, certain — and landed on her thigh.

Warm. Heavy. Possessive.

Then higher.

Fingers brushing over smooth, bare skin.

Then between.

She gasped — eyes wide, head falling back against the leather — as his fingers slipped inside her without resistance. She was soaked. Needy. Ready. The kind of ready that borders on desperate.

Lindy’s thoughts blurred with sensation — she didn’t want tenderness. Not here.

She wanted to feel claimed.

Ruined.

Remembered.

God, his fingers… the way he moves them…

Christopher said nothing — just watched her. Studied her. His thumb circled her clit with cruel precision, while two fingers curled inside her, stroking exactly where she needed him.

She tried to stay composed — tried to keep the power — but her body betrayed her.

Her thighs trembled. Her nails scraped the dash. Her other hand tangled in his hair, pulling him closer even as her hips bucked against his hand.

“Fuck—Christopher—don’t stop,” she moaned, voice breaking. “I need—”

He silenced her with a kiss — deep, hungry, open-mouthed. She moaned into it as her orgasm crashed through her like heatstroke, fast and devastating. Her body spasmed, clenching tight around his fingers, breath stolen, mind erased.

When she finally collapsed back into the seat — breathless, flushed, lips swollen — he withdrew his hand and sucked one of his fingers clean, eyes locked on hers.

“Now you’re ready,” he said, voice rough with restrained need.

But Lindy wasn’t done.

She leaned over, grabbing his belt.

“You think I came here to be taken apart?” she whispered, breath hot against his neck.

“No, baby. I came to mark you.”

Christopher didn’t speak — couldn’t. Her hand was already working his belt open with sharp efficiency, her other palm pressed flat against his chest to keep him still. His breath hitched as she unzipped his pants, reached in, and pulled him free.

He was already half-hard — thick, warm, growing in her hand — and the moment she wrapped her fingers around him, he groaned, low in his throat.

“Eyes on the road,” she said, voice like silk over a blade.

The Ferrari rumbled into life and rolled forward — 40, 90, 160 km/h. Always accelerating the road blurring as Lindy leaned in and wrapped her lips around the head of his cock.

She didn’t start slow.

She devoured him — lips parted wide, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing with each pull. She wanted to taste his need, to taste the weekend on his skin — to turn this drive into a memory so vivid he’d hear her name in the sound of his own engine.

This is mine, she thought, taking him deeper, letting him hit the back of her throat. This moment. This man. This ache.

Christopher’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel; his breath turned ragged. He grunted, trying to keep control, but she wasn’t giving him a choice. Her hand stroked what her mouth couldn’t take, wet and relentless, the suction perfect.

“Fuck—Lindy—Jesus Christ,” he groaned, hips bucking once, almost losing the car for half a second.

She moaned around him — on purpose — sending vibrations through every nerve in his body. Her nails scratched down his thigh. Her mouth moved faster, hungrier, claiming him.

And then she felt it — the way his body tightened, the way his legs locked, the helpless tremble that ran through his abs.

She didn’t stop. She owned it. She owned him in that moment.

He came with a growl — hard, brutal, eyes wild — flooding her mouth in thick, pulsing waves. She swallowed everything, not flinching, not missing a drop. Her hands didn’t leave him until he softened in her palm.

Then, slowly, she sat back. Licked her lips. Wiped her mouth with two fingers. And licked those, too.

The Ferrari hurtled down the N1 as the R300 turnoff appeared like a border between two worlds.

Lindy crossed her legs, adjusted her dress, and looked ahead — calm, composed, lips slightly parted from the taste of him.

Lindy leaned over, eyes locked on his, and whispered: “Do you know why I needed this?”

“Tell me,” he said in a low growl.

“Because I wanted to feel like the only girl in the world — even if just for twenty minutes in a Ferrari.”

“You’ll never forget me,” she said quietly.

Christopher glanced at her, breath still unsteady. “I couldn’t if I tried.”

And he meant it.

Cape Town International

The Ferrari glided into the drop-off lane at Cape Town International, its engine humming low as the sun kissed them through the tinted windscreen.

Christopher pulled to a gentle stop.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

The air inside the car felt like memory already.

Lindy looked down at her hands — fingers fidgeting just once before she stilled them. Then she turned to him.

Eyes wide. Clear. Unflinching.

“I wasn’t supposed to feel this much.”

He smiled faintly. “You were supposed to feel everything.”

She reached for his face. Touched his jaw. Ran her thumb just beneath his lip — like she was drawing him one last time.

“You reminded me I’m desirable.”

“You reminded me I’m not dead inside,” he replied, voice low.

They both laughed — the kind of laugh that breaks a heart in the softest possible way.

He got out first. Walked to her side. Opened the door.

And she stepped out.

Not as the girl from Thursday.

But the woman who had lived something only she would fully understand.

He pulled her close. Held her there.

And for a minute, they weren’t letting go.

Not yet.

It wasn’t frantic. Or wild. Or hungry.

It was slow. Full.

A kiss that said: I’ll carry this with me.

When it ended, she leaned into him one last time.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For making me feel like I was the only girl in the world.”

He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “You were.”

After Lindy disappeared into the terminal crowd — her ponytail the last flicker of her — Christopher lingered outside the doors for a breath, collecting himself. Grounding what had just happened not as fantasy, but something real.

Then he stepped through the sliding glass — hands in his pockets — into the warm buzz of departures.

There they were. The others.

Aubrey. Melany. Jade. Ana. All of them now clustered near the airline check-in. Carry-on luggage stacked. Boarding passes in hand.

They looked up.

Saw him.

And something passed between all of them.

A quiet pause.

A full smile from Jade.

A slight bow of the head from Ana

A half-salute from Melany, lips curved with understanding.

And Aubrey…

She stepped forward.

He opened his arms. She fell into them.

They didn’t say much.

Just held each other.

Longer than anyone else would have.

“You okay?” she whispered.

He nodded. “You?”

A breath. A smile. “Still trying to believe any of it happened.”

He touched her chin. “Don’t ever stop.”

A kiss on the cheek — firm. Final.

He hugged each of them. One by one.

And then stepped back, hands raised in mock surrender.

“Safe travels, ladies.”

“You too, Christopher,” Melany said — her voice warm and settled.

Jade grinned. “Try not to cause any more emotional chaos this week.”

He winked. “No promises.”

As they moved toward security, he watched until they disappeared.

Then he turned. Walked out.

The air was cooler now.

The weekend was over.

But it would live inside every one of them — loud, soft, bold, and unforgettable. Exactly like it needed to.

Erinvale Driving Range | 4:30 PM

The sun hung low over the Helderberg mountains, the light warm and liquid gold as it washed across the range.

The grass was freshly cut.

The sound of ball after ball being cracked into the horizon echoed in rhythm.

Christopher stood alone at the far end — glove half-fastened, sweat on his brow, a 7-iron in his hand.

He wasn’t focused on his grip. Not his swing plane.

Not even the damn target.

His mind was nowhere near the flag.

He’d been quiet all afternoon.

No calls.

No texts.

No messages.

Just silence, sun, and muscle memory.

But inside? Chaos.

He replayed the weekend in pieces:

Lindy — dancing topless on the yacht, kissing him at 200 km/h, needing him like a fire needs oxygen.

Melany — always in control, until she wasn’t. The promise she whispered at Helena’s. The heat of her breath when she said goodbye.

And Aubrey — the one who hadn’t needed to seduce him to own him.

The way she held him that night.

The way she looked away at the airport… then looked back.

He hit another ball.

High. Clean. Centered.

But he didn’t see it land.

Because the question wouldn’t leave his chest:

He set down the club. Rested his forearms on the handle. Exhaled.

His phone buzzed in the bag behind him.

He didn’t check it.

Not yet.

Because he already knew.

This story wasn’t done.

Not even close.