A scream rang out from the shoreline, slicing through the night and shattering Serena's thoughts.
She shot to her feet and bolted toward the sound. She wasn't alone—many of the guests, seasoned socialites used to literal and metaphorical storms, were quick to follow.
After all, Hugh had hired dozens of bodyguards, so they had all let their guards down. But now, with panic in the air, curiosity and concern had them moving fast.
As they reached the edge of the coast, a group of young women stumbled toward them, clutching half-empty bottles and clearly drunk out of their minds.
Serena reached them first and caught one woman just before she fell.
"What happened?" she asked.
"There's… There's some creep inside! We didn't want to drink in our rooms since they were being searched, so we took the wine to the beach cabin. But before we even got inside, someone grabbed my foot…"
"I-I was so scared! And there was a woman in there too, just... yelling nonstop," another girl added.
Their words were a chaotic mess, but the message was clear enough.
A few of the nearby men stepped forward, seizing the chance to look brave in front of their dates.
"Whatever it is—man or ghost—I'll handle it!"
"Are you kidding me? This is Mrs. Larson's birthday celebration. Whoever's messing around has a death wish."
After exchanging glances, the men marched toward the cabin.
Serena's eyes narrowed.
That was Cole's cabin. No way. Was Cole really drunk enough to harass random women?
She moved quickly to stop the men, thinking it best to let Hugh deal with Cole before things got out of hand and the Larson family name ended up in the mud.
But before they could reach the door, a high-pitched moan burst from the cabin. "Ahhh—Cole, you're amazing!"
Silence fell.
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