Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 1089

Chapter 1089: Chapter 1089

Rose smiled, brushing hair from Grace’s face. "You will."

The kiss was gentle at first, sweet, almost tentative. But it deepened quickly, pulling Grace under like the river beside them. She didn’t resist. She couldn’t. Her body moved on its own, desperate and aching. When they returned to camp, the fire had died down. Only Jude remained awake, standing with his arms crossed.

He saw the way Grace walked now. Like she floated. He saw how she brushed her fingers along Zoey’s back, how she leaned into Natalie’s neck, how she kissed Layla without hesitation before slipping into one of the hammocks.

"She’s gone," Sophie said behind him.

Jude nodded slowly. "We’re losing them too fast."

Stella came next.

It was subtle, like a gentle tide. She had always been affectionate, always eager to touch, to hold, to tease. But after one afternoon spent alone with Natalie in the eastern part of the woods, she returned glowing, eyes glassy, voice lower.

She kissed Jude that night with more intensity than usual, her fingers trailing over his skin with a hunger that made his breath catch. He tried to pretend it was just her love. Her passion. But when she pulled back and whispered in his ear, "We can be so much more," he knew she’d changed.

Even her laughter had shifted, richer, darker, fuller.

That night, they made love under the stars, Stella riding him slow and deep, her eyes never leaving his. Her touch was divine, her rhythm maddening, and for a moment, he forgot everything else. He surrendered to her completely. Afterward, as she curled into his chest, he almost convinced himself it was all in his head.

Until she whispered, "She’ll come for Sophie soon."

And smiled.

Now only Sophie, Emma, and Stella remained near Jude that morning. The others moved together like they shared one soul. Rose was their center, always smiling, always watching. They cooked together, bathed together, swam together. Even when they walked, they did so in rhythm.

"They’re a hive," Sophie said, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. "And you’re next."

"No," Jude said. "They can’t have me."

"You still sleep with them."

"I love them."

"Do you love me?"

He took her hand. "More than anything."

"Then don’t let me go," she said. "No matter what."

The words hit him hard.

That afternoon, Stella took Emma into the woods. Susan followed a little later. When they returned, Emma was smiling again.

Too wide.

Jude’s chest went hollow.

Only Sophie was left.

Only her.

That night, Rose called for a fire gathering. She wanted everyone present. The wives danced again, their bodies moving in perfect time. They pulled Jude up, wrapped themselves around him, kissed his cheeks, his chest, his lips.

Sophie stood back, watching, her expression unreadable.

Then Rose stepped forward and took Sophie’s hand.

Everything stopped.

Sophie’s lips parted, her eyes meeting Jude’s.

And then, in perfect silence, she let Rose pull her close.

Jude didn’t breathe.

They stood toe to toe.

Rose leaned in.

Sophie didn’t move.

And just before their lips touched,

Sophie turned and ran.

Jude’s heart stopped for a moment, caught between hope and dread as Sophie vanished into the trees. The firelight flickered in his periphery, casting wild shadows across the others’ faces, those faces he once knew intimately, now so changed, so perfectly beautiful they were unnatural. They didn’t chase Sophie. They just stood, quiet and still, as if her sudden escape had been anticipated. Rose’s expression didn’t falter. She simply turned back to the others and offered that slow, dreamlike smile, her lips curving with gentle amusement, like she knew the end of the story already.

He stepped away from the circle, his breath shallow, fists clenched. None of them stopped him. They didn’t have to. He felt their eyes on him, soft and knowing, like they already owned parts of him. He pushed through the dark undergrowth, branches scraping against his arms as he ran. The thick hum of the island buzzed in his ears, louder than ever, as if the very land was aware of what had just happened.

"Sophie!" he shouted into the trees.

No answer. Only the rustle of leaves and the distant echo of water rushing in the ravine beyond.

He found her near the river, her back against a tree, arms wrapped tightly around herself. When she looked up, her face was pale, her eyes rimmed with unshed tears, but she hadn’t cried. Not yet.

"She tried to kiss me," Sophie said quietly. "She almost had me."

"I saw," he said, kneeling beside her.

"It was like something inside me wanted to give in. Just... melt into her." Her fingers dug into her arms. "I don’t even know what stopped me."

He touched her cheek, grounding her. "It was you. You stopped it."

"I don’t think I can again."

Jude pulled her into his arms. She clung to him fiercely, and they stayed like that for a long moment, the sound of the river crashing nearby, a steady rhythm that mirrored their thudding hearts. His lips found hers, not out of hunger, but out of desperation, out of love. Their kiss was raw, real, filled with the last flickers of normalcy they still clung to.

That night they didn’t return to camp. Instead, they curled up in one of the old hidden shelters near the ridge, something they’d built long ago for emergencies. Jude lit a small fire and wrapped blankets around them. They lay pressed together, skin against skin, her legs tangled with his. The warmth of her body, the way her fingers slid across his chest, the soft sighs that left her lips, it was all so human. So untouched by whatever had claimed the others.

He made love to her slowly, reverently, savoring every breath, every shiver, every kiss. Their bodies moved in rhythm, not practiced like the others, not perfect, but real, intimate, trembling with emotion. When they finished, she lay curled against his chest, her fingers tracing lazy circles on his stomach.