Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 1569

Chapter 1569: Chapter 1569

He passed under a thick canopy, vines weaving like fingers above him, shadows dappling the forest floor. The scent here was softer - lavender and crushed leaves. He found her sitting at the base of a tree, arms around her knees, her hair falling over her face.

She didn’t look up when he approached. But she knew.

"I thought I’d be the last," she said quietly.

"You weren’t."

She glanced up then, eyes glistening. "I feel it too. All of it. But it scares me."

He knelt before her and touched her cheek. "That means you understand it more than you think."

Her breath hitched.

She leaned into his palm.

And when he kissed her, it was the gentlest one yet - like a promise whispered between heartbeats. She melted into him, her arms winding around his neck, her lips trembling as they deepened the kiss. He laid her back slowly into the moss, their bodies sliding together like two halves finally aligned.

She wept as he entered her, not from sadness, but from release. And he held her through every breath, every tremble, his touch reverent, his rhythm gentle. They made love in the hush of leaves, wrapped in shadow and light, surrounded by the scent of old wood and new growth.

When she came, she gasped his name and clutched him tightly, and he followed her into that quiet fall, both of them unspooling into the moss together.

A single white flower bloomed at their feet, glowing faintly.

"I was afraid I’d be forgotten," she whispered against his chest.

"You never were."

He left her sleeping beneath the tree, her hand on the flower, her breath slow and even.

Only two remained now.

He turned toward Scarlet’s path again - but she was already complete.

Which meant only one name burned brightest in his mind.

Sophie.

Her thread was tangled.

Not just distant, but knotted.

He followed it through twisting paths, thorns that brushed his skin but never cut, whispers that rose in the leaves - questions, doubts, truths unspoken.

She was at the cliff’s edge.

The same one where Rose had fallen so long ago.

Jude approached slowly.

She didn’t turn.

Her arms were crossed. Her stance tight.

"You’ve touched all of them," she said. "Loved them. Fucked them."

"Yes."

"You didn’t wait."

"I couldn’t."

She turned then, eyes fierce. "Why?"

"Because this isn’t about waiting," he said. "It’s about becoming."

Sophie stepped toward him, her breath ragged. "And what about me?"

He cupped her face. "You’re the one I needed to understand last."

Her expression crumbled - pain, fury, desire.

Then she kissed him.

Hard.

Teeth. Tongue. Everything.

He grabbed her waist and pulled her to him, and they collided like thunder. She clawed at his wrap, ripping it, dragging her mouth down his neck. He spun her around and lifted her up, pressing her back to the tree beside the cliff, her legs wrapping around him.

She gasped when he entered her, her head falling back, her voice raw.

He moved fast, fierce, every thrust an answer, every kiss a confession.

She clawed at him, bit his shoulder, whimpered into his neck. Her orgasm came like an earthquake - shaking her, splintering her.

And when he came, he shouted her name into the wind.

They collapsed to the grass, panting.

She turned her face into his shoulder.

"I wanted to hate you."

"You never could."

She didn’t argue.

Just held him.

And a red bloom sprouted by their joined hands.

He stood after a long time, naked, glowing, whole.

And then he felt it.

All twelve of them rising.

Each one awake.

Each one changed.

Their threads pulled toward him.

Back to the glade.

Back to the tree.

Back to the circle.

He began to walk.

And the island sang with every step.

He stepped into the glade just as the sun crested the canopy, casting gold through the swaying limbs above. The great tree that had once bloomed only faintly now burned with a radiant glow - its branches dripping with petals the color of flame, its trunk pulsing like a living heart. The clearing thrummed beneath his bare feet, and the moss whispered with every step: He has returned.

They were already there.

One by one, they had emerged from their paths and taken their places beneath the tree. Lucy stood first, radiant, her golden hair catching the morning light like spun fire. Emma leaned against a low bough, the silver sword resting across her shoulders. Grace sat cross-legged at the roots, her fingers gently weaving flowers from the moss that bloomed beneath her touch. Stella smirked up at him from where she lounged on a rock, her gaze full of heat. Zoey stood near her, blade strapped again to her thigh, wild and flushed. Scarlet hovered just at the edge of shadow, the blue glow still soft in her eyes.

Natalie reclined in the grass, damp curls brushing her shoulders, her body still dewy from the spring. Susan sat beside her, holding her hand, their fingers laced. Rose stood in the center, quiet and still, her body glowing like a flame wrapped in silk. Beside her stood Sophie, arms crossed again - but her posture no longer closed. She met Jude’s eyes and didn’t look away.

Emma was the first to speak.

"You’re glowing again."

Jude stepped forward, the light rising from his skin, soft but undeniable. "So are all of you."

Zoey rolled her neck, stretching like a panther. "I think we always were. We just needed to burn it off."

Grace giggled and touched her arm. "Or maybe we just needed to remember."

Rose raised her hands, and the glade fell still. Even the air paused.

"The ritual is complete," she said. "We’ve each touched him. He’s touched us. The island knows. We are no longer twelve women and one man."

"We are one," Lucy said softly.

"One rhythm," Emma echoed.

"One flame," Stella whispered.

"One breath," Grace added.

"And now," Rose said, her eyes gleaming, "we welcome the island’s answer."