Abandoned on a Deserted Island, Loved by Its Master

At the next second someone ripped away the black cloth over my head. I gasped for air like someone who had just pulled from drowning, each breath sharp and desperate.

What greeted me was an unfamiliar sight. I was no longer on the ship. Before I stood an island in the middle of the ocean and in the middle, there was a luxurious and exquisitely designed building.

"Behave! Stop gawking!" A sailor next to me raised his hand, as big as a palm frame, swung hard toward my face and landed squarely at my face.

Stars danced before my eyes and the metallic tang of blood filled my mouth. I tried to stay conscious and struggled to open my eyes.

When I finally opened my eyes, I saw the familiar pink swing. It was the very same swing that Travis Nelson had personally designed for me several years ago.

This place turned out to be the same island that Travis promised to give to me. Back then, he’d begged me to accept it, but I had always refused. I never thought I’d end up dragged here today as a prisoner.

What was the connection between Travis and those treacherous sailors?

“Is this Tranquil Island?" I asked.

The sailor beside me frowned suspiciously. He then asked, "How do you know its name? This island isn’t open to outsiders.”

The name "Tranquil" was the name Travis had chosen personally. It was the combining of parts of me and his name together.

“I’m Quilla Shepard, Travis Nelson's lover! Let me go, now!” I declared, mustering every ounce of courage.

For a moment, some of the sailors hesitated and talked to themselves, “How does she know about Mr. Nelson being the island’s owner? Could she be telling the truth?”

However, others quickly laughed it off, "Are you serious? Everyone in the network had heard about Mr. Nelson wanting to gift this island to Quilla Shepard at that time. She must’ve read it online back then.”

“Looks like she’s so scared she’s spouting nonsense, even claiming to be his lover! Are you dreaming?”

I shook my head furiously in desperation. "I'm Quilla! I’m not lying! Call Travis and he’ll confirm it!”

I racked my brain, trying to search for proof, something, any interaction with him that would convince them. Yet, the more insisted, the more they dismissed my words, believing that I was telling a lie.

One of the burly men even spat in my face. “Take a good look at yourself in the mirror. You think someone like you could be Quilla?"

"Do you want us to call Mr. Nelson, the island owner? Do you know how busy he is? Is it possible for just anyone to contact the island master?”

“Probably just another woman who wants to be seen by the owner and throw herself at him.”

"Ah don't say that. By the way, her body is quite nice. We can use her to entertain guests at the banquet."

Their leering gazes sent a chill down my spine. I wrapped my arms tightly around myself with a pale face and pleaded, “You can’t treat me like this! I really am Quilla. I can prove who I am!”

I searched frantically on my body but I fell into despair when I realized that one of the crew had smashed my mobile phone and my ID card was not in my body because it was still in the cruise shop.

“I have my ID on the cruise! Check it and you’ll see I’m not lying!” I finally said desperately.

Regret clawed at me. If only I’d shown my face online before, someone might recognize me as the once-famous online singer. How else could I prove that I was me?

That's right! My voice! My voice is my signature.

“You can match my voice! You all should know my account! While I never showed my face, my voice is unmistakable!”

Unlike most, my vocal range was extraordinarily wide, my timbre was unique and versatile. No one had ever successfully imitated my singing style.

One sailor, skeptical but curious, pulled out his phone.

“Search for my song, ‘Breath", " I said as my eyes lit up. "I can sing it right now. No one else can perform it the way I do!”

This song, "Breath", had intricated vocal technique. It became a viral challenge among music bloggers. However, none had managed to replicate my style.