The ocean stretched endlessly around them, a canvas of blue blending into the distant horizon, where the shimmering water kissed the sky. The luxurious Riva 85 Opera Super cruised gently under the afternoon sun—its sleek, silvery hull cutting across the Pacific with elegance and power.
This wasn't just a boat.
This was the Rolls-Royce of yachts, handcrafted with Italian precision. Opulence wrapped in ocean breeze.
On the sun-drenched forward deck, Taylor Swift, in a soft pink bikini, leaned back on a recliner, sipping chilled sparkling water. Beside her, Elizabeth Olsen, in a white halter two-piece that highlighted her ivory skin, was flipping through a fashion magazine—though her eyes often drifted to the yacht's helm.
To Ryan, who stood there shirtless, wind in his hair, gripping the wheel.
His open red flannel shirt flapped in the wind, revealing a perfectly sculpted chest and eight-pack abs. Aviator shades obscured his eyes but added an unmistakable edge to his otherwise refined, East-meets-West face.
"Babe!" Taylor called, smirking. "Come rub sunscreen on us?"
Ryan turned, flashing a half-smile. "With pleasure."
Taylor waved him off. "No, no. Start with Lizzie."
Elizabeth blinked. "I—what?"
Taylor just winked. "I had my fun last night. Sharing is caring."
Elizabeth blushed. But she didn't object.
She turned onto her stomach, hiding her face in her arms. Ryan knelt beside her, squeezing a dollop of sunscreen into his hand, and gently began massaging it into her back.
Her skin was unbelievably soft, like warm silk under his touch.
And smooth—so smooth that his fingers glided over her like she was made of porcelain.
Elizabeth tensed slightly, lips pressing together as the heat of his palms moved down her shoulder blades. Her ears flushed pink. Then, red.
Taylor, ever the chaos agent, leaned over and started teasing.
First, she pinched Elizabeth's butt playfully, earning a muffled squeal.
Then she tugged Ryan's collar and pulled him into a deep, mischievous kiss—right in front of her best friend.
Elizabeth peeked, wide-eyed.
Chaos.
This was chaos.
Ryan chuckled, lips still warm from Taylor's kiss.
Then she whispered something in Elizabeth's ear.
"See? I told you. Now you know why I needed help."
Elizabeth bit her lip.
Because yeah, now she knew.
Then, Taylor "accidentally" nudged Elizabeth... and she toppled right into Ryan's arms.
He caught her, of course—like it was instinct. His arms were firm and secure. Their faces, close. Her breath caught.
Their eyes met.
And in that moment, she stopped pretending this was weird.
It just… made sense.
The three of them ended up nestled together on the rear deck—Taylor on one side, Elizabeth on the other, while Ryan casually cast a line off the yacht's edge.
There were a few rods set up for sea fishing, more for fun than sport.
Sun above, water below, and beauty on either side—Ryan wasn't sure if life could get better.
Taylor and Elizabeth talked in hushed, giggling tones, gossiping about Hollywood like teenagers at a sleepover.
Names Ryan recognized floated in and out of the conversation—directors, actors, shady producers.
Apparently, even Oscar winners had some... spicy secrets.
He laid back and enjoyed the warmth.
But then—jingle-jingle!
The fishing bell rang.
They all sat up.
"Hey! We got one!" Taylor exclaimed, jumping off the recliner.
Ryan grabbed the rod, pulling it from its holster. But the moment he tugged—
"Nope," he muttered. "Not a fish. Feels… off."
Elizabeth tilted her head. "Sea junk?"
"Maybe. Or something big and weird."
He began reeling it in, using his enhanced strength and focus. The object tugged harder than expected—he was using a 10-point Strength stat, after all.
As he pulled, something large and bulky broke the surface.
Not a fish.
Not a log.
A sealed, square package—wrapped in thick, black plastic with a strange strap around it.
"What the…" Ryan frowned.
Taylor stepped closer, squinting. "Is that… cargo?"
Elizabeth's expression grew wary. "Ryan… that's not just ocean trash."
The wrapping was too clean. Too precise.
And the strap—it was military-grade.
Ryan grabbed a long pole with a hook and managed to drag the package onto the deck. It landed with a wet thud, water dripping from its sides.
He squatted, examining it.
Taylor leaned over his shoulder. "Is it ticking?"
Ryan gave her a look.
"No ticking," he said. "But this isn't something I want on a fishing trip."
Elizabeth stepped back. "Should we call the coast guard?"
Ryan shook his head. "Not yet."
He pulled out a utility knife from the storage box and carefully slit the package open.
Inside—sealed tight in more plastic and insulation—were brick-shaped bundles. A smell hit them immediately.
Even with the layers.
"…Is that what I think it is?" Taylor asked.
"Yeah," Ryan muttered. "Coke. High grade."
The kind worth millions.
They stared at the package.
And then at each other.
"Well," Taylor finally said, biting her lip. "Looks like this vacation just got… complicated."