Ceilings high enough that the heat has somewhere to go. Frangipani heavy in the air before you're fully awake. The sound of water before your brain has caught up. This is not a hotel — no lobby, no checkout, no one choreographing your experience from a script. Just a house that holds you at exactly the right distance from everything: far enough to think clearly, close enough to eat well, talk until midnight, and mean every word of it.
Ten bedrooms, ten bathrooms. Everyone gets their own door to close. Three rooftop terraces, a pool in the courtyard, a private gym, and a kitchen island long enough that nobody has to eat standing up. The ocean is a sixty-second walk.