NOAH
The transition from the cabin of a private jet to the terminal floor felt like stepping between two different dimensions.
We moved through a private section of the airport... a place designed specifically to ensure people like Cassian Wolfe never had to brush shoulders with the general public.
There were no crying infants, no frantic travelers checking monitors, and no endless security lines. Instead, there were sleek, charcoal-gray hallways, silent escalators, and security personnel who didn't just nod, but practically bowed as Cassian strode past.
I followed a half-step behind him, my legs still feeling the phantom vibration of the flight. Relief should have been the only thing I felt. I was home.
After nearly a month of being buried under the weight of Cassian's impossible demands, the grueling site inspections in Spain, the glitz of a gala that turned into a nightmare, and the jagged trauma of Alex's betrayal, I was finally on familiar soil. I was safe.
