The soft hum of the private jet masked the storm of thoughts racing through my mind.
I was suspended in a cocoon of silk and warmth, the heavy weight of a duvet pressing me down into a lap that felt like a fortress.
I didn't need to open my eyes to know who held me.
The scent of sandalwood, expensive tobacco, and something uniquely Kieran enveloped me. His arms were wrapped around my waist with a grip so tight it bordered on desperate, as if he expected me to evaporate into the thin air outside the cabin window if he dared to loosen his hold.
Every few minutes, I felt the soft, ghost-like brush of his lips against my temple. A "peg"—a silent, repetitive reassurance that I was real. That I was back
I stayed still, pretending to sleep, because the peace of this moment felt too fragile to break. For weeks, I had been a doll, a prisoner, a prize. But here, in the dim light of the cabin, I felt like a woman again.
Eventually, the weight of his gaze became too heavy to ignore. I shifted, my eyes fluttering open to find him watching me. He looked exhausted—dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his jaw was shadowed with stubble—but the way he looked at me was as if I were the sun itself.
I carefully sat up, sliding off his lap. The movement made the duvet fall away, revealing that I was wearing a simple, soft cashmere sweater and leggings.
The wedding dress was gone. Dante's choice was gone.
I stood on shaky legs and headed toward the small, marbled bathroom of the jet, needing to splash cold water on my face.
"You're awake."
His voice was a gravelly rasp that made me jump. I turned to see him sitting upright, his eyes tracking my every movement with a predatory intensity.
"I... yes. A few minutes ago," I whispered, clutching the doorframe. "I thought you were asleep."
Kieran stood slowly, his tall frame nearly hitting the ceiling of the jet. "I'm never in a deep sleep, Aurielle. You should know that by now."
A small, sad smile touched my lips. "Right. I forgot."
I looked down at my clothes, smoothing the soft fabric. "You changed me."
"I did," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "I couldn't stand the sight of that dress. I burned it."
He stepped closer, his presence filling the narrow space until I was trapped between him and the bathroom door. His hand reached out, his thumb grazing my cheek. "I had the flight attendant help me wash you. I needed to scrub his scent off you. I needed you to smell like us again."
But then, his touch faltered. His eyes darkened, the ice in them turning into a cold, flickering fire.
"He said things, Aurielle," Kieran murmured, his breath hot against my forehead. "In the mansion. He talked about... how he looked at you. How he claimed you. Tell me the truth. Did he touch you?"
I looked down at my feet. He already knew the answer.
He took a sharp breath. Before I could speak, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, white handkerchief. He began to rub my arm, then my neck, then my jaw. He wasn't being rough, but he was frantic—cleaning me again, as if he could erase the very memory of Dante's hands through sheer force of will.
"Kieran, stop," I whispered, catching his wrist. "It's enough. You can't rub it away. But it's over. I'm here. I'm yours."
I pulled him into a hug, burying my face in his chest. He stiffened for a heartbeat, then collapsed against me, his arms winding around me so hard I could barely breathe.
"I thought I lost you," he choked out into my hair.
I didn't know he cared this much. We were never a love story. Our relationship was a cold business arrangement, a contract marriage.
We were two strangers sharing a last name.
Being taken from him—being locked away, hunted, almost married to another man—did something terrible to my heart.
I hadn't just missed my son; I had missed him. I had yearned for his coldness, his shadows, the way his presence felt like a cage I finally realized I wanted to live in.
Was this it? I wondered, my heart hammering against his. Did we have to be torn apart to realize we were falling... falling in love?
We stayed like that for a long time, then, Kieran pulled back just an inch. His expression had shifted from grief to something sharper. Something lethal.
"There's something else," he said.
I looked up at him, confused. "What?"
"When were you going to tell me?" he asked, his voice dangerously calm. "When were you going to tell me that Adrien is my son?"