(Yvette POV)
The first thing that hit me when I stepped off the plane wasn't excitement.
It was noise.
Voices overlapped in languages I half-understood and half-guessed at, announcements echoing through the terminal with clipped consonants and rolling vowels. Luggage wheels rattled across polished floors. People moved with purpose—fast, unbothered, already late for somewhere else.
No one looked at me twice.
I stood still for a moment just past the gate, my carry-on at my feet, my passport warm in my hand.
For the first time in over a year, I wasn't introduced as anything.
Not Ms. Hamilton.
Not Acting CEO.
Not the adopted daughter of—
Just another woman standing in Charles de Gaulle Airport, blinking slightly as her body tried to catch up with the fact that it had crossed continents overnight.
I took a breath.
The air smelled different here. Cleaner. Sharper. Like rain and metal and movement.
At immigration, the officer glanced at my passport, then at me.
