Emily's decision hit like lightning — sudden, electric, and utterly irreversible.
She stepped toward the jet.
The photographers went berserk again, flashes popping like fireworks, voices a tide of questions. Alexander's hand landed at the small of her back, guiding her up the stairs with the calm of someone who'd survived a thousand press storms. She let him. She let him because her legs felt like jelly and because — and because — she didn't know what else to do.
The door shut behind them with a soft click that sounded final. The silence inside was almost as loud as the chaos had been outside. Emily stood in the entryway stupidly, like a woman who'd walked into someone else's life and couldn't find the exit.
Through the windows she could still see the photographers, lenses aimed like little guns. "They'll lose interest once we're airborne," Alexander said, reading her stare. "Tabloid photographers have very short attention spans."
She heard him. Barely. Her focus was on the cabin. It looked like a hotel suite someone had designed while laughing at poor people. Cream leather seats — huge, ridiculous — mahogany panels, crystal glasses held in holders that might as well have small price tags on them.
"Welcome aboard," Alexander said, amused in that way that made her want to slap him. "What do you think?"
"I think I've made a terrible mistake," she whispered, feeling the words scrape out.
"The only mistake would have been walking away." He moved, fluid, seat claimed. He belonged here. Of course he did. He always fit perfectly into things that weren't made for people like her. "Sit wherever. We'll be airborne in minutes."
She chose a seat opposite him, sank into leather so soft it felt like a lie. A flight attendant appeared — immaculate, rehearsed — offering champagne in crystal flutes that split the morning light into tiny, sharp pieces.
"Too early for champagne," Emily muttered.
"It's never too early for Dom Pérignon," Alexander said, like it was the most obvious sentence he'd ever spoken. He accepted a glass as if it were water. "Celebrate. You just made the first intelligent decision of your adult life."
Condescension. Sharp. Hot in her throat. "Getting into a vehicle with a man who's essentially kidnapping me is—what, intelligent?"
"You got on voluntarily, Emily. Don't rewrite history before we've even left the ground."
The jet rolled. She gripped armrests as they taxied. She'd flown before — commercial, cramped, crying babies, cramped overhead bins. This was different. Smooth, quiet, like a secret hummed under the skin of the world.
"Nervous?" he asked, watching her with those patient, dangerous eyes.
"I don't like flying," she lied. Terrified. Not of the plane. Of him. Of what she'd just done. Of what she might become.
"You'll get used to it," he said, assured, as if he'd already decided she'd come around. "Private planes are addictive."
They lifted. The ground fell away and New York shrank into a tidy map. Her apartment, the center, the tiny life — it all looked smaller, like something she could fold up and put away.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Alexander's voice softened, almost hypnotic. "Most people never see the world like this."
She turned. He watched her. "Is that what you think I've been doing? Looking at my feet?"
"You've been surviving." He said it like a diagnosis. "Not living."
It landed. Too true. How many bills had she juggled this week? How many nights had she eaten instant noodles so the kids could have school lunches? When had she last done something just because it made her heart light?
"There's nothing wrong with having priorities," she snapped.
"No." He agreed. "But it's tragic when they're so small."
Before she could answer, the cockpit door opened and another man slipped out. Tall. Sun-kissed hair. Easy smile. Not Alexander's cold sharpness. Warmth. Immediate, like sunlight through an open window.
"Alexander," he said with a slight European lilt. "I thought I heard voices back here."
"Emily, meet Sebastian Moreau." Alexander's tone was oddly flat. "My business partner."
"Sebastian, this is Emily Chen."
Sebastian's smile widened. He looked at her in a way that made her cheeks heat. "Enchanted," he said, moving closer in that casual, confident way men do when they're used to being liked. "I didn't know Alexander had invited such lovely company."
She felt something — a small, guilty relief — at being treated like a person for a second. "I wasn't aware I was invited," she said, trying for lightness.
"It was last-minute." Alexander's voice had an edge that made Emily glance over.
Sebastian sat beside her, too close in the generous cabin. "How refreshing," he said. "Alexander usually fills his trips with boring executives. You are definitely an upgrade."
She found herself smiling. His attention felt different — uncomplicated, honest maybe. "I work with at-risk youth in Brooklyn," she said, watching him. Waiting to see if he'd sneer.
He didn't. "How noble," he said. "I admire people who actually help others. Much more meaningful than our usual corporate games."
From across the aisle she heard Alexander set his glass down harder than necessary. "Sebastian," he said, low. "Don't you have calls?"
"They can wait." Sebastian's eyes didn't leave hers. "I'm more interested in getting to know our mysterious guest. Ever been to Napa?"
"No. Never."
"You're in for a treat. Autumn's stunning." He smiled like he meant it. "I'd love to show you a vineyard or two."
Emily felt a real smile — the first of the day — tug at her face. Sebastian's warmth was simple, almost kind. "That sounds lovely."
"Sebastian." Alexander's voice cut through. Sharp. "A word. Now."
Sebastian hesitated, then rose. He and Alexander moved toward the front in low conversation. Their tone shifted — quick, tense. Emily could feel it: the room cooling. Sebastian's posture tightened. Alexander's voice dropped to that dangerous register she'd learned to dread.
When they returned, Sebastian avoided her. He planted himself at the far end of the cabin and hid behind a laptop. Alexander reclaimed his seat and leaned in. Closer. Closer than anyone had a right to be.
"Is everything alright?" she asked, though asking felt naive.
"Everything's perfect," he said, smile sharp. "Sebastian needed a reminder about professional boundaries."
She felt cold. "What did you say to him?"
"Nothing that concerns you." He leaned forward, elbows on knees, invading her space purposefully. "Tell me, Emily. Do you always flirt with men you just met?"
It was a punch. "I wasn't flirting."
"No?" He listed it as if cataloguing evidence. "Smiling. Laughing. Accepting wine-tasting invitations. What would you call it?"
"Being polite," she shot back. "Unlike some, Sebastian actually has manners."
Alexander's smile turned slow, hungry. "Sebastian thinks a lot of things. Most of them will get him in trouble."
The implied threat slid under her skin. "Are you threatening him?"
"I'm protecting what's mine."
She bristled. "I'm not yours."
He leaned back, studying her the way a man studies a painting he intends to buy. "Aren't you? You're on my plane. Wearing clothes I'll be paying for. Heading into a weekend I planned. When do you stop being yours and start being mine?"
Horror flared hot. "That's not how relationships work."
"This isn't a relationship. It's an acquisition," he said like a bored executive. "I saw something I wanted. I took steps. Now it's a question of how smoothly the transition goes."
She called him insane. He called himself practical.
Outside, the California hills rolled up to meet them — green and neat, vineyards like patchwork. They began to descend. The plane hummed softer; her ears popped.
He moved to the seat beside her. Close enough that she could feel the heat through cashmere. Close enough that his breath brushed her ear.
"From this moment on, you're mine," he murmured. Low. Hypnotic. Cleanly cruel. "The sooner you accept it, the easier it'll be."
She wanted to scream. Wanted to tell him to take her home. To shove him down the aisle and run until she dropped. But words dried in her throat when she met that dark look in his eyes.
Below them, the wine country spread out — beautiful, alien, full of quiet danger. Emily realized, with an exact, cold clarity, that she wasn't flying toward a weekend. She was descending into his world. Rules would be different there. Stakes higher.
And even while everything in her mind was screaming no, a small, traitorous part of her — curious, stubborn, furious — wanted to see what those rules looked like up close.