Thalia and Vicious approached the private jet. Her bag strap slid slightly off her shoulder, and she adjusted it, trying to steady her heartbeat. Everything felt calmer… yet charged. Like the moment before a storm.
Just before they reached the jet stairs, Vicious slowed his steps.
"Thalia."
She stopped. "Yes?"
His gaze held hers, steady and unreadable.
"So… are things going to change between us when we get back home?"
She blinked, caught off guard.
"Change how?"
"You know how."
His voice dipped, softer. "Here, you've been close with me. Honest. Softer. I want to know if that disappears once we land."
She inhaled quietly.
"It's on you, boss."
He lifted one brow.
"On me?"
"Yes." She pointed her finger firmly.
"But I want our relationship to be strictly professional. So—"
She counted off her fingers.
"No teasing. No touching. No kissing. Not even a peck."
Vicious stared at her for three seconds.
Then he smirked.
"Mamacita… I can't promise you that."
Her jaw dropped. "Victor?"
"I plan to win you over," he said calmly. "I'm not pretending otherwise."
Thalia groaned.
"You are impossible, papacito."
He chuckled—a low, warm sound that curled down her spine.
"Thalia… where do you get your courage from? The way you talk to me—no one else speaks to me like that."
"Is that a compliment or a warning?"
"A confession," he murmured.
"I've never connected with anyone the way I connect with you. Not even those three idiots I call friends."
She laughed, light and surprised.
"Ohh— those three idiots are your friends."
"Unfortunately," he muttered, making her laugh even harder.
He opened the jet door and stepped aside.
"After you."
They walked in together—side by side.
The door shut behind them with a soft thump, sealing the world out. The jet's hum wrapped around them, warm and intimate.
Vicious placed a hand at the small of her back to guide her to her seat—light, respectful, but enough to make her breath stumble.
Thalia sat down quickly, hoping he didn't notice.
He noticed.
He sat beside her, stretching out long and relaxed, but with his gaze locked on her.
The flight attendant approached.
"Anything to drink?"
"She'll have orange juice," Vicious answered smoothly. "Fresh."
Thalia turned to him, stunned.
"How do you even know I want that?"
He didn't look away.
"Because you always order it in the morning."
"You… noticed?"
"I notice everything about you," he said quietly.
Her heart lurched.
She looked away before he could see her cheeks warm.
When the jet lifted into the sky, Thalia tried to keep herself still… but her fingers tapped nervously against her thigh.
Vicious watched it happen.
"You're tense."
"No, I'm not," she said quickly.
"You are," he insisted gently. "You always tap your fingers when you're nervous."
Her eyes widened.
"I didn't even realise"
He reached out and took her hand, stopping the tapping.
Warm. Slow. Firm.
Her breath caught.
He held her hand for a moment longer than necessary… then released it.
She turned toward the window, her heartbeat refusing to calm.
Vicious leaned back amused—but his eyes had darkened with quiet determination.
After a few minutes, Thalia spoke.
"Vicious?"
"Hm?"
"Earlier… before we left the hotel. When you told me to change my shirt."
She met his eyes.
"Why? What was wrong with it?"
Vicious froze for a fraction of a second.
He absolutely could not tell her the truth—that the shirt was too tight, too revealing, too dangerously distracting. That he had nearly lost his mind trying not to stare.
So instead, he cleared his throat lightly.
"It was too thin," he said smoothly. "The plane's thermostat can be unpredictable. I didn't want you catching a cold."
Thalia narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
"Really?"
"Yes," he said firmly.
"You getting sick isn't an option for me."
She looked away, shy.
"…Okay."
He hid a smirk.
If only she knew.
A sudden bump jolted the plane.
Thalia gasped and grabbed the seat.
Vicious reacted instantly leaning across the space, gripping her waist and pulling her slightly toward him.
"It's fine," he murmured, voice deep and close. "You're safe."
His hand stayed on her waist. His breath brushed her cheek. Her pulse tripped wildly.
"Y-you can let go now," she whispered.
He released her slowly—too slowly.
But the look he gave her afterward wasn't playful anymore.
It was intentional.
Clear.
Certain.
Thalia turned back to the window, but her chest felt tight.
Something inside her had shifted.
Not fully. Not loudly. But undeniably.
Vicious watched her, silent and patient.