The evening air was cool and quiet when they arrived at the airport.
Well—*not just any airport.*
Saphina's eyes widened the moment she stepped out of the car and saw the sleek, silver jet waiting on the private runway. Several more were parked nearby, each one gleaming under the floodlights like something straight out of a billionaire's fantasy.
Her mouth nearly dropped.
*"Oh my God,"* she whispered under her breath, blinking as she tried to take it all in. "He owns *these*?"
She looked at Tristan, who was already walking ahead, his expression unreadable as always, coat billowing slightly behind him.
*How much money does this man even have?*
One of the flight crew rushed over with a polite bow. "Mr. Moretti. We're ready for takeoff."
Tristan didn't slow down. He didn't even acknowledge the man with a nod. Just walked past him and up the jet's steps like he owned the sky itself—which, Saphina was starting to think, he probably did.
She hesitated a bit longer, still in awe of the interior once she stepped in.
Plush leather seats. Polished wood paneling. Soft lights. A minibar. Everything smelled like money.
She eased herself into a seat across from Tristan, who had already sat down and was adjusting his watch, not even sparing her a glance.
Just then, a beautiful flight attendant walked in—tall, curvy, and dressed in an outfit so tight Saphina half wondered how she was still breathing. Her red lipstick matched her painted nails, and the neckline of her top was low enough to threaten a wardrobe malfunction at any moment.
She walked over to Tristan, smile sweet as honey. "Mr. Moretti," she cooed, "Is there anything I can get you before takeoff?"
Saphina's eyes flicked between her and Tristan.
The woman's entire body language screamed flirtation. She leaned in slightly, clearly trying to get his attention.
But Tristan didn't even look up.
"*The usual,*" he said, voice low and indifferent.
The flight attendant blinked, lips twitching, clearly not expecting such a cold response. She straightened up quickly and turned to Saphina, her smile now noticeably less enthusiastic.
"And you, miss? Would you like something to drink?"
Saphina raised an eyebrow but offered a polite smile. "Uh, sure. I'll just take a glass of orange juice, please."
"Of course," the woman said, walking off without looking back.
Saphina glanced at Tristan, amused. "Does he always reject women that hard?" She asked herself .
Minutes later, the pilot's voice came through the cabin speakers:
*"Please fasten your seatbelts. We'll be taking off shortly."*
Saphina clipped hers in and looked out the window as the engines roared to life. The plane rolled forward, and before long, they were soaring into the clouds.
Once they leveled out, she glanced across at Tristan again.
He sat with his eyes closed, arms folded, calm and still—like a man made of stone. But even with his eyes shut, he radiated power. And… something else.
Saphina sighed softly, studying his face in the dim light.
*How can someone be so cold… and yet look like he was carved by angels?*
She didn't realize she was staring for too long until—
"Enjoying the view?" Tristan's voice cut through the silence.
Her face flushed. "I—I wasn't staring."
His lips twitched—just slightly. Not a full smile. But enough to betray his amusement.
"You were," he murmured. "You're just bad at hiding it."
Saphina looked away, embarrassed but smiling. "Well, excuse me for being human."
He just stared at her for a while and didn't respond. But the silence between them wasn't uncomfortable. In fact, it lingered in an oddly peaceful way.
For the rest of the flight, Tristan kept his eyes closed, but Saphina wondered if he was really asleep—or just avoiding conversation.
She didn't mind.
Something about being up in the air with him, away from the office, away from the pressure… it made her heart flutter.
---
* Moretti Mansion*
It was midnight. The grand halls of the *Moretti estate* were unusually quiet. With *Tristan* out of the country on a business trip, the air seemed too still, almost eerie. The guards on night patrol paced calmly, unaware of the storm lurking in the dark.
*Lorenzo Moretti*, the head of the infamous Moretti syndicate, stood by his study window, sipping aged whiskey. The quietness of the estate was almost soothing — until it was shattered.
*BOOM!!!*
An earsplitting explosion erupted from the *east wing* of the mansion. Glass shattered, alarms blared, and thick black smoke burst into the night sky, lighting it up with orange flames.
Not too far from the estate, in a black car parked on a hidden hilltop, a man watched the explosion through the tinted window. A cruel smirk tugged at his lips. He lit a cigarette calmly, watching the flames dance.
*"Tch,"* he scoffed, signaling his driver.
*"Let's go.This is just a cup of coffee… compared to what I'll do next."* Jack smirked
The car vanished into the night.
***
*Back at the Moretti mansion...*
The explosion had thrown the entire estate into chaos.
*"SOUND THE ALARMS!"* Lorenzo shouted, coughing from the smoke. *"Secure every corner of this place — NOW!"*
Guards scrambled in every direction.
Lorenzo bolted toward his daughter's room. Inside, *Liana* was curled up under her bed, eyes wide in fear.
*"Papa!"* she cried. *"What's happening?"*
*"No time to explain, cara. Into the safe room. Now!"*
He pulled open a hidden panel behind her wardrobe, revealing a secured elevator that led to the underground bunker.
*Meanwhile… in a different room of the house...*
*Adrian Moretti*, Tristan's younger brother, was sprawled on his bed, shirtless, headphones on, eyes locked onto his laptop screen — clearly watching *something inappropriate*.
Suddenly, the explosion shook the entire building.
Adrian yelped, flinging the laptop across the room. *"What the f**?!"**
He stumbled up, still half-naked, hair messy, squinting at the door.
A guard burst in, trying hard not to laugh. *"Sir! You need to get dressed! The house is under attack!"*
Adrian blinked. *"the fuck, I was in the middle of a very *intense* scene. Who the hell ruins a man's 'alone time' at midnight?!"*
The guard, dead serious, shouted, *"Sir! Pants. Now!"*
Adrian groaned, slipping on his trousers reluctantly. *"Who's bombing us now? The Girl Scouts?"*
He ran into the hallway, still buttoning his shirt, yelling, *"WHERE'S MY GUN?! And my... *snacks*?!"*
As he ranted, *Lorenzo* stormed into the hallway, smoke trailing behind him, his face red with fury.
*SLAP!*
Adrian staggered from the hit. *"OW! Jesus, Dad!"*
Lorenzo growled, *"You good-for-nothing brat! Quit whining and FIND OUT WHO DID THIS!"*
Adrian rubbed his cheek, muttering, *"All I wanted was peace and boobs... now we're playing 'Call of Duty' in real life."*
Lorenzo ignored him, already issuing orders through his comms. *"Double security! Secure the vault! Lock down the perimeter! And somebody check the east side — that blast came from there!"*
Adrian turned serious for a moment, finally realizing this wasn't a drill.
*"I'm on it,"* he said, pulling out his pistol and radio.
*"If anyone touches my wine stash, they're dead."*
With Liana safely hidden, Lorenzo returned to the main floor, eyes burning with rage.
Whoever dared strike the *Moretti family* would soon learn — you don't play with wolves without getting bitten.
---