"Cleo..." Seth whispers, our breaths mingling as his thumb slowly traces my lips, maintaining eye contact. I watch him swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. His eyes dare me, and the pulse in my pants surges. Suddenly, our lips crash toge...
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For the entire week, Cleo stayed in her room, only coming out to eat. It was as if she was actively avoiding me, and it gnawed at my insides. I figured she was still a bit shaken by what happened, and I couldn't help but worry. She wasn't her usual sarcastic self. Meanwhile, while Cleo trapped herself in her room, I spent my time trying to piece together the connection between Zion and the Gambino family, assuming it had something to do with the shooting at the Gala. The only thing I managed to dig up was that Zion had been selling drugs for them. But what I couldn't figure out was why the hell the mafia would help him with his petty revenge against Cleo. The mafia didn't just do favors out of the kindness of their hearts—so what were they getting out of it?
I step onto the jet, Cleo's bags slung over my shoulder. The sleek interior gleams under the soft cabin lights, and the faint hum of the engines fills the space. Cleo saunters in behind me, barely glancing at the lavish surroundings. She's too busy scrolling through her phone, already in her own world. I drop her bags on the seat across from her as she settles in, taking her sweet time. This was the most put-together I'd seen her all week—her hair piled up in a big curly bun, and she was wearing some kind of pink... Lulu Lemonade set? No, Lululemon, or whatever she calls it. That, with slides.
"Are you going to stand there or take a seat?" she asks, not even bothering to look up.
I take the seat across from her, dropping into the soft leather. The interior of her jet is sleek, with polished wood paneling that reflects the warm cabin lights. There are six plush seats arranged in pairs, all cream-colored and looking like they've never been touched. A small table to the side holds a basket of fresh fruit, snacks, and bottles of champagne lined up like an afterthought. A large screen is mounted to the wall, It felt more like a lounge than an aircraft.
I lean back in the seat, glancing at Cleo as she scrolls through her phone. She's been distant, and after a week of barely seeing or talking to her, I figure I should at least try to break the silence.
"You always this quiet on flights?" I ask casually, leaning back.
She doesn't even look up. "Depends on the company."
I smirk. "Oh, do I bore you?"
Cleo lets out a small huff, finally glancing up at me. "You said it, not me."
I chuckle, shaking my head. "So, who's keeping you so busy over there?"
She rolls her eyes, holding up her phone like it's obvious. "Ethan. He's been texting nonstop for days."
I can't explain the surge of anger that hits me when she mentions his name. My jaw tightens, fists clenching without me realizing it. There's this possessive protectiveness flaring up inside me, and I don't trust him. Something about Ethan just doesn't sit right, and it ignites this instinctive urge to keep him away from her.
I force myself to swallow whatever's rising in my throat, clenching my jaw.
"Ethan, huh?" I tried to keep my tone casual, but the words came out tight. "Sounds like he's really... involved."
