𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 [18+]

- 49 -

Val moved through the house with that eerie calm of his - as if he's bored, or he's done this a thousand times before.

Like going on luxury getaways while the world burns was just another Tuesday for him.

Meanwhile, I was still standing there, brain glitching. Processing. Failing to keep up.

He packed with a precision that unnerved me. A duffel for him, two sleek suitcases already laid out for me on the bed. Clothes I hadn't seen in years. Designer pieces I didn't remember ever owning. A pair of white silk slips still had the tags on.

Like this had all been planned long before I ever said yes.

"You bought all this?" I asked, hovering by the door as he folded a cashmere sweater like it was a weapon.

His eyes didn't flick to me. "Yes, you like them?"

I opened my mouth and then closed, turning around. This motherfucker.

At 2:06 AM sharp, we left.

Not in a rush. Not in a panic. Just... left.

Black SUV. No noise. No security detail. No eyes.

I curled into the leather seat, watching the city dissolve into the blur of night. Val sat beside me, legs spread, one arm stretched behind my seat like he owned the road we drove on.

We boarded the jet like we were two lovers going on a nice summer vacation. The hum of the engines beneath us was the only soundtrack to our departure—our sanctuary taking flight.

No staff hovering. No manifest check. Just the slick sound of his boots on the tarmac and my breath catching as I followed him into something that didn't feel real.

The jet was quiet. The kind of quiet that felt expensive.

Cream leather. Gold-trimmed fixtures. Soft warm lighting that didn't sting your eyes but cocooned you instead. A plush reclining seat had already been prepared for me—blanket draped neatly, water bottle placed just so.

Val wore all black, of course. Simple black cashmere sweater, tailored slacks, a leather jacket with silver hardware glinting under the cabin light. Not a hair out of place. He didn't look like someone running. He looked like someone who knew exactly how this would go. Like he'd done it before.

I still had my phone. That part messed with me the most.

He hadn't taken it.
Hadn't smashed it.
Hadn't even looked at it.

"You're not worried they'll track me?" I asked, half curled into the blanket, my voice brittle from the wind outside.

A flight attendant strolls across, a huge smile on her face pushing a strolley with drinks and refreshments. "Welcome aboard, Mr. Lawrence and Ms. Lincoln, What would you like to drink?"