Maven and Adrianna were born on opposite sides of a century-old feud-two scions of rival dynasties steeped in pride, power, and revenge. He's fire. She's ice. Their worlds were never meant to merge, yet fate orchestrates their collision with unrelen...
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"Are you really sure about this?" I asked, trying not to smile. "Skipping that party at Valk just to sneak out of town with me?"
It was four in the morning, and we were at NAIA, lined up for travel tax and terminal fees. My suitcase dragged at my right hand, Maven's fingers intertwined with my left. We moved like fugitives through the fluorescent-lit corridors, adrenaline humming beneath our skin. This wasn't just a trip—it was an escape.
The moment I said yes, I knew there was no turning back.
"I'm always sure when it comes to you," he said, his voice low as we approached the immigration counter. He had his documents ready—passports, return tickets, a printed hotel confirmation. Everything planned.
We boarded our flight, settling into the fourth row of Business Class. I took the window seat. Outside, the runway lights glowed like stars scattered across black velvet.
I caught my reflection in the window—hazel eyes soft, lips slightly parted. I didn't look guilty. I looked content. Peaceful. Maybe even radiant. And that surprised me.
What we were doing—this secret trip, this reckless choice—should have made me feel ashamed. But it didn't. It made me feel alive.
The thrill of it reminded me of being sixteen again, sneaking out at midnight, creeping past creaky floorboards, holding my breath as I slid the front door closed behind me. Then bolting down the street with laughter in my throat and the wind on my face. Freedom tasted the same. Maybe even better now.
The only difference was this time, Maven was running with me. He had whispered plans and backup stories, and in every detail, I felt like a Bond girl to his smooth-talking 007.
The plane began to taxi.
Maven clicked his seatbelt, then leaned over to fasten mine. His silver Rolex glinted under the cabin lights as he worked the latch. His fingers brushed my hip, then found my cheek with a featherlight touch.
"I still can't believe I've kidnapped you for two days and a night in Hong Kong," he murmured.
My heart did a somersault.
I grinned. "You can't kidnap someone who said yes, Attorney."
The cabin lights dimmed. The engines roared to life. I reached for his hand again, a silent question hanging between our fingers. Was he nervous, too?
He looked at me, his lips curling in a secret smile. The kind meant only for me.
As the plane took off, a flight attendant handed us additional immigration forms. I stared at the blue-and-white card, feeling the finality of it settle in my chest.
This was it.
. .
Hong Kong International Airport gleamed under stark white lights—sterile, polished, and bright enough to feel like a hospital. Still, there was something enchanting about it. Maybe it was the knowledge that no one here knew who we were.
