Catherine’s POV
I sat back down slowly, the empty wine glass still in my hand.
Marco was still standing in the aisle, dripping, waiting for me to crumble.
That was the plan, I could see it on his face.
He expected me to cry, to run to coach, to disappear so he and Isabella could enjoy the rest of their flight.
Instead, I set the glass down and looked at my sister.
“That bracelet.” I nodded at her bag.
“The three-million-dollar one.
I’m taking it.”
Isabella’s mouth dropped open.
“Excuse me?”
“For six years, I bankrolled his company.
My savings got that business off the ground, Isabella.
Every dollar he used to buy you that thing came out of my account first.” I held out my hand, palm up, steady.
“Call it a return on investment.
I’m cashing out.”
“You’re insane.” Isabella clutched the bag to her chest.
“This is mine.
He gave it to me.”
“He gave you my money in the shape of diamonds.” I didn’t blink.
“Hand it over, or I stand up right now and explain to this entire cabin exactly whose credit built Conti Tech.
I’ve got the bank records on my phone.
Want to find out how a viral flight story feels for your new little empire, Marco?”
Marco went pale under the wine.
That was the thing about a man like him.
He could lie straight to my face for six years, yet the moment his precious reputation hung in the balance, he folded like wet paper.
“Isabella.” His voice was tight.
“Just—give it to her.”
“What?”
“Give her the bracelet.”
Isabella looked at him like he’d slapped her.
But she yanked the box out of her bag and shoved it at me, her chest rising and falling fast, her eyes twitching with rage.
“Fine.
Take it.
It’s cheap anyway.”
It was not cheap.
We both knew it.
I slid the box into my purse and clicked the clasp shut.
Then I turned back to Marco.
“The fifty thousand.” I smiled at him, sweet as anything.
“For the seat swap.
You offered it.
I accepted.
I want the transfer before we land.”
“Catherine, that’s—” He glanced around the cabin, at the passengers pretending not to watch, at the flight attendant hovering with her tablet.
His voice dropped to a hiss.
“You can’t be serious.”
“You threw fifty thousand dollars at me to move seats five minutes ago like it was pocket change.” I smiled at him, and it wasn’t a nice smile.
“Suddenly it’s a lot of money?
Which is it?”
Isabella’s jaw was tight, her cheeks blotchy with color.
For once in her life, she had nothing to say.
Marco pulled out his checkbook.
His hand actually shook as he wrote it.
I watched him tear the check free and slap it into my palm like it physically hurt him to let go.
Fifty thousand dollars, signed, dated, mine.
“There.” His voice was ugly now, the polished boyfriend act gone.
“Happy?
You got your money.
Now do us all a favor and go sit in economy where you belong.”
“Enjoy the flight,” I said.
“Both of you.”
I tucked the check into my bag next to the bracelet, stood, and grabbed the strap over my shoulder.
I was done.
I didn’t need the last word.
I just needed to get away from him before the shaking in my chest turned into something I couldn’t control in front of a hundred strangers.
“Enjoy the flight,” I said.
“Both of you.”
I grabbed my bag and started down the aisle toward the economy curtain.
I could not bear to sit within arm’s reach of either of them for one more second.
“You can sit here.”
The voice came from across the aisle.
Low, unhurried, faintly amused.
The kind of voice that assumed the room would stop and listen, because rooms always did.
I stopped.
I saw him.
I hadn’t even noticed him during the whole scene.
That should have been impossible, because looking at him now, I couldn’t figure out how anyone could miss him.
He was big.
Not gym-big, just built on a scale that made the wide business-class seat look small around him.
Black suit, no tie, the top button open.
Dark hair, sharp jaw, a face carved out of something colder than skin.
He was looking at me, and only me, with a stillness that made the hair on my arms stand up.
He was dangerous.
I didn’t know how I knew that.
I just did.
It came off him the way cold comes off ice.
Then I noticed the seats beside him were empty—all of them.
He’d bought the entire row, just
I should have said no.
I opened my mouth to say no.
Marco chose that exact moment to open his mouth.
“Hey, buddy, mind your own business.” Marco let out an ugly little laugh behind me.
“She took her payout.
She doesn’t belong up here anyway.
Go on, Catherine.
Take your money and get back to coach where you belong.”
Heat crawled up my spine.
I turned to fire something back—
The man in the window seat lifted one hand.
Just barely.
Two fingers off the armrest.
That was all.
The flight attendant materialized at Marco’s shoulder in under three seconds.
“Sir,” she said, and every trace of her earlier warmth toward the man with the diamond bracelet was gone, “I’m going to need you to return to your seat and keep your voice down.
Now.
Or we’ll have security meet this flight.”
Marco blinked.
“I—what?
I paid to be up here—”
“Now, sir.”
The threat in it was unmistakable.
Marco’s face went from red to white.
He looked at the stranger.
Really looked, for the first time.
And whatever he saw made his throat bob.
He sat down.
He didn’t say another word.
The whole cabin, which had been buzzing with suppressed gossip a moment ago, went dead silent.
I stood frozen in the aisle, my heart doing something complicated.
Who was this man that a single flick of his fingers could turn an entire flight crew into his personal security detail?
“Sit,” he said again.
Every ounce of good sense I had left told me to walk away.
I sat down.
Marco grabbed Isabella and stormed off without a backward glance.
I watched them go.
His hand on her lower back, her leaning into him, the two of them walking off toward the pickup lane where I already knew a car would be waiting, because Marco always thought of the details when it was someone he actually wanted to impress.
I stood at the curb alone with my carry-on and hailed a cab.
I told myself I’d go home, shower, sleep, and deal with the rest of my life tomorrow.
Home, of course, was the old duplex apartment I called home—a cramped, aging place with a narrow staircase leading up to a tiny attic loft.
It wasn’t much, but I had nowhere else to go, and some stupid part of me still believed that family meant having somewhere to return to when the man you loved threw you away.
I should have known better.