The hum of the jet engines was a lullaby of luxury — soft leather seats, the muted clink of champagne glasses, and the glow of sunset spilling through the oval windows. Alexander Pierce, a man whose name adorned skyscrapers and headlines alike, reclined beside his wife, Elena.She laughed at something trivial — a story about a Parisian waiter who’d mistaken her for a movie star — and for a moment, the world was simple again. Alexander’s eyes lingered on her, memorizing the way the sunset gilded her dark hair, the sparkle of mischief in her hazel eyes.They were flying home from Santorini, wrapping up what had been meant as a new beginning — their third attempt at repairing a marriage frayed by years of distance and ambition.