The jet’s engines hummed beneath Enzo, but the sound did little to soothe the storm inside his chest. He sat by the window, the sky outside a blanket of nothingness, a reflection of the silence that had grown between him and Amelia. It hadn’t been long—barely a week since she flew out. But the weight of her absence settled on him like a curse he couldn’t shake.
He hadn’t slept.
Not really.
Not since she left.
Ale had noticed, but as always, said nothing. Enzo preferred it that way. No questions. No judgment. Only action.
But today even action felt futile. He had no plan. No cover story. No strategy.
He was flying out for a woman who had never been his—not really. Not in the way he wanted.
Enzo dragged a hand down his face, letting it linger over his mouth, as though it could muffle
