Austin
I glare at the flight information on my screen. Every commercial flight to Wyoming: booked. The lone option? A private jet, poised to whisk me back to the place I've struggled to escape.
The Carters' fingerprints smudge this arrangement. The airline refuses to disclose the plane's owner, but I'd wager my last dollar it's Cortland's.
Cortland f*****g Carter. The man who obliterated my heart and vanished when I needed him most. Now he schemes to swoop in on his gleaming private jet and mend everything?
A humorless laugh escapes me. Typical of him to corner me, to force my hand. He knows I'm cornered if I want to return to my family, to my sanctuary.
But if he expects me to make this smooth sailing, to collapse into his arms with forgiveness, he's sorely mistaken.
I'm no longer t
