The air near the hanger was thick with jet fuel, old money, and the weight of secrets I wasn’t ready to carry.
Jack’s hand rested lightly on my lower back... guiding, possessive, effortless... and I hated how my skin leaned into it like a traitor.
My heels clicked against the polished runway like they had purpose, but I was floating, drifting, slipping into an unrehearsed scene I hadn’t dared dream this far through.
And then I saw him.
Ryan.
He was leaning against the railing of the open-air balcony attached to the lounge, dark jeans, white button-down sleeves rolled to his forearms like a goddamn movie poster for “Brooding But Dangerous.”
No cameras. No security. Just him.
And he looked like Jack...
But he wasn’t.
There was something cooler in his posture. Rougher in the edges. H
