Try to make me cry

Chapter 13: The Altitude of Isolation

The hum of the Gulfstream’s engines was a low, vibratory drone that seemed to rattle the very marrow of my bones. Inside the cabin, the air was pressurized and sterile, smelling of high-grade leather, expensive bourbon, and the cloying, sugary scent of Bella’s perfume.

I sat in the oversized cream leather armchair, my legs crossed carefully at the ankles to avoid the white-hot sting of the scrapes on my knees. I had shed my wool coat, leaving me in the charcoal silk jumpsuit that felt like a second skin—a cold, shimmering armor. My laptop was open on the mahogany pull-out table, the glow of the screen reflecting in my eyes, but I wasn't reading the spreadsheets. I was listening.

An hour into the flight, the initial theatrics had settled into a simmering, uncomfortable quiet. Eddie sat across the aisle, his navy jacket discarded, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that were tense with a strange, restless energy. Bella was perched on the edge of the seat next to him, her fingers constantly fluttering—adjusting her hair, smoothing her skirt, reaching out to touch his arm as if to reassure herself he was still there.

“I thought you didn't want me to come along, Eddie,” Bella’s voice drifted over, hushed and conspiratorial, yet loud enough to pierce through my focus. “What changed your mind? Were you trying to make your wife jealous?”

I didn't blink. I didn't even tap a key. I just watched the cursor blink on the screen like a dying pulse.

Eddie’s response was immediate and devoid of warmth. “She’s not capable of things like that, Bella. Not like you.”

The words hit me with the precision of a scalpel. Not capable. To Eddie, I was a finished product—a cold, unfeeling statue he had helped carve. He didn't see the fire beneath the ice; he only saw the ice and assumed the core was frozen solid, too.

“You’re coming because you have business with her mother,” he added, his voice dropping an octave, signaling the end of the flirtation.

I felt a sharp, metallic tang of dread in the back of my throat. Business? What business could a socialite like Bella Levert possibly have with the matriarch of the Ho family? My mother didn't do "business" with girls like Bella; she used them.

I leaned back, the silk of my jumpsuit rustling softly. I realized then, with a clarity that was both liberating and devastating, that I was a complete stranger to my own life. My mother had invited my husband’s mistress to her birthday. My husband was facilitating their meeting. And I was merely the ghost haunting the guest list.

A small, bitter smile touched my lips—one I made sure Eddie couldn't see.

It was peaceful, in a way. To be so thoroughly excluded meant I was no longer bound by the rules of their game. If I was a stranger in my own home, then I owed that home nothing. No loyalty, no grace, no mercy.

I looked out the small porthole at the endless expanse of blue-black sky. We were thirty thousand feet above the world, suspended in a vacuum of wealth and hatred.

“You’re awfully quiet, Maggie,” Eddie said suddenly.

I turned my head slowly, my long blonde hair shifting over my shoulder like a golden curtain. I caught him staring. He wasn't looking at my laptop; he was looking at the way I held myself, his eyes lingering on the sharp line of my collarbone and the bruise-like shadows under my eyes.

“I’m enjoying the silence,” I replied, my voice a soft, melodic contrast to the engine’s roar. “It’s a rarity in this marriage.”

Bella let out a forced, tinkling laugh. “Oh, Maggie, don't be so dramatic. We’re going to Hawaii! It’s a celebration.”

I didn't look at her. I kept my eyes on Eddie. “Is it, Eddie? Is that what we’re doing? Celebrating?”

Eddie’s jaw tightened. He looked like he wanted to say something—to snap back, to exert his control—but instead, he just reached for his glass of bourbon and took a long, slow swallow. He looked at me over the rim of the glass, and for a split second, the "Sculptor" mask slipped. I saw a flicker of something raw and unwanted in his green eyes. It wasn't anger. It was a dark, obsessive curiosity.

He was beginning to realize that the clay was starting to mold itself, and he had no idea what the final shape would be.

The cabin lights dimmed as we hit a pocket of turbulence. The plane shuddered, and Bella let out a small, performative gasp, clutching Eddie’s arm. He didn't look at her. He didn't comfort her. He just kept his eyes on me, even as the shadows swallowed the space between us.

I closed my laptop and closed my eyes, letting the darkness take over.

Business with my mother. I needed to find out what they were planning before we touched down on that sand. Because if they thought they could use Bella to break me in front of my family, they were about to find out that a Tyrant doesn't just survive a coup—she burns the palace down with everyone inside.

The wheels of the Gulfstream hit the tarmac with a jarring thump that vibrated straight through the soles of my feet. The roar of the thrust reversers drowned out the suffocating silence of the cabin, but it couldn't drown out the tension.

As the plane slowed to a taxi, the cabin lights flickered back to full brightness, cruel and unforgiving. I stayed seated, my fingers curled tightly around the armrests. My knees were throbbing now—a dull, rhythmic ache that reminded me of the pavement back home.

Across the aisle, Bella was already fluttering, reaching for her designer carry-on, her eyes bright with the prospect of the tropical sun. She looked at Eddie, leaning in close enough that her perfume—that cloying, floral scent—seemed to fill the entire row.

“Are we taking the same car to the estate, Eddie?” she asked, her voice a practiced lilt. “I’d love to see the coast with you.”

I watched them through the reflection in my darkened laptop screen. Eddie didn't move. He sat perfectly still, his hands resting on his thighs, his gaze fixed on the back of the pilot's seat.

“Bella,” he said. His voice was different now. It wasn't the tired tone he used with me, or the dismissive one he’d used earlier. It was a low, lethal vibration.

Bella paused, her hand halfway to her hair. “Yes?”

“When we step off this plane, you are a guest of the Ho family. Nothing more,” Eddie said, finally turning his head to look at her. His green eyes were like shards of emerald ice. “And a word of advice: if you care about yourself—if you value your reputation or your safety—do not speak to my wife. Do not look at her. Do not even exist in her line of sight unless you are forced to.”

Bella’s face went pale, the pink flush of excitement draining away instantly. “Eddie, I—I was just—”

“I’m not joking,” he cut her off, his voice dropping even lower. “Maggie isn't in a patient mood, and I won't move a finger to stop her if she decides to finish what she started in my office. Stay away from her.”

I felt a strange, cold shiver race down my spine. He wasn't protecting me; he was warning her about the Tyrant. He knew what I was capable of, and for the first time, it sounded like he was almost… proud of it. Or perhaps he just didn't want the paperwork of a dead socialite on his vacation.

I stood up before they could continue.

Good cause she's starting to get on my nerves.

I grabbed my cream wool coat, draping it over my arm, and smoothed down the charcoal silk of my jumpsuit. I didn't wait for them. I walked toward the exit, my heels clicking a sharp, solitary beat on the cabin floor.