Elena’s POV
I could’ve powered the entire jet we boarded that morning with my nerves.
I sat rigid in my seat, nails pressed into my palms, while Dax scrolled through his tablet like I wasn’t even there. His sharp suit jacket, his smooth posture—he was every inch the businessman, cool and untouchable. Not the man who once kissed me like I was the only air left in the room.
For once, he didn’t smirk. Didn’t flirt. Didn’t even throw me a single mocking glance.
And that, somehow, was worse.
Because the quieter he was, the louder my thoughts became.
I needed this job. That reminder was the only thing that kept me steady as the plane cut through clouds.
When we landed, the island looked like it had been pulled from a postcard—endless blue water, white sand, and palm trees
