Inside, the cabin is a world apart—plush cream leather seats, the subtle gleam of polished wood, champagne glasses perched in holders, the soft hum of engines idling in anticipation. I inhale, the scent of warm leather and polished metal filling my nose, a sharp reminder that this is real, not some dream spun from paper and longing. Trey moves beside me casually, as if he’s walked these isles a thousand times, but his eyes—those impossibly sharp green eyes—never leave me. He’s watching how I take it all in, every little reaction, the slight tremble in my fingers, how fast my chest rises. I clutch the armrest of one of the seats, the leather smooth beneath my palms, and for a moment I let myself imagine my old life—the shadows, the small rooms, the quiet fear—stretching and dissolving behind me. Ahead, the world is vast and full of impossible light, and here I am, perched on the edge of it, guided by him. My husband.
Trey gestures to one of the seats,
“Sit,” he murmurs, voice low. His green eyes catch mine, and I feel myself falter, a fluttering in my stomach like I’ve never felt before. Not quite butterflies…something sharper. My chest tightens, and I have to remind myself to breathe. I sink into the seat, the leather smooth beneath my fingers, my dress pooling perfectly around my legs. Trey slides in beside me, careful, yet there’s a tension in his shoulders I can sense—the same nervous energy that always seems to pulse beneath his calm exterior. He leans back, eyes scanning the cabin with a practiced ease.
“I can’t believe this,” I whisper. “I’ve never been anywhere like this.” Trey smiles, his eyes sparkling, brushing a loose curl from my face.
“I know. I’ve got you, Dove. Every step of the way.” His hand brushes mine, thumb brushing over my knuckles, and I feel a spark. A spark not born from fear, but from the excitement of being with him.
The engines begin the hum more insistently now, a low vibration beneath our feet. I glance down at our seats, the crystal glasses tucked neatly into holders, the soft carpet underfoot, and I realize this is the first time I’ve ever allowed myself to see the world without walls.
“Just…look, breathe, take it in. You’re free now.” I nod, exhaling, watching as he moves around the cabin, taking a bottle of champagne from a cold ice bucket and walking slowly back to me. A soft laugh escapes me, the anticipation in the air so thick its almost electric.
“It feels so… confusing. Like none of this is real.”
Trey slides back into the seat beside me, his presence folding around me like a warm shadow. Our eyes lock, and for a moment, the world shrinks until it’s just us—the hum of the jet, the subtle sway of the cabin, the fragile weight of something unspoken hanging between us.
His hand drifts along my arm, then my fingers, tracing without pressure, and my chest stutters, caught somewhere between awe and the strange, unfamiliar warmth of being utterly, completely seen.
“Does this feel real?” he asks, his voice low, almost hesitant.
I nod, but the words crumble on my tongue, turning to dust before they can form.
“Everything is just starting…for you,” he murmurs, thumb brushing the back of my hand. “We can leave Portland behind. Never think about the city again, if that’s what you want, Seraphina.” I cling to his hand, gathering my thoughts. “Ready?” he murmurs, a teasing lilt to his voice, though his eyes betray the weight of it. I nod again, heart pounding, and he squeezes my hand once, twice, as if anchoring me to the moment, and I know, impossibly, that no matter what happens in this strange new world I am now a part of, I am exactly where I am meant to be.
I feel the cabin shift beneath us, glasses clinking softly. Panic flares, quick and sharp, but his presence anchors me, his touch tethering my spirit to my body. The ground rumbles, the world tilts as we lift from the tarmac, the city shrinking beneath us, and I let out a small, awed breath, caught somewhere between fear and wonder. Trey glances at me, eyes softening,
“You’re going to be fine, Dove. I promise.” I let myself relax a little, resting my head back against the seat, eyes tracing Trey’s profile in the sunlight, the sharp lines softened by the glow. After a few minutes the plane levels out and Trey unclicks our seatbelts. His lips brush the side of my temple in a fleeting, intimate touch.
“Relax, baby. Whatever you need, I’m right here.” His gaze darkens with something I can’t quite name—desire, devotion, maybe both. The word settles over me like a spark sliding along my skin, and I can feel it deep in my chest. It’s intimate, tender, yet charged, and I know it’s meant just for me. My heartbeat stutters, my stomach flips in that delicious way that makes me want to lean closer, to feel him closer.
“When it’s just us, we don’t need to pretend, okay. We’re real. You’re just Seraphina, and I’m just Trey.” I swallow, heart hammering in my chest, letting his strong arm wrap around my shoulders.
God, that’s the problem though, isn’t it? How impossibly real this feels—how real he feels pressed up against me. I can feel the heat of him, the steady rhythm of his body, the pull of him everywhere. Maybe he feels it too. Or maybe I’m just setting myself up—for heartbreak I can’t even imagine.
A gentle touch grazes my shoulder, pulling me from sleep. Trey’s voice is soft, coaxing.
“Hey, Dove…we’re here.”
I blink, the world swimming back into focus. His face is the first thing I see—those green eyes warm and unguarded in the low cabin light. For a heartbeat, I forget where I am. Then his words sink in.
We’re here.
Los Angeles.City of Angels.
By the time he helps me from my seat, the air outside feels heavier—thicker—like it’s wrapping around me in a humid embrace. Gone is Portland’s chill; the California heat kisses my skin, carrying the faint trace of jet fuel and palm trees. The sun hangs low, spilling gold across the tarmac as I follow Trey down the steps, his hand in mine.
Two black SUVs wait nearby, polished to a mirror shine. A line of men in dark suits stand beside them, professional and alert. One steps forward, shaking Trey’s hand before nodding at me with quiet respect.
“Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Baker,” he says, voice low and clipped. “Everything’s been arranged as you requested.”
Mrs. Baker.
The word still sounds foreign.
I glance at Trey as we slide into the backseat of the car. He looks completely at ease, one arm resting across the seat behind me like it’s all perfectly normal. Trey radiates calm control, while I feel like I’ve fallen into someone else’s life.
Before I can even take in the skyline—those iconic palm trees, the sweep of the sun-drenched hills—we’re already climbing higher, winding through streets that glimmer with untold riches.
