We arriveat the private hangar in record time. No one says much. All you can hear are the sounds of rolling luggage, murmured instructions from the staff, and Worth’s clipped responses.
He didn’t look at me once on the drive there. Didn’t speak. He just stared down at his phone, scrolling, checking, refreshing, as if sheer willpower could keep Brianna safe through a screen. Every muscle in his body was coiled tight, like he was ready to spring into action but had nowhere to go.
By the time we board the jet, the weight of it all sits thick in the air. Griffin and Tiana take seats across from us, speaking quietly. I settle beside Worth, who’s still silent, somewhere far away inside his head.
When the plane begins to taxi down the runway and my heartrate picks up, he reaches for me. His hand finds mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles, like he’s done it a thousand times before.
My heart leaps, but this time, it’s not from the plane.
Even now, while he’s fighting some invisible war behind those stormy eyes, he still remembers I hate flying.
And that’s what messes me up the most.
The attraction is undeniable—has been since the start—but it’s moments like this that make everything harder to compartmentalize. Because for every cold stare, every clipped word, there’s this version of him who’s gentle, thoughtful, and protective in ways he probably doesn’t even realize.
It’s as if he can’t decide which side of himself he wants to be when he’s around me: the guarded CEO who keeps the world at arm’s length, or the man whose touch already feels like coming home.
I balancethe phone between my ear and shoulder while wrestling an armful of clothes into a suitcase that’s embarrassingly too small for my life.
“Mom,” I say for the third time. “Please breathe.”
There’s a beat of silence on the line. In the background, I can hear the distant hush of waves and the faint cry of gulls—sounds that tell me she’s probably standing on the balcony of their retirement rental in Florida, the ocean air doing absolutely nothing to calm her down.
“Iambreathing!” my mother replies, except she absolutely is not. “I’m just… processing. Mya, you gotmarried.In Paris.Without telling us.That’s not like you. You told us you were seeing your boss a few weeks ago. Are you—are you okay?”
My stomach twists out of guilt for blindsiding her like this.
“I’m okay,” I say softly. “I promise.”
There’s a shuffle and then a deeper voice joins in. “Mya?”
“Hi, Devon,” I exhale, dropping a handful of folded shirts into the open box on my coffee table.
“Did he pressure you?” he asks immediately. “Was this forced? Was there a prenup? Your mother is pacing a hole in the carpet and I?—”
“I wasn’t coerced,” I cut in gently. “No one forced me. Nothing bad happened. Yes, we have a prenup. No, I’m not in danger or being manipulated or secretly blinking SOS through the phone.”
My mom lets out a strangled half-laugh that still sounds suspiciously like panic. “Well, excuse us for being alarmed. Our daughter disappeared to Paris with her billionaire boss andcame back with ahusband.That’s not exactly a normal life progression, sweetheart.”
I sit back on my heels and glance around my apartment.
“Mom, I’m okay.”
“Why didn’t you tell us it was this serious?” she demands, gentler now. “We didn’t even get to know him, be mad about him properly, interrogate him at the dinner table, threaten him like normal parents.”
A puff of laughter slips out of me. “Trust me, Worth would probably survive the interrogation.”
Devon clears his throat. “Still wouldn’t mind having my turn.”
I tape a box shut. “You’ll get it. I promise.”
There’s another pause, as if they’re both trying to read between the lines.
Mom’s voice softens. “Are you happy?”
I look at the suitcase.
“Yes,” I admit. “It’s… complicated. But I don’t regret it.”