I’d rather be getting railed by a chainsaw right now.

That’s the first thought in my head as I step onto the private jet, dreading the next four hours trapped with both Devereux brothers.

I should be happy. I am happy to an extent. Uncle Ben’s birthday means I get to go back home, see Nico, breathe familiar air. But I know this entire trip is just a ruse, an excuse for Adrian to gather both families under one roof, likely to discuss another power move disguised as a celebration. Uncle Ben doesn’t even like extravagant birthday parties. If he had his way, he’d probably spend the day fishing.

But of course, Adrian pushed for it. And when Adrian pushes, people move.

I adjust the strap of my bag, lifting my chin as I approach the jet’s entrance. Lucian is already there, waiting at the top of the stairs. His presence is a walking, breathing storm of dominance wrapped in a deceptively relaxed posture. He extends his hand to me.

I hesitate.

Not because I don’t want to take it, but because I do.

I slip my palm into his, and he pulls me up effortlessly. The heat of his skin sears into mine, and as we lock eyes, something electric crackles between us. It stretches, seconds, maybe just one, maybe a hundred. His scent fills my lungs, heady and warm, and I know if I stare for even a second longer, I’ll melt into him.

So I look away. Immediately. I pull my hand back and step past him without another glance.

Behind me, Cassian scoffs. “I didn’t see you stretch out your hand for me,” he teases.

Lucian doesn’t reply. He just heads for the cockpit. A moment later, his voice comes through the speakers, smooth and controlled.

“I’ll be your pilot for today.”

Cassian groans, buckling his seatbelt. “Great. Everyone strap in, we might die.”

I exhale, relieved. At least with Lucian up front, I won’t have to spend the flight actively fighting my body’s worst impulses.

So I do what I can. I close my eyes and try to sleep.

I don’t know how long I’m out before voices pull me back. A soft giggle. A flirtatious murmur. I don’t need to open my eyes to know what’s happening.

Cassian is flirting with the flight attendant.

Of course he is.

I don’t even flinch because it doesn’t surprise me, not one bit. He’s been cheating since the first day of our marriage, different girls, different staff members, even that one woman I keep seeing around. I’ve never questioned it, never called him out, because I understood the nature of our marriage. It was always a contract.

I stayed faithful, still. Some foolish part of me thought he’d at least be discreet. That he’d at least try to act with respect.

He doesn’t even bother covering his tracks.

And that, that, is what led me into Lucian’s arms in the first place.

When the flight attendant finally struts away, still smiling, I force my voice to remain neutral. “Cassian.”

He barely acknowledges me.

I exhale. “Please… Just try to be composed at my uncle’s celebration. I don’t want anything to go wrong.”

For a moment, there’s silence.

Then, slowly, he turns to me, expression blank. Cold.

“Are you talking to me?”

My stomach twists.

Cassian leans back, arms draped lazily over the chair, voice dripping with condescension. “You must be out of your mind if you think you have a say in anything I do. Maybe it’s time you learned your place.”

Heat flares in my chest, sharp and suffocating.

I bite my tongue.

There’s so much I want to say, but I don’t. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me snap.

Instead, I stand and walk away.

I head for the cockpit. The seat beside Lucian is empty. I don’t think, I just drop into it, closing my eyes and exhaling hard.

I feel him glance at me before he asks, “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say. “Just… plane sick.”

He doesn’t buy it. But he doesn’t press either.

Instead, he calls a co-pilot to take over and guides me out of the cockpit. I let him.

His room on the jet is minimalist, sleek. I already knew this was his private jet, I saw his initials on the exterior before boarding.

He opens a drawer, pulls out medicine, and hands it to me. “Take this. It’ll help.”

I nod, swallowing it dry. He hands me a water bottle, looking at me with amusement on his face. I take it.

I lower my gaze, aware of his eyes that are still on me, sharp and assessing. “You’re sweating,” he murmurs.

Before I can respond, he moves. He grabs a towel, dabbing gently at my forehead. His touch is featherlight, careful. He moves to my temple, then my cheekbone, then lower, down my neck.

I swallow.

He keeps going. Down. Lower.

“You get plane sick often?” His voice is soft, almost too soft.

I shake my head, my throat dry. “Not really.”

Lucian hums, his fingers brushing the hollow of my throat as he wipes away another bead of sweat. “First time on a jet this size?”

I exhale, forcing myself to focus on his words instead of the way his touch makes my skin burn. “No. I’ve been on plenty.”

His lips twitch like he’s amused by my stubbornness, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he tilts my chin slightly, his knuckles grazing my jaw. “You should’ve told me sooner,” he murmurs. “I could’ve adjusted the cabin pressure.”

The way he says it is so matter-of-factly, like it’s his personal responsibility to make sure I’m comfortable, makes my stomach twist in a way that has nothing to do with nausea.

“I’m fine,” I say, barely above a whisper.

Lucian doesn’t look convinced. He presses the back of his hand to my cheek, checking for warmth. “You’re still too flushed.”

I’m not sure if it’s from whatever he thinks is wrong with me or if it’s because his touch is completely unraveling me.

I’m burning.

Lucian’s hair is slicked back with gel, but a few strands have fallen loose, framing his face. His lips. God, his lips are pink, soft, so impossibly kissable.

I want to kiss him.

I shouldn’t. But I do.

And I know if we stay like this for even a second longer, I will.

Which would be catastrophic because Cassian could walk in here any moment.

I see it in his eyes. The way he’s looking at me, the way he’s leaning in, the way our breaths mix—

The door flies open.