flight attendant.
“Thank you, Marissa. I believe we can continue the flight now.”
The cabin gradually returned to normal, but nobody seemed interested in their newspapers anymore.
Darla sat silently in 4C.
For the first time in years, she had no influence, connections, or husband beside her.
Only the memory of five words she wished she had never heard:
“I own your company.”
And the flight had not even landed yet.
Jet engines hummed as Flight 2174 leveled above thick gray clouds. Darla Whitmore sat stiffly in seat 4C, unable to relax into the leather seat.
Her fingers dug into her designer bag until her palms began ache. every gaze in the first-class section seemed fixed upon her, burning with judgment and quiet mockery.
Three rows ahead, Evan’s silhouette was framed by the window light. He worked on his slim laptop, fingers moving with measured precision.
Darla stared at him,
