Chapter eighteen

Chapter 18

 

Vivian Ashford hated commercial flights.

 

She hated the recycled air, the bland smiles from flight attendants, the way people slumped into their seats like cattle being transported instead of individuals with dignity.

 

She hated that no matter how expensive the ticket was, the experience still demanded patience and patience was not something she believed in.

 

She boarded late, deliberately, dragging her carry-on behind her like an accessory rather than luggage.

 

 

Heads turned as she walked down the aisle, not because she was trying to draw attention, but because attention followed her naturally. Her posture was upright, chin lifted, expression set in mild irritation as if the world around her was slightly disappointing.

 

Her seat was business class. Of course it was.

 

She sat, crossed her legs, and immediately flagged down a flight attendant before the seatbelt sign even turned off.

 

“I asked for sparkling water,” she said coolly. “This is still.”

 

The attendant apologized and hurried away.

 

Vivian removed her blazer, folded it carefully, and placed it beside her. Her movements were precise, controlled.

 

Nothing about her was careless, not her appearance, not her tone, not even her annoyance. The plane took off.

 

As the city disappeared beneath the clouds, Vivian leaned back and closed her eyes, but her mind remained active.

 

She replayed the airport incident with irritation, already filing it away as another example of incompetence she would never tolerate again. People had stared. Some had whispered. Let them. Being noticed had never harmed her.

 

What bothered her was not the confrontation.

 

It was the delay.

 

Time was valuable, and she did not appreciate having hers wasted.

 

The flight was long enough for boredom to creep in. She flipped through the in-flight magazine without reading a single word, rejected the meal without explanation, and eventually stared out the window, watching the clouds stretch endlessly.

 

She wondered briefly what awaited her with calculation.

 

 

How Darian will be so excited to  see her again…lol.

 

 

By the time the plane began its descent, Vivian was alert again, adjusting her hair, checking her reflection in her phone camera. She reapplied lip gloss, smoothed invisible creases from her trousers, and slipped her blazer back on.

 

She liked arriving prepared.

 

The moment the plane landed, she was already standing, ignoring the fact that half the cabin was still seated. She retrieved her bag, stepped into the aisle, and waited with visible impatience as others fumbled around her.

 

Customs was mercifully fast. Or perhaps people simply moved faster when faced with her stare.

 

When she finally exited the terminal, the first thing she noticed was the air.

 

It was different.

 

Warmer. Fresher. Laced with unfamiliar scents, fuel, heat, movement, life. She paused for a fraction of a second, allowing it to wash over her skin, lifting her face slightly as the breeze brushed against her hair.

 

The city hummed around her. Car horns in the distance. Voices overlapping. Energy everywhere.

 

Vivian inhaled deeply.

 

A slow smile curved her lips.

 

She stepped forward, heels striking the pavement with confidence, scanning her surroundings as if assessing territory. This place did not intimidate her. It intrigued her.

 

She reached into her bag.

 

Her fingers closed around her phone.

 

And as she lifted it, ready to make the call that would announce her arrival, the screen lit up in her hand.

 

Vivian Ashford picked up her phone.

 

 

 

 

_______________________________________

 

 

 

The Airbnb was quieter than Bella expected.

 

As soon as Darian unlocked the door and pushed it open, the noise of the street faded behind them, replaced by a calm, unfamiliar stillness.

 

 

The place smelled faintly of fresh linen and cleaning products, the kind of neutral scent meant to offend no one.

 

Bella stepped inside first, her heels clicking softly against the tiled floor, her eyes scanning the space with cautious curiosity.

 

It was tasteful. Minimal. Large windows, pale walls, a couch that looked too clean to sit on immediately. This was not a hotel. It felt personal in a way that unsettled her.

 

Darian walked in behind her and locked the door.

 

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

 

Bella set her bag down near the couch, exhaling slowly as the tension she had been holding since the flight loosened just a bit.

 

The trip itself had been strange, too quiet, too careful. Darian had barely touched alcohol, barely spoken beyond necessary instructions. She had noticed. She noticed everything around him now.

 

“You can take the room on the left,” he said eventually, loosening his tie. “I’ll use the other one.”

 

“Okay, Sir” Bella replied quickly.

 

She moved a few steps away, then stopped when she felt his eyes on her again. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, like there was something unsaid hovering between them.

 

“Bella.”

 

She turned.

 

“Yes Sir?”

 

Darian leaned against the counter, his expression unreadable. He looked like a man arguing with himself, as though whatever he wanted to ask sat dangerously close to something he had avoided for a long time.

 

“You seemed… tense on the flight,” he said slowly. “Especially earlier.”

 

Bella’s shoulders stiffened almost immediately.

 

“I was fine,” she replied, too fast.

 

His gaze sharpened. “You don’t flinch for no reason.”

 

She swallowed, folding her arms loosely across her chest. “Some people just don’t like flying.”

 

“That wasn’t flying,” he said. “That was when…”

 

His phone rang.

 

The sound cut sharply through the room, loud and intrusive. Darian frowned, irritation flashing across his face as he reached into his pocket,then stopped.

 

His phone wasn’t there.

 

Bella glanced down, then toward the kitchen counter. “You left it in the car,” she said, walking past him toward the door. “I brought it in.”

 

She picked it up from where she had dropped it earlier and turned back, extending it toward him. The screen was lit, vibrating insistently in her hand.

 

Darian hesitated.

 

For half a second, his eyes flicked to the caller ID. Whatever he saw there changed something in his face, something subtle but sharp enough that Bella noticed.

 

She handed him the phone.

 

“Thanks,” he muttered.

 

He answered the call immediately, not stepping away, not lowering his voice. Bella stayed where she was, pretending to be focused on unzipping her bag, though every nerve in her body had gone alert.

 

“Yes,” Darian said curtly. “who is this?”

 

A pause.

 

His jaw tightened.

 

“I don’t care how many times you checked,” he snapped. “That’s not what I asked you…who are you?”

 

Bella froze, her fingers stilling against the zipper.

 

There was another pause, longer this time.

 

Darian straightened slowly, his back going rigid as if the words coming through the phone had struck him physically.

 

“What?” he said quietly.

 

The air in the room shifted.

 

Bella looked up.

 

Darian’s grip on the phone tightened. His brows drew together, confusion bleeding into disbelief. He took a step away from Bella without seeming to realize it, his voice dropping.

 

His chest rose sharply.

 

“Say the name again,” he demanded.

 

Bella’s heart began to pound for reasons she couldn’t explain.

 

Darian’s eyes lifted slowly, unfocused now, like his mind had gone somewhere far from the room, far from the trip, far from her.

 

Then he spoke.

 

And when he said the name, it came out low, shocked, and unmistakably real.

 

“Vivian?”