Milla and Rowan

The Blackwood Tower elevator descended in silence.

Rowan stood with his hands clasped loosely behind his back, a posture of patience, of control. Beside him, Mila Ivers scrolled through her phone with the aggressive focus of someone who refused to admit they were nervous.

She wore similar cream silk blouse from yesterday, tailored trousers, heels that clicked against the marble lobby like a metronome counting down to something.

She came prepared to fight, Rowan thought. Not to leave.

Neither of them spoke as the town car pulled up. He opened the door. She slid inside without looking at him.

The airport was a private one, small and unmarked, the kind that existed in the margins of maps and never appeared in flight trackers. Mila didn't comment on it. She also didn't comment on the Gulfstream waiting on the tarmac, sleek and gray, no visible registration.

"Subtle," she said finally.

Rowan inclined his head. "Yes Miss, it's better that way."

"Mila".

"Call me Mila".

---

The cabin smelled of leather and cold air.

Mila chose a seat facing forward, by the window. Rowan took the one across the aisle—close enough to monitor, far enough to grant the illusion of space. He watched her run her palm over the armrest, testing the quality of the leather like she was assessing a potential purchase.

"Don't you need to, I don't know, file a flight plan?" she asked.

"It's filed."

"To where?"

He didn't answer immediately. The engines hummed to life beneath them, a low vibration that settled into the bones.

"Lisbon," he said.

She blinked. "Lisbon."

"Yes."

"I thought it was a private island or something, Lisbon?!."

"Their journey is long, different destinations, Lisbon is simply first... Mila".

The words felt strange in his mouth, he wanted to keep repeating it, playing with it on the tip of his tongue

"Why?, He's definitely better than that!"

That snapped the stoic Rowan out of his trance.

"Because Mr. Blackwood has assets there. Information we need before we approach."

A pause. Then:

"I know you're not lying but I have a feeling you don't tell everything."

"Just let me take you where you want to go Milla.

Rowan said nothing more. That was answer enough.

Mila studied him for a long, quiet moment. He expected her to push, to press, to demand the full itinerary and every justification. Instead, she turned back to the window, watching the runway lights blur as they began to move.

"You know," she said, her voice lighter now, almost conversational, "when I pictured my first private jet experience in the Blackwoods, I assumed there'd be champagne."

"I can arrange that."

"Don't bother."

The plane lifted. The city fell away beneath them, a scatter of gold and shadow.

---

They were at cruising altitude when Mila spoke again.

"So what's your deal?"

Rowan looked up from his tablet. "My deal?"

"Yeah." She'd kicked off her heels, tucking her feet beneath her. The posture was casual. The gaze was not. "You work for a man who buys people like handbags. You manage his secrets, clean his messes, probably know where the bodies are buried. And yet."

He raised an eyebrow

"You don't seem like the type who needs a boss."

"Everyone serves someone," he said, quickly bringing his eyes back to his tablet.

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I have."

Mila tilted her head. "really?"

He didn't respond. After a moment, she shrugged, pulling a cashmere throw from the seat beside her.

"Fine. Keep your tragic backstory." She draped the blanket over her legs, adjusted the seat to recline. "But for the record, I don't think you're what you seem.- I'll find out, I promise."

She smiled. "Shame the circumstances we're in, you would make a good catch". She smirked, naughtiness swirling in her eyes.

"Sweet dreams Mr Rowan" She whispered softly.

Rowan watched her close her eyes. Watched her breath slow, her features soften.

He didn't respond.

He also didn't look away.

This woman... She was trouble, she would break him.

---

She woke three hours later, disoriented, the cabin dark except for his reading light.

"Where are we?" Her voice was rough with sleep.

"Approaching Lisbon." Rowan said lightly, slightly tired himself.

She sat up slowly, pressing the heel of her hand against her temple. Her hair had come loose from whatever careful arrangement it had been in—a few dark strands falling across her cheek. She didn't seem to notice.

"How long did I sleep?"

"Long enough."

She made a sound, half scoff, half something else. "You don't sleep?"

"I'm not a big sleeper."

"mhm"

The plane began its descent, the angle shifting, the pressure changing. Mila gripped the armrest, her knuckles whitening.

"Nervous?" he asked.

"I don't like landings."

"But the flying doesn't bother you."

"Flying is fine. It's the stopping I object to."

He watched her hands. Watched the tension in her jaw. He reached out, held her hands, besides himself.

"I won't let anything happen to you," he said.

The words came out before he could stop them.

Mila turned to look at him. The cabin was dim, but he could see her clearly, the sharp intelligence in her eyes, the guarded surprise, the faint, unwilling softening at the corner of her mouth.

"That's very romantic Mr," she said. "For a man who's technically kidnapping me."

"Technically, you agreed to come."

"Technically, you manipulated me into it."

"Technically—" He stopped. Almost smiled. "Yes."

She stared at him. Then, against all odds, she laughed.

It wasn't her sharp laugh, the one she used as armor. It was quieter. Genuine.

"You're so strange Rowan," she said, between laughs.

He recovered.

"Well" He retracted, "I'm glad I was able to make you feel better about the landing, We're here".

---

The car that met them was black and unmarked. The driver didn't speak. Mila watched Lisbon slide past the window—tiled facades, narrow streets, the glint of the Tagus River in the distance—and said nothing.

Rowan's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen.

Status?

"Arrived, safely" he typed.

"Good, have fun Bro"

Rowan almost rolled his eyes, he was forced to babysit a grown woman, all alone, now the one who assigned him the job was telling him to "have fun".

Behind the screen, Adrian smiled at his phone.

"What's so funny?"