The Gulfstream G700 landed with a velvet whisper on the private Malé airstrip, its sleek white frame gleaming under the sun as it rolled to a gentle stop. The tarmac was quiet, cleared in advance, and the moment the jet door opened, the scent of warm salt air spilled into the cabin, laced with frangipani and sea breeze. Kingsley stepped out first, sunglasses in place, his linen shirt fluttering lightly in the breeze. He turned and offered his hand to Katherine, who descended the jet stairs with quiet grace, her cream travel set hugging her like it had been tailored by angels. The sunlight kissed her skin, and for a second, Kingsley just looked at her — like he was reminding himself she was real. Waiting for them at the base of the stairs was a white-uniformed Maldivian host, smiling warmly. Behind him gleamed the next leg of their journey — a custom-designed, gold-trimmed seaplane, its sleek form resting on the water so clear it was hard to believe it wasn’t glass. “Mr. Rowe, Ms
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