Elena's POV

I turned my head slowly.

He was looking at his tablet again. Not at me.

I took the pillow without saying thank you and shoved it between my elbow and the armrest. The relief was immediate. I hated that it was. I hated that he had noticed. I hated that he had done something useful without asking permission or expecting a reaction.

I kept my eyes on the seatback in front of me and counted the minutes.

Turbulence hit without warning somewhere over the Rockies. The plane dropped hard. My body lurched sideways. My injured arm slammed toward the seatback. Before I could brace, a hand closed around my wrist,firm, careful, exactly strong enough to stop the motion without adding pressure to the wound.

I froze.

His fingers were warm. Calloused at the tips in a way that didn’t match the suit. Our eyes met. His expression hadn’t changed at all.

“You’re welcome,” he said.

I pulled my wrist free. “I didn’t say thank you.”

For half a second the corner of his mouth moved. Not quite a smile. Something sharper. Then it was gone and he was looking out the window like the conversation had never happened.

I turned away, heart beating too fast for no good reason, and stared at the seat in front of me until the plane leveled out. My wrist still felt the ghost of his grip. I rubbed it once with my good hand and then stopped, angry at myself for noticing.

I didn’t mean to fall asleep.

One minute I was watching the clouds turn gold at the edges, the next my head was resting against the cold window and the cabin lights had dimmed. When I woke, my arm was elevated on something soft that wasn’t the thin airline pillow. His suit jacket,dark, heavy, still carrying the faint scent of expensive cologne and clean fabric,was folded carefully between my elbow and the armrest.

He was staring out the window, profile sharp against the fading light. If he noticed me looking, he gave no sign.

I left the jacket where it was. Asking questions felt dangerous. Talking to him felt worse. I shifted carefully so the jacket stayed in place and pretended I was still asleep until the captain’s voice came over the speakers announcing our descent into San Francisco.

We began our approach.

The stranger’s phone rang again. He answered with the same quiet authority as before. This time I caught a name that made my stomach drop.

“…Hawthorne’s people are already moving. Damien is not going to sit still once the announcement hits.”

I turned my head before I could stop myself.

He ended the call and met my eyes. No surprise. No apology.

“Do you know Damien?” I asked. My voice came out quieter than I wanted.

He studied me for a moment. “Everyone in our world knows Damien Hawthorne.”

That was all he said. Then he looked away again, as if the conversation had used up its allotted seconds.

I sat very still for the rest of the landing. The name sat between us like a third passenger. Damien. Always Damien. Even here, thirty thousand feet above the ground and three thousand miles from New York, his name still found me.

The wheels touched down. People stood and reached for overhead bins the second the seatbelt sign chimed off. The stranger stood first, tall enough that he had to duck slightly under the bulkhead. He didn’t look at me when he stepped into the aisle. I waited until he was several rows ahead before I stood and gathered my things. The jacket was still folded on the armrest. I left it there.

Lucas and Samantha met me near the jet bridge. Lucas took one look at my face and frowned.

“What happened?”

“Nothing. Long flight.”

Samantha’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t push. We collected our bags in silence and followed the signs toward the exits. The terminal in San Francisco felt brighter than JFK.

Wider windows.

Cleaner light. I kept my injured arm close and walked between them like they were bookends holding me upright.

Outside, the California air was warmer. The sky was a soft, clear blue that didn’t match the gray weight still sitting in my chest.

Then I saw him.

Dad.

He stood near the curb in a dark jacket, his hands buried in his pockets as he scanned the crowd. The moment his eyes found me, his entire expression changed.

Relief came first.

Then his gaze dropped to my sling.

The relief disappeared.

“Baby.”

I barely had time to smile before he crossed the distance between us and pulled me into his arms.

I closed my eyes.

For a moment, I wasn't a woman whose relationship had just fallen apart. I wasn't the fiancée ,whose fiance chose another woman over her and I wasn't the daughter who had left New York with a broken heart and a wounded arm.

I was just Dad's little girl again.

His hand cradled the back of my head, careful not to touch the injured side.

“You're home,” he murmured against my hair. His voice was rough.

“You're safe. That's all that matters.”

My throat tightened.

I wrapped my good arm around him and held on longer than I meant to.

“I missed you.”

He pulled back just enough to look at my face.

“I missed you too.”

His eyes searched mine.

“What happened to your arm?”

I glanced down.

“It's nothing serious.”

His eyebrows pulled together.

“Elena.”

That one word was enough to make me sigh.

“I'll tell you when we get home.”

He stared at me for a moment, clearly unhappy with the answer, but instead of pushing, he gently touched my cheek.

“Okay.”

Then he kissed my forehead.

“But you're not dealing with anything alone anymore. Understand?”

I nodded.

Behind us, Lucas cleared his throat dramatically.

“Are we invisible?”

Dad laughed for the first time.

He opened one arm, and Lucas immediately stepped into the hug.

Samantha rolled her eyes.

“Fine. Apparently I'm the only one who doesn't get a welcome.”

Dad reached for her next.

“Come here, troublemaker.”

She laughed as he pulled her in.

For the first time in days, warmth spread through my chest.

This was home.

Not the mansion.

And not Damian.

This.

My family.

Lucas messed up Dad's hair as he pulled away, earning an offended look.

“Still doing that?” Dad asked.

“Still too slow to stop me.”

Samantha laughed.

I smiled.

A real smile.

And for three precious seconds, I forgot everything that had happened.

Then I looked past Dad's shoulder.

The smile disappeared.

The stranger from the plane was walking toward a black car parked a short distance away.

A driver in a dark suit opened the rear door for him.

Before getting inside, he turned.

His eyes found mine across the pavement.

For one long moment, neither of us looked away.

Then Dad's arm tightened around my shoulders.

His body went completely still.

The warmth vanished from his face.

“Why is Mr. Carter here?”