The wheels hit the runway with a violent shudder, and Lily startled awake in my arms.
For one suspended second, no one moved. Then the cabin filled with the ordinary sounds of arrival—seat belts clicking, overhead bins opening, phones chiming back to life, strangers stretching their arms as if the last few hours had not quietly split my life in two.
Beside me, Noah Whitman held his phone in one hand, his jaw tight.
Someone has been asking airport security where to find you.
The sentence echoed inside my skull.
“Who?” I whispered.
Noah didn’t answer right away. His eyes lifted toward the aisle, where passengers had already begun craning their necks to see him. A man two rows ahead pretended to adjust his coat while aiming his camera directly at us.
Noah leaned closer, his voice low enough that only I could hear. “Do you trust your ex-husband?”
A cold, humorless laugh nearly escaped me. “No.”
“Then we’re not walking through the main terminal.”
My grip tightened around Lily. “I can’t just disappear with you. I don’t even know you.”
His gaze softened, but the urgency didn’t leave his face. “You’re right. You don’t. But whoever is looking for you knew your flight, your name, and that you were traveling with a baby. That’s not casual.”
The line of passengers started moving. Noah stood, reached for my diaper bag, then stopped and waited for permission.
That pause—small, respectful, unnecessary for a man who probably owned half the city below us—made something inside me loosen.
I nodded. He took the bag.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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