Chapter 2

I didn't dignify Briar's venomous taunt with a response. I merely raised a steady hand and wiped a single stray tear from my cheek.

It was no secret how Kian's flight crew viewed me. In their eyes, I was nothing more than the pathetic, second-rate consolation prize.

Maren Corvin had once been Trans-Aero's undeniable golden girl, the most glamorous flight attendant to ever walk the aisle. Everyone assumed she and Kian were the aviation world's ultimate power couple—right up until Maren unceremoniously dumped him for a tech billionaire she'd charmed in First Class.

Kian had only married me on the rebound, a desperate band-aid for his shattered ego.

A sharp ache twisted in my chest, but it wasn't heartache anymore. It was pure, icy clarity.

If the two of them resented my existence so deeply, if I was truly just a nuisance standing between them and their epic, star-crossed romance, then letting them share a dramatic, watery grave was the least I could do.

The jet shuddered violently, dropping in a stomach-churning freefall. I gripped my armrests until my knuckles turned white, bracing myself as the cabin tilted at a terrifying angle.

The first officer's voice crackled frantically over the PA system, barely cutting through the shrieking turbines. "Brace for water landing! Passengers with secured flotation gear, proceed immediately to the deployment slides!"

Panic erupted. The aisle became a chaotic blur of screaming passengers moving toward the emergency exits. As I turned my head, a shadow fell over me.

Kian.

He stood above my row, his captain's uniform rumpled, shielding Maren behind him. He looked down at me with a sickening mixture of rage and panic.

"Why the hell did you have to follow me, Soraya?" he barked, his voice cracking under the pressure. "I put a ring on your finger, didn't I? What more do you want from me? Because you had to play the jealous, clinging wife and steal a seat, we are short one emergency survival vest. What exactly am I supposed to do now?"

I stared up at him.

The last time we lived this exact moment, I had dissolved into hysterical tears. I had begged him to explain why the woman he swore was in his past was hiding in his cockpit.

Instead of answering, he had strapped his own safety vest onto me, shoving me out of the aircraft so he could play the tragic, self-sacrificing martyr.

Now, looking at the two of them—Maren cowering behind his broad shoulders like a fragile, terrified bird—I felt utterly hollow. I had wasted years of my life loving this pathetic excuse for a man.

Moving with deliberate, calculated calm, I reached down, retrieved the final emergency flotation rig from its compartment, and held it out to him.

"Since this is all such a terrible inconvenience for you," I said, my voice dead and flat. "Take it. Run, Kian. Go save your soulmate."

Kian recoiled, staring at the neon-yellow canvas in my hands as if I had just offered him a live grenade.

"What kind of sick game are you playing, Soraya?" he demanded, shoving Maren further behind him in a protective stance. "Why are you being so generous all of a sudden? What's your angle?"

I slowly shook my head, marveling at his absolute delusion. "We're dropping out of the sky into the ocean, Kian. I'm handing you the last piece of survival gear so you don't have to live with the regret of watching your true love drown. Is a clean conscience really a 'scheme' to you?"

A tense, suffocating silence hung between us, broken only by the wail of the cabin alarms. Then, Maren let out a pathetic, trembling sob from over his shoulder.

"Kian," she whimpered, her hands clutching his sleeve. "I know I broke FAA regulations by boarding without a pass, but if she's willing to give it up... we have to take it. She's so lucky to have married you, Kian. She's strong. And we... we can't be separated. Not now. This is the only way."

Kian's jaw twitched. Hearing his mistress's desperate pleas shattered whatever moral paralysis was holding him back. He looked away, entirely avoiding my eyes.

His hands were visibly shaking as he snatched the vest from my grip.

"You're right," he muttered, slipping the gear over Maren's shoulders. "Soraya always lands on her feet. She'll be fine."

He didn't even afford me a backward glance. Parading his devotion entirely for Maren, he meticulously tightened her buckles, wrapped a fierce, protective arm around her waist, and guided her into the frantic rush of evacuating passengers.

I sat still in the flickering red darkness, watching my husband disappear.