Page 7 of The Bonventi Secret
I lean back in one of the waiting room seats and close my eyes.
My mind wanders back to the party at Dodd Hall, to the taste of cheap wine on my tongue and the warmth of Jake's smile. It feels like a lifetime ago, though it's only been an hour or two. I wonder if Megan's getting lucky. I wonder if Jake is still there. I wonder why the fuck my brother has me here and I'm not in my bed with…
A sharp pain in my palm startles me. I look down to see I've been clenching my fists so tightly that my nails have left crescent-shaped marks in my skin. I open my hands, feeling the tense muscles relax, and force myself to breathe slowly.
My chaperone approaches, his footsteps echoing in the quiet room. "Ms. Falcone, the plane is ready."
I stand. "Lead the way," I say, short and direct, the frustration in me showing.
As we approach the gate, I spot a sleek private jet waiting on the tarmac. Its polished exterior gleams under the airport lights.
"Holy shit," I mutter under my breath. "Is that for us?"
The man glances at me, his expression unreadable. "Problem, Ms. Falcone?"
"No, no problem," I say, as I look at the beautiful prison ready to whisk me away.
We step out onto the tarmac, and the roar of distant engines fills the air while the wind whips around us.
As we near the jet, its door opens, revealing a fancy interior that would normally be seen on Instagram models or influencer feeds.
I pause at the foot of the stairs, looking back at the terminal. The lights of Los Angeles twinkle in the distance, a reminder of the life I'm being forced to leave behind. My research, my friends, my independence—all of it feels like it's slipping away.
God, I hope I'm overreacting.
One of the men aboard the plane clears his throat. "Ms. Falcone, we need to depart. We're on a tight takeoff schedule."
I offer a fake smile and climb the stairs, stepping into the unknown.
The interior of the jet is all soft beige leather and polished dark wood. It's beautiful. I sink into one of the oversized seats, my fingers tracing the smooth armrest.
The suit takes a seat across from me, his eyes never leaving my face. I want to scream at him, to demand answers, but I know it would be pointless. He's just another cog in this machine, following orders.
As the plane starts to taxi, I feel a surge of panic.
This is real.
This is happening.
The metal of the seatbelt clicks together as I try to buckle it, my hands betraying what's brewing inside me.
The jet picks up speed, the force pushing me back into my seat. I close my eyes as we lift off, my stomach dropping as the wheels leave the ground. I grip my skull pendant for comfort. I always hated taking off.
When I open them again, we're high in the sky, surrounded by darkness. I lean over and see the tiny lights twinkling below, and in that moment, I've never felt more alone.
As my eyes adjust to the dim cabin lighting, the gentle hum of the engines does nothing to calm the storm raging inside my head. I'm trapped in this flying prison, hurtling towards whatever Gabriel's done.
How dare he? I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms again, but this time, I welcome the pain.
"Would you like something to drink, Ms. Falcone?" The flight attendant's voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts.
I look up, forcing a polite smile. "Something strong, please."
She nods and retreats to the galley. I catch my reflection in the darkened window—my makeup a mess, hair disheveled. I barely recognize myself.
She brings back an amber liquid I'm assuming is whiskey in a crystal glass. I don't give a shit what it is; I down it in one burning gulp, the fire instantly spreads through my chest.
It's a poor substitute for the warmth I felt earlier with Jake.
