Catherine's POV "Miss? Ms. Vitale?" The flight attendant leaned over me, her voice pitched low and warm. "We're overbooked in economy this evening. We'd like to offer you a complimentary upgrade to first class. Would you accept?" For a second I just stared at her, certain I'd misheard. "Me?" I actually pointed at myself, like an idiot. "You mean-a free upgrade? To first?" "Yes, ma'am." She gave me the practiced smile. "If you'll gather your things, I'll walk you up." "Oh my God. Yes. Yes, absolutely, thank you." I fumbled for my bag so fast I nearly clocked the man across the aisle in the head. My heart was doing something ridiculous in my chest. First class. Things like this did not happen to me. Marco had spent years killing himself over that startup of his, and we counted every dollar. We split rent down to the cent, argued good-naturedly over whose turn it was to cover groceries, dreamed out loud about the day his company finally took off and we could stop calculating. That was why I only ever booked economy. My thumb was already hovering over Marco's name before I'd even lifted myself out of my seat. I wanted to text him so badly it was a physical ache. You will not BELIEVE what just happened- I stopped myself. No. I locked the screen and shoved the phone into my pocket, biting back a grin. Tomorrow was his birthday. I'd cut the trip two days short to surprise him, and if I texted him now I'd never make it through the flight without spilling the whole thing. I followed the attendant up the aisle, through the curtain, into a world of wide leather seats and champagne flutes and that hushed, expensive quiet. "Right here, Ms. Vitale." She gestured to a window seat. "Enjoy your flight." I sank into it and nearly moaned. The leather actually cradled you. There was a little pillow. A real pillow. And then the woman in the seat beside me turned her head, and my stomach dropped straight through the floor of the plane. "Isabella?" She turned, and her eyes went wide before her lips curled into that lazy, familiar smile. My sister. Perfect blowout, designer sunglasses shoved up into her hair, a handbag in her lap that probably cost more than my flight. "Catherine?" She looked me over, and I watched her take in my wrinkled travel clothes, my drugstore concealer, the whole unglamorous picture of me. "What are you doing up here? In first class?" "They upgraded me." I couldn't stop smiling despite my racing pulse. "The economy cabin was overbooked, apparently. I got lucky." I looked at her. "What are you doing here? Mom didn't say you were traveling." "Last-minute trip." She waved a hand. "I went out with a friend and decided to come back early. Guess we ended up on the same flight." Her phone buzzed in her lap. She glanced down at the screen, and something moved across her face-a laugh she didn't quite let out, her lower lip caught between her teeth. "Are you seeing someone?" I asked. Her thumb paused over the screen. "Maybe." "Isabella." I grinned. "You are. Who is he?" "Just some guy who won't leave me alone." She settled back into the plush seat and lifted her chin, and I recognized the look immediately-the one she wore when she was about to show me something she wanted me to envy. "You have no idea how far he goes to chase me." Here we go, I thought, and hated myself a little for thinking it. She lifted the handbag from her lap and turned it slightly, so the little gold clasp caught the cabin light. "This was Tuesday. Just because I mentioned I liked it." "Do you like him?" She shrugged one shoulder. "He's useful." "Isabella." I chose my words carefully, the way you'd step around broken glass. "If you don't actually like him-you shouldn't be taking things like that from him. It sends the wrong-" "God, here we go." She rolled her eyes and pulled her sunglasses down over them. "Not everyone wants to date a broke saint, Catherine. Some of us like nice things. It's not a crime." I bit the inside of my cheek and let it drop. A flight attendant appeared at my elbow. "Something to drink before takeoff, ma'am? Champagne, sparkling water, freshly pressed juice?" I fumbled. "Oh-um-I'm okay, thank you, I don't want to trouble-" "It's complimentary," the attendant said gently. "Right. Sorry. Water's fine. Thank you so much." I heard how many times I'd apologized and cringed at myself. The attendant moved on, and Isabella lowered her sunglasses just enough to look at me over the top. "You are so embarrassing," she said. "It's free. That's the whole point. This is why you'll never land a man with real money-you flinch every time someone offers you something. Rich guys can smell it. That poor-girl gratitude." "I'm not looking for a man with money," I said, keeping my tone casual. "I'm actually flying home early to surprise My boyfriend. It's his birthday tomorrow." I couldn't help the way my whole face softened. "We've been talking about getting married. Soon, I think. Really soon." Isabella's eyebrow arched, slow and delicate. "Married." She said the word like she was turning it over to check for cracks. "Catherine. Please tell me you're not one of those women who nags a man into giving her a ring." "It's not like that." "Isn't it?" She smiled. "Some men just say yes to make the crying stop, you know." I forced a laugh, though it scraped on the way out. "My boyfriend would never do that." "Sure. Okay. If that helps you sleep at night." She stretched in her seat like a cat in the sun. "Funny thing is, the guy chasing me? He's got a girlfriend too. A broke, pathetic little thing who spends every day counting pennies and bending over backward to keep him happy." Something cold moved through me. "He hates the way his girlfriend fawns over him. But now? One word from me, and he'll crawl back to economy to figure out why he ever dared defend her in front of me." She examined her nails. "That's why there was a spare seat for your little upgrade." I meant it as a joke. "So I'm part of you two lovebirds' games now? Should I be flattered?" She looked at me then-really looked-and the corner of her mouth twitched, like she was watching something at the zoo. "Can you imagine? A CEO with an entire company on his shoulders, trudging back to a middle seat in coach just because I told him to." She smirked, pleased with herself. "Honestly, he'd crawl if I asked." "He sounds ridiculous." I was still smiling. "Who is this poor man?" "Marco." She said it lazily, reaching for her champagne. "Marco Conti. He runs some hot new startup. He's the CEO." That was my boyfriend. The plane hadn't even left the ground, and the entire world beneath my feet had already disappeared.

Catherine's POV I sat frozen while the plane taxied down the runway, my mind racing to build a version of this where I wasn't an idiot. Maybe it was just a coincidence. Maybe he'd figured out who Isabella really was-the pampered Vitale daughter-and he was pursuing her to gain access to my family, to me, to some future for us that he believed needed connections. I clung to that theory like a life raft. It was pathetic. But it was better than the truth sitting three inches to my left. Isabella's phone buzzed. She glanced at it and let out a soft, satisfied little hum. An hour into the flight, once the seatbelt sign clicked off, a flight attendant appeared beside us carrying a slim velvet box on a tray, the kind of box that made my stomach drop before it even opened. "Miss Vitale," she said, turning to Isabella. "A gentleman in economy asked me to deliver this. With his apologies." Isabella cracked the box open like she'd been expecting it. Inside, a bracelet caught the cabin lights and threw them back, diamonds set in a line of white gold that probably had more zeros behind it than I made in a year. Three million, easy. "He also asked," the attendant continued, "whether he might be permitted to return to business class for the remainder of the flight." Isabella tilted her head, pretending to think about it. Then she gave a slow, gracious nod, like a queen granting a pardon. The attendant turned to me next, and her voice dropped into something apologetic. "Ma'am, since the cabin is full, the gentleman has offered a courtesy of fifty thousand dollars to exchange your seat for the rest of the trip. You'd be relocated to-" Fifty thousand dollars. I almost laughed. Not because it was funny. Because it was so much money, and it was Marco's money, money he supposedly didn't have, being thrown around like loose change to buy me out of a chair so he could sit next to my sister. "Sure," I said, and my voice came out steady, which surprised me. "Tell him he can come up." Isabella glanced at me, a flicker of surprise. "That easy? Fifty grand and you don't even negotiate?" She shook her head, pitying. "See, this is your problem, Catherine. You never ask for more." You have no idea what I'm about to ask for. The attendant went to fetch him. I sat very still and watched the curtain at the front of the cabin, my heart slamming against my ribs so hard I could feel it in my throat. Then it parted, and Marco stepped through. He looked good. That was the thing that gutted me first. New watch. A jacket I'd never seen, cut close, expensive. He'd gotten a haircut. He looked like a man whose life was going extremely well. He was already smiling toward Isabella's seat, already reaching to loosen his collar, playing the part of the sheepish, forgiven boyfriend. Then he saw me. I watched the smile die on his face. Watched the color drain out of it. Watched his feet stop dead in the aisle like the floor had dropped away beneath him. "Catherine." He breathed. "What- what are you doing here?" I stood. My hand found the glass of red wine on my tray table, still full, and before I could think about it, I threw it. The wine hit him square, splashing across that pristine shirt, dripping off his jaw, soaking into his collar. "Surprise," I said. "Happy early birthday." The cabin went dead quiet. A woman two rows up peered over her seat. "You son of a bitch." My chest was heaving, heat crawling up my spine and into my face. "You'd already made it-so why the hell did you keep playing broke with me?! You watched me sit there doing the math in five different apps just to save a few lousy bucks. Didn't that make you feel anything?" For one second, I let myself hope. Hope that he'd fall apart. Beg. Explain. Give me anything that looked like remorse. He wiped the wine from his eyes with the back of his hand. And when he looked at me, the first thing out of his mouth wasn't sorry. "Catherine, calm down." I blinked. "You're making a scene." His voice dropped low, urgent, mortified-not for me, I realized, but for himself. "We're on a plane. People are watching. Don't do this here." His eyes flicked sideways. "And don't embarrass Isabella." The whole cabin seemed to go silent. Don't embarrass Isabella. I stood there with an empty glass in my hand and stared at him, and for the first time in six years, I did not recognize the man in front of me. This stranger with wine dripping off his jaw, more worried about my sister's comfort than the fact that I'd caught him in the middle of destroying everything we'd built. I thought about all the nights I'd fallen asleep on the couch waiting for him to come home from the office. All the meals I'd stretched to cover two people on one salary. The ring I'd been quietly, stupidly convincing myself he was saving up for. I'd loved this. Him. This. I'd handed six years of my life to a piece of garbage. Isabella, meanwhile, had finally caught up. Her eyes darted between us, wide and calculating, the bracelet still clutched in her fist. "Wait." She looked at Marco, then at me, and her mouth fell open. "You two-she's the girlfriend? Catherine is the girlfriend?" Something twisted in my chest. Because underneath the fury, there was still a piece of me that wanted to protect her. She was my sister. She might not have known. "Isabella." I made myself say it clearly. "He's my boyfriend. Marco is the man I've been with for six years. The one I told you about ten minutes ago. He'd been seeing both of us." I waited for the shock. The apology. The sisterly outrage on my behalf. Instead, Isabella looked at me, and then she sighed, like I was being tiresome. Like I'd forgotten a rule everyone else already knew. "Well," she said, smoothing the bracelet box shut in her lap. "Then you'll step back. Obviously." The floor dropped out from under me. "Excuse me?" "Come on, Catherine. Don't make it dramatic." She examined her manicure. "It's not like this is new. Whatever you have, whatever you want-it comes to me. That's how it's always been. The clothes, the attention, Mom and Dad." She shrugged one bare shoulder. "This is no different. He picked me. You just hold on too tight, like always." I couldn't breathe. This was the sister I'd protected. The one I'd covered for, apologized for, handed things to my whole life without ever being asked, because I thought that was what love looked like in a house that was never really mine. And she was sitting there, in her three-million-dollar consolation prize, telling me to step aside like it was the most natural thing in the world. Betrayal has a taste-bitter, burning at the back of my throat. The plane hadn't even started its descent. But I'd already made up my mind. This relationship, this man, this pathetic performance of a family loyalty that had only ever run one direction- I was done. All of it. I didn't want any of it back.

Catherine's POV I sat back down slowly, the empty wine glass still in my hand. Marco was still standing in the aisle, dripping, waiting for me to crumble. That was the plan, I could see it on his face. He expected me to cry, to run to coach, to disappear so he and Isabella could enjoy the rest of their flight. Instead, I set the glass down and looked at my sister. "That bracelet." I nodded at her bag. "The three-million-dollar one. I'm taking it." Isabella's mouth dropped open. "Excuse me?" "For six years, I bankrolled his company. My savings got that business off the ground, Isabella. Every dollar he used to buy you that thing came out of my account first." I held out my hand, palm up, steady. "Call it a return on investment. I'm cashing out." "You're insane." Isabella clutched the bag to her chest. "This is mine. He gave it to me." "He gave you my money in the shape of diamonds." I didn't blink. "Hand it over, or I stand up right now and explain to this entire cabin exactly whose credit built Conti Tech. I've got the bank records on my phone. Want to find out how a viral flight story feels for your new little empire, Marco?" Marco went pale under the wine. That was the thing about a man like him. He could lie straight to my face for six years, yet the moment his precious reputation hung in the balance, he folded like wet paper. "Isabella." His voice was tight. "Just-give it to her." "What?" "Give her the bracelet." Isabella looked at him like he'd slapped her. But she yanked the box out of her bag and shoved it at me, her chest rising and falling fast, her eyes twitching with rage. "Fine. Take it. It's cheap anyway." It was not cheap. We both knew it. I slid the box into my purse and clicked the clasp shut. Then I turned back to Marco. "The fifty thousand." I smiled at him, sweet as anything. "For the seat swap. You offered it. I accepted. I want the transfer before we land." "Catherine, that's-" He glanced around the cabin, at the passengers pretending not to watch, at the flight attendant hovering with her tablet. His voice dropped to a hiss. "You can't be serious." "You threw fifty thousand dollars at me to move seats five minutes ago like it was pocket change." I smiled at him, and it wasn't a nice smile. "Suddenly it's a lot of money? Which is it?" Isabella's jaw was tight, her cheeks blotchy with color. For once in her life, she had nothing to say. Marco pulled out his checkbook. His hand actually shook as he wrote it. I watched him tear the check free and slap it into my palm like it physically hurt him to let go. Fifty thousand dollars, signed, dated, mine. "There." His voice was ugly now, the polished boyfriend act gone. "Happy? You got your money. Now do us all a favor and go sit in economy where you belong." "Enjoy the flight," I said. "Both of you." I tucked the check into my bag next to the bracelet, stood, and grabbed the strap over my shoulder. I was done. I didn't need the last word. I just needed to get away from him before the shaking in my chest turned into something I couldn't control in front of a hundred strangers. "Enjoy the flight," I said. "Both of you." I grabbed my bag and started down the aisle toward the economy curtain. I could not bear to sit within arm's reach of either of them for one more second. "You can sit here." The voice came from across the aisle. Low, unhurried, faintly amused. The kind of voice that assumed the room would stop and listen, because rooms always did. I stopped. I saw him. I hadn't even noticed him during the whole scene. That should have been impossible, because looking at him now, I couldn't figure out how anyone could miss him. He was big. Not gym-big, just built on a scale that made the wide business-class seat look small around him. Black suit, no tie, the top button open. Dark hair, sharp jaw, a face carved out of something colder than skin. He was looking at me, and only me, with a stillness that made the hair on my arms stand up. He was dangerous. I didn't know how I knew that. I just did. It came off him the way cold comes off ice. Then I noticed the seats beside him were empty-all of them. He'd bought the entire row, just I should have said no. I opened my mouth to say no. Marco chose that exact moment to open his mouth. "Hey, buddy, mind your own business." Marco let out an ugly little laugh behind me. "She took her payout. She doesn't belong up here anyway. Go on, Catherine. Take your money and get back to coach where you belong." Heat crawled up my spine. I turned to fire something back- The man in the window seat lifted one hand. Just barely. Two fingers off the armrest. That was all. The flight attendant materialized at Marco's shoulder in under three seconds. "Sir," she said, and every trace of her earlier warmth toward the man with the diamond bracelet was gone, "I'm going to need you to return to your seat and keep your voice down. Now. Or we'll have security meet this flight." Marco blinked. "I-what? I paid to be up here-" "Now, sir." The threat in it was unmistakable. Marco's face went from red to white. He looked at the stranger. Really looked, for the first time. And whatever he saw made his throat bob. He sat down. He didn't say another word. The whole cabin, which had been buzzing with suppressed gossip a moment ago, went dead silent. I stood frozen in the aisle, my heart doing something complicated. Who was this man that a single flick of his fingers could turn an entire flight crew into his personal security detail? "Sit," he said again. Every ounce of good sense I had left told me to walk away. I sat down. Marco grabbed Isabella and stormed off without a backward glance. I watched them go. His hand on her lower back, her leaning into him, the two of them walking off toward the pickup lane where I already knew a car would be waiting, because Marco always thought of the details when it was someone he actually wanted to impress. I stood at the curb alone with my carry-on and hailed a cab. I told myself I'd go home, shower, sleep, and deal with the rest of my life tomorrow. Home, of course, was the old duplex apartment I called home-a cramped, aging place with a narrow staircase leading up to a tiny attic loft. It wasn't much, but I had nowhere else to go, and some stupid part of me still believed that family meant having somewhere to return to when the man you loved threw you away. I should have known better.