Chapter 3 - THE FLIGHT OUT OF CHICAGO
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The private hangar at O'Hare International Airport was a cathedral of glass and steel, bathed in the harsh white glare of industrial floodlights. Inside sat a sleek, black-tail Gulfstream private jet, its twin engines humming with a low, predatory purr that vibrated against the concrete floor.
Two men in identical dark suits stood by the mobile boarding stairs, their posture rigid, their eyes scanning the perimeter with the cold, dead-eyed efficiency of elite mercenaries.
When Sebastian’s armored SUV pulled directly up to the base of the stairs, I clutched Noah tightly against my chest while Chloe—my brave, exhausted sister who had insisted on coming with us—carried Ivy and Owen wrapped in thick woolen blankets. The triplets had woken up confused and groggy from being bundled into their snowsuits in the middle of the night, but they were too tired to cry, their little heads resting heavily against our shoulders.
Sebastian stepped out of the vehicle first, immediately scanning the perimeter before turning back to open the door for us.
"Watch your step," he said softly, extending a steady hand to help me up the metal stairs.
I didn't take his hand. I hoisted Noah higher onto my hip and climbed the stairs on my own, my boots clanking against the aluminum rungs. But as I crossed the threshold into the luxurious interior of the private jet—all polished mahogany, cream-colored leather seats, and soft ambient lighting—the sheer surrealism of the situation crashed over me.
Four days ago, I was juggling two remote jobs, rationing milk for breakfast, and worrying about how to pay for winter boots. Now, I was boarding a billionaire’s private aircraft fleeing an corporate dynasty that treated human lives like chess pieces.
Chloe settled into a plush leather seat near the back, cradling Ivy and Owen while a discreet flight attendant appeared out of nowhere with warm bottles of milk and cozy blankets.
Sebastian closed the heavy cabin door himself, sealing out the howling wind of the tarmac, before walking down the aisle toward where I sat holding Noah. He knelt down beside my seat, ignoring the expensive upholstery, and looked at his son.
Noah stirred, letting out a soft sigh, his tiny hand reaching out instinctively to brush against Sebastian’s thumb.
Sebastian froze. A raw, choked sound escaped his throat as he watched his son’s fingers wrap around his thumb. For a moment, the untouchable, ruthless CEO of Vale Industries looked entirely shattered.
"I'm sorry," Sebastian whispered, his voice cracking as he looked up from the baby to meet my eyes. "For every single night you spent alone. For every dollar you had to scrape together. For every time you cried wondering why I didn't care. I swear to you, Alyssa... whoever touched my family—whoever lied to me, whoever manipulated you—is going to pay for this with everything they own. Starting with Daniel."
I looked at the man kneeling beside me. The anger that had sustained me through four years of isolation hadn't completely vanished, but looking at the way he looked at our children, a quiet, terrifying realization settled into my bones.
The war with the Vales wasn't over. By boarding this plane, we hadn't escaped the battlefield; we had just flown straight into the eye of the storm.
"Old Arthur won't let us go that easily, Sebastian," I warned quietly, shifting Noah as he settled deeper into sleep. "He built this empire by destroying anyone who stood in his way. If we land in Europe, he will find us."
Sebastian stood up slowly, his jaw setting into a hard, unyielding line of absolute granite. He leaned over my seat, resting his palm against the leather headrest, trapping me in the warmth of his presence.
"Let him try," Sebastian said, his voice dropping into a dark, lethal register that made the cabin air feel suddenly heavy. "My grandfather spent his whole life ruling a dynasty of shadows. He has no idea what I’m willing to burn to keep my children safe."
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The jet lurched slightly as the pilot taxied down the runway, the lights of Chicago sliding past the oval windows like a dying constellation. As the engines screamed into full throttle and the aircraft lifted off the tarmac into the black expanse of the night sky, I closed my eyes and pulled my children closer.
We were airborne. But down below, in the dark corridors of Vale Tower, the old man was already making his next move.
