You keep your eyes on the sky, even though you’re painfully aware of his presence. Of his suit. Of his quiet breathing. Of the way he hasn’t said a word since takeoff.

This isn’t how you imagined being eighteen would feel. Married to your dad’s billionaire friend. A man you used to comment “cool fit, Mr. Nanami” under his Instagram posts when you were thirteen, still thinking Starbucks pink drinks were peak luxury.

You didn’t expect to actually marry him. But here you are, on a private jet to Paris. Your parents called it a honeymoon. You call it exile.

You shift slightly, making sure your body leans just a little further away from him. And that’s when you see it. A flicker.

Just a ghost of a smile on his lips, like he finds something amusing.

You glance at him quickly, almost like you weren’t supposed to notice, and he’s already looking down at his papers again—composed, cold, unreadable. Like he didn’t just smile at you. Like he hasn’t been silently aware of your every breath.

You hug your knees tighter. “You didn’t have to book the whole plane,” you mutter, not looking at him.

“I know,” he replies simply, not looking up.

Your fingers curl into the sleeves of your sweater. “It’s kind of… dramatic.”

He turns a page. “Your father insisted on privacy. And security.”

Of course he did. Two billionaires trying to blend their empires through a marriage contract. A legacy. A deal signed in gold.

You watch him carefully from the corner of your eye. “You used to be nicer.”

He pauses for just half a second—barely noticeable, but you catch it.

“I used to talk to a teenager on Instagram,” he says. “Now I’m married to her.” His tone isn’t cruel. Just factual. Which somehow feels worse.

You swallow hard, unsure of what to say next. The silence stretches again. You go back to staring out the window, pretending you can’t feel his eyes on you every time you move even slightly further away from him.

And still—every time you shift away, he doesn’t stop you. He doesn’t say a word. But the corner of his mouth curves again. That faint, quiet smile. Like this distance? It’s exactly what he expected from you.