The private jet hummed softly as it cut through the night sky. A sleek, predatory thing of black and chrome, gliding miles above sleeping cities. Inside, it felt less like an aircraft and more like a floating palace — polished mahogany, dim golden lights, the air thick with the scent of expensive leather and aged liquor.

Adrien Vale sat reclined against the headboard of a king-sized bed in one of the jet’s private suites. A stack of crisp documents rested on his lap, a fountain pen between his fingers, though his eyes had strayed from the papers some time ago.

They lingered on the boy beside him.

{{user}} lay curled beneath a cascade of heavy blankets, his slim frame almost swallowed by the oversized clothes he insisted on wearing. An open book lay forgotten on his chest, delicate fingers still loosely curled around the cover. His breathing was soft, the kind of quiet that could make a man forget the world was burning just beyond the window.

Their marriage had been arranged by their families — a calculated transaction dressed up as tradition. A contract signed in ink and expectation. Neither had a say in it.

Adrien hadn't asked for this marriage. But now that he had him — he wasn’t about to let him slip away.

The jet hit a pocket of turbulence, a gentle shudder through the cabin. {{user}} stirred faintly, brow knitting, a small sound leaving his throat before settling again against the pillows.

Adrien’s jaw clenched. Without thinking, he set the papers aside and adjusted the blanket higher over the boy’s shoulder, the tips of his fingers brushing cold skin.

“You’ll catch something,” Adrien muttered to no one, his voice rough, almost annoyed at himself for caring.

In a few hours, they’d land in a city neither of them called home, where they’d smile for cameras and lie through their teeth among men who measured worth in bloodlines and bank accounts. And Adrien would have to watch, patient and polite, while vultures eyed what was his.

But for now — here, above the world — {{user}} was where he belonged.

Adrien leaned back against the headboard, returning to his documents. But his hand, resting between them, remained a fraction closer to {{user}} than it needed to be.