"By the time that baby had screamed for eighty-seven straight minutes, the first-class cabin no longer looked annoyed—it looked defeated. Then I stood up from premium economy, walked past people rich enough to buy silence, and told the most terrifying man on the plane that his baby didn’t need another bottle."

The moment the baby latched, a deep, collective sigh seemed to ripple through the surrounding first-class passengers, who had spent the last two hours bracing for a nervous breakdown. The frantic, desperate edge in the cabin vanished, replaced by the quiet, steady hum of the engines.

I leaned my head back against the leather headrest, closing my eyes as a wave of physical relief washed over me. Nursing an unfamiliar baby while sitting beside one of the most intimidating men in America was surreal, but the rhythmic swallowing of the little boy in my arms grounded me.

Julian sat silently beside me, his large frame rigid at first, watching every micro-expression on my face as if expecting me to vanish into thin air. Slowly, as his son’s breathing deepened into a steady, rhythmic pattern, the severe lines around Julian’s mouth relaxed.

"What's his name?" I whispered softly, keeping my eyes fixed on the baby’s silky dark hair.

"Leo," Julian replied, his voice barely audible over the cabin white noise. "Leo Vance."

"He has your eyes, Mr. Vance."

A faint, self-deprecating ghost of a smile touched Julian’s lips. "Let’s hope he inherits his mother’s temperament instead of mine. The world doesn't need another stubborn tyrant."

"Tyrants are usually just frightened people who don't know how to ask for help," I murmured, rocking slightly to keep Leo settled.

Julian’s gaze sharpened, studying me with renewed intensity. "You speak from experience?"

I looked down at the sleeping infant, feeling a bitter knot tighten in my stomach. "Let’s just say I spent five years trying to appease a man who viewed compromise as a personal insult. I finally learned that the only way to win an impossible game is to walk away from the board."

Julian didn't press for details, but the look he gave me wasn't pity—it was recognition. He understood what it meant to carry baggage that couldn't fit in an overhead bin.

For the next two hours, the first-class cabin remained a quiet sanctuary. Leo nursed until he fell into a deep, exhausted sleep, his little hands uncurled and resting peacefully against my chest. I gently transferred him back to his father, marveling at how naturally Julian cradled him now, his broad arms forming a secure, protective cradle that radiated fierce paternal devotion.

"He’s going to sleep for at least three hours," I whispered, standing up to return to my seat in premium economy.

Julian stood up immediately, blocking my path, though his movements were entirely non-threatening. "You aren't going back to that cramped seat in the back."

"Mr. Vance, my daughter and my luggage are back—"

"Marcus," Julian interrupted, turning to his towering bodyguard who was standing nearby on alert. "Go back to row twenty-two, collect Mrs. Miller’s daughter, her luggage, and relocate them both up here to seats one-A and one-B. Handle it discreetly."

"Boss, are you sure—?" Marcus started.

"Do it now," Julian ordered, his tone brook-no-argument.

Before I could protest, Julian reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a sleek black leather cardholder, and extracted a heavy, matte-black card embossed with platinum lettering. He pressed it firmly into my hand.

"You saved my son's life tonight, Claire," Julian said, his steel-gray eyes locking onto mine with absolute, unyielding sincerity. "When we land in Rome tomorrow morning, my car will meet you at the tarmac. That card is backed by my private office. Anything you need—housing, legal protection, medical care, a fresh start—you swipe it, and my people handle the rest."

I looked down at the platinum card in my palm, feeling the terrifying, electrifying weight of a brand-new horizon opening up right beneath my feet.