As the jet lifted, the nausea hit me harder than expected.
It was different this time private jets felt more confined, quieter, and with less distraction. There were no strangers chatting, no crying babies, no ambient buzz to drown out my thoughts. Just me. My stomach. And whatever the hell was going on between Han and Elvin.
I barely made it to the bathroom in time.
Everything from the night before came up in violent waves, liquor, cake, greasy comfort, the forced laughter. It all poured out of me, like my body was rejecting the entire experience, physically and emotionally.
I rinsed my mouth, splashed water on my face, and leaned on the edge of the sink, breathing heavily, trying to find my center again.
That's when I heard it.
Not clearly at first. Just a shift in the silence, like a whisper through the door. Then louder. Clearer.
A low moan.
A voice I recognized.
Elvin.
And then Han's.
And then
"Fuck me—please—just give me"
I froze.
