Chapter 6 No.6

The flight was suffocating. Christ sat in a leather armchair, reading a stack of documents, seemingly oblivious to her presence. Calla sat three rows back, staring out the window at the gray blanket of clouds covering the east coast.

When the wheels touched down at Teterboro, the reality of what awaited them settled in Calla's stomach like lead.

Two cars were waiting on the tarmac. A sleek Maybach for Christ, and the family's armored SUV for her. The separation had begun.

Calla stood at the bottom of the airstairs, clutching her purse. She felt she should say something. They were married, after all. Even if it was a nightmare.

She turned back. Christ was gathering his files.

"Thank you," she said, her voice small in the windy expanse of the airfield. "For the clothes. And for... agreeing to wait."

Christ didn't look up. "Hm."

He was back to being the machine. The cold, unfeeling patriarch.

Calla hesitated. She walked back up the stairs, entering the cabin. She approached him slowly.

She leaned down and pecked his cheek. It was quick, dry, dutiful. Like a niece saying goodbye to an uncle.

"I'll see you at the estate... Uncle."

She turned to leave.

Snap.

The sound of a file folder shutting echoed like a gunshot.

"Is that how you say goodbye to your husband?"

Calla froze. She turned around. Christ had taken off his gold-rimmed glasses. Without them, his face looked sharper, younger, more dangerous.

He stood up. The cabin aisle was narrow. He took a step toward her. Calla took a step back.

"The driver is right outside," she whispered, backing until her shoulder blades hit the bulkhead door.

Christ reached past her and yanked the window shade down. The cabin plunged into semi-darkness.

He loomed over her, bracing one hand on the wall beside her head.

"I told you," he murmured, his voice vibrating in her chest. "I hate that word."

"Which one?" Calla breathed.

"Uncle." He leaned in, his nose brushing hers. "Say it again, and I will take you right here. I don't care who is watching."

Calla clamped her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide with terror.

Christ stared at her for a moment, drinking in her fear. Then, a ghost of a smile touched his lips.

He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered on her neck, right over her pulse point.

"Go," he said softly. "Don't keep Francis waiting."

Calla turned and fled. She practically fell down the stairs and scrambled into the SUV.

"Go!" she told the driver. "Just go!"

Inside the jet, Christ watched through the gap in the shade as the SUV sped away.

"Sir?" Zhang, his assistant, stepped into the cabin. "To the office?"

Christ put his glasses back on, masking the fire in his eyes.

"No," he said, buttoning his jacket. "Take me to the estate. I want to see my nephew."