Chapter 1 - The Descent into Betrayal
The vibration of the twin-engine turboprop hummed through the soles of my shoes, a familiar frequency I had lived and breathed for the past five years. Vale Air was my legacy, built from the ground up through sleepless nights, scraped knuckles, and an uncompromising standard of safety. But tonight, the air inside the cabin felt suffocating.
In the rear cabin, I found my husband, Owen, kissing another woman beside the window, a glass of champagne in his hand.
My heart hammered against my ribs, a sudden, violent thudding that drowned out the drone of the engines. The woman, whose honey-blonde hair was pinned up in a loose, elegant knot, pulled back with a breathless gasp. Owen didn't even flinch. He just smoothed down his lapels, his sapphire eyes locking onto mine with an infuriating, cool arrogance.
“You weren’t supposed to come back here,” he said, his voice entirely devoid of remorse.
The woman looked at me, her cheeks flushed, her eyes narrowing not with guilt, but with entitlement. She adjusted her silk scarf and asked for privacy, as if I was the intruder trespassing on her romantic getaway.
I didn't blink. I looked past them, locking eyes with the jumpmaster standing near the cargo latch.
“Suit them up.”
Owen laughed, a sharp, patronizing sound, but he stopped abruptly when the crew brought over two heavy parachute rigs, dumping them unceremoniously onto the bench seat. Both of them had signed up for the midnight exhibition jump over the rugged Idaho wilderness, and the jumpmaster, not I, would decide whether it was safe for them to go. Under FAA regulations and strict company protocol, emotional volatility or intoxication immediately disqualified a jumper.
Owen stepped forward, his smile turning tight. “Elena, be reasonable. We were just celebrating—”
“Celebrating what, Owen? Embezzling my company’s charter funds or breaking safety regulations at ten thousand feet?” I cut him off, my voice steady as steel. “Get them into their harnesses. Now.”
The jumpmaster inspected Owen and his companion, his face impassive. He noted the champagne glass still dripping in Owen's hand and the flushed, agitated state of the woman.
“Mr. Vance, ma'am, rules are rules. Step up to the gear-up station or step off the jump manifest,” the jumpmaster barked, his military training shining through.
Owen shot me a venomous look, realizing his charm wasn't going to work this time. He and his little mistress scrambled into their jumpsuits, strapped into their rigs, and muttered curses under their breath. At the open door, the wind screaming into the cabin like a banshee, the woman called for a pause, and the jumpmaster gave her one brief moment to catch her breath.
I stood back in the shadows, trying not to think about what I would have done if either of them had chosen to stay—if Owen had looked me in the eye and confessed instead of hiding behind a smirk.
They went out into the void with the jump crew, two dark silhouettes swallowed by the night sky. I walked to the edge of the open ramp, watching intently until both emergency deployment parachutes blossomed below us, small white mushrooms blooming against the dark canvas of the earth.
Then I turned back into the cabin and picked up the half-empty flute of champagne Owen had left behind.
May you like
It was warm, so I only held the glass, letting the condensation chill my fingertips. Owen had made me look like a fool on my own aircraft, but Vale Air was more than a jet, and he knew how much I had trusted him with its financial operations.
I still had to find out what else that trust had cost me. And as the plane banked toward home, I swore to myself that Owen Vance was about to experience a freefall much steeper than the one he just survived.
