Please Come Back, My Love Chapter 230

Sophia's POV

**The First-Class Cabin**

I stared at Lucas across the narrow aisle, my jaw clenched so tight I could feel my molars grinding.

The bastard had the audacity to look relaxed, his long legs stretched out in the spacious first-class seat like he owned the fucking plane.

Maybe he did. Who knew what kind of shady deals he'd made to keep his empire afloat after clawing his way back from nothing.

"Is someone bothering you?" His voice cut through my thoughts, smooth as expensive whiskey and just as dangerous. "You look miserable."

*You. You're bothering me.* The words burned on my tongue, but I swallowed them down. Four years of this shit had taught me when to keep my mouth shut.

I said instead, turning my face toward the window. The tarmac stretched out below us, gray and endless. “A week trapped with you. I can hardly wait.”

He shifted in his seat, and I felt his eyes on me. Always watching. Always calculating. "Business in Paris. Once the deals are done, I'll take you around the city."

My stomach twisted. A week. Seven days trapped with him in a foreign country, playing the role of the dutiful... what? Mistress? Prisoner? I didn't even know what to call myself anymore.

"We should head back as soon as the business is finished," I said flatly.

His hand shot out, fingers closing around my chin with just enough pressure to make me gasp. He turned my face toward him, and before I could pull away, his mouth was on mine. The kiss was possessive, claiming, designed to remind me exactly who held the power here.

When he finally released me, I could taste bourbon on my lips.

"Missing me already?" His thumb traced my lower lip, and I hated the way my body remembered this touch, the way it had once made me feel safe instead of trapped. "You're not hiding another man back in New York, are you, Fia?"

The old nickname hit like a slap. He only used it when he wanted to remind me of before—when I'd been stupid enough to think he loved me, when I'd smiled at him across crowded rooms and believed in fairy tales.

"Don't be ridiculous," I said, shoving his hand away. My heart hammered against my ribs, and I prayed he couldn't hear it. "I don't have the energy for you, let alone someone else."

"Hmm." He leaned back, but his gaze never left my face. "Playing hard to get now? That's new. But if I find out you've been keeping secrets..." His hand slid to my thigh, fingers digging in just above my knee. "Well. Let's just say your little boyfriend wouldn't last long."

"There's no one else." The lie came easily now. I'd had plenty of practice. "Can you please just—"

His hand moved higher, pushing beneath the hem of my skirt. I grabbed his wrist, but he was stronger, always stronger. His fingers traced the inside of my thigh, maddeningly slow, and I felt my breath catch despite myself.

"Lucas, stop." I tried to keep my voice steady, but it came out breathy, weak. "We're on a plane. People will—"

"See?" He leaned closer, his breath hot against my ear. "No one's going to say shit, Sophia. You know why? Because I own this fucking cabin. I could bend you over this seat right now and no one would dare interrupt."

Tears pricked at my eyes—whether from anger or humiliation, I couldn't tell anymore. "Don't do this here. Please."

Something in my voice must have registered because his hand stilled. For a long moment, he just looked at me, his expression unreadable. Then he pulled back, settling into his seat with a casualness that made my skin crawl.

"Fine," he said, his tone almost bored. "But don't even think about finding comfort in someone else's bed. You're mine, Sophia. That hasn't changed."

*Because you've made sure I have no choice.* I turned back to the window, blinking rapidly to clear my vision.

The plane was taxiing now, engines roaring to life. Outside, the sky stretched endless and gray, just like the next seven days.

---

I must have dozed off at some point because when I opened my eyes, the cabin was dim and Lucas's arms were wrapped around me. For a disorienting second, I thought I was back in his penthouse, waking up in that massive bed that had become my prison.

"Where are we going?" I mumbled, still half-asleep.

His chest rumbled with dark amusement. "To the hotel." He pressed his lips to my temple, and I felt him smile against my skin. "And then, *mi amor*, I'm going to fuck you until you remember exactly who you belong to."

My eyes snapped fully open.

The plane had landed. Somehow I'd slept through the descent, through the jolt of wheels hitting tarmac, through everything.

And now Lucas was carrying me down the aisle like I weighed nothing, like I was something precious instead of something he'd broken and glued back together in a shape that suited him better.

"Put me down," I said, but my voice lacked conviction. My body was still heavy with sleep, my mind fuzzy at the edges.

"Not a chance." His arms tightened around me. "You can barely stand, and I'm not letting you stumble around Charles de Gaulle in those heels."

He had a point. My feet were killing me, and the thought of navigating a foreign airport right now made my head spin. So I let him carry me, hating myself for the small comfort I took in the solid warmth of his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

*Just until we get to the hotel,* I told myself. *Then I'll figure out how to survive the next seven days.*