The runway stretched long beneath the morning sky.
Cold. Quiet. Controlled.
Sebastian didn't look back.
The jet door closed behind him with a soft, final click.
Inside, everything was pristine.
Polished leather. Dim lighting. Silence.
He took his seat without hesitation.
Laptop open before the engine even started.
Work first.
Always.
The engines roared to life.
New York began to shrink beneath him.
Buildings turned to shapes.
Shapes turned to nothing.
He didn't watch for long.
His attention was already elsewhere.
Henderson.
The name sat at the top of his screen like a challenge.
They had pulled out.
The smart-home interface deal—years of work, negotiation, precision—gone in a single decision.
Unacceptable.
His fingers moved quickly across the keyboard.
Emails. Notes. Numbers.
He reread their last message again.
"After careful consideration, we've decided to withdraw…"
Careful.
He scoffed quietly.
There was nothing careful about walking away from a deal like that.
There was a reason.
There was always a reason.
He just hadn't found it yet.
His jaw tightened.
Deals didn't fall apart on his watch.
Not without a fight.
He opened another document.
Adjusted figures.
Reworked projections.
If they wanted reassurance, he'd give it.
If they wanted pressure, he'd apply it.
Either way… they weren't walking away.
Not like this.
The jet climbed higher.
Clouds surrounded the windows. Soft. Endless.
Sebastian didn't notice.
His focus narrowed.
Control.
That's what this was about.
Henderson slipping away.
His father waiting.
Time tightening around him.
His phone lit up.
Lillian.
He answered immediately.
"I'm on," he said before she could speak.
A soft breath came through the line. Relief.
"Good," she said.
"I just wanted to make sure you got on safely."
"I did."
A pause.
Then, gently:
"…Are you working right now?"
His lips twitched slightly.
"…Maybe."
"Sebastian."
That tone.
Soft. Firm. Familiar.
He leaned back slightly in his seat.
"Henderson," he said simply.
Another pause.
"They just pulled out a few days ago," she said.
"Exactly," he replied.
"Which means I don't have time to wait."
"You also didn't sleep."
He didn't respond immediately.
His eyes shifted to the window.
White clouds drifting endlessly.
"I'll manage," he said.
"You always say that."
"And I'm always right."
A small silence followed.
Then she sighed softly.
"Are you at least taking a break?"
He glanced at the laptop.
Still open.
Still calling his attention.
"…I will."
"That's not what I asked."
He let out a quiet breath. Almost a laugh.
"You worry too much."
"Someone has to," she said.
That made him chuckle.
Low. Soft. Real.
The tension in his shoulders eased, just slightly.
He closed his eyes for a moment. Let her voice settle in.
"…You're impossible," he murmured.
"And you love it," she replied lightly.
He didn't answer that.
Instead, he shifted in his seat, glancing back at the screen.
"I can't let this deal fall apart," he said quietly.
"Not now."
"You're not going to fix it in one flight," she said gently.
"I can start."
"You always start," she replied.
"You never stop."
That hit a little too close.
He didn't respond.
"Sebastian…" she continued softly, "close the laptop. Just for a few minutes."
He hesitated.
That alone was unusual.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard.
Work waited.
Always waiting.
Always demanding.
But so did she.
He exhaled slowly.
Then… closed it.
The click echoed softly in the quiet cabin.
A small thing.
A big thing.
"Done," he said.
There was a smile in her voice.
"Good."
He leaned back, finally allowing himself to breathe.
The silence between them wasn't empty.
It was full.
"…How are you?" she asked after a moment.
Not light. Not teasing.
Real.
His gaze drifted to the window again.
The sky stretched endlessly.
"I'll manage," he said.
She didn't push.
She never pushed too hard.
"I miss you already," she said instead.
Simple. Honest.
His chest tightened.
For a second—just a second—he almost said it.
The words sat right there.
Ready.
But they didn't come out.
"…I'll be back soon," he said instead.
A softer answer.
A safer one.
She accepted it.
"Call me when you land?"
"I will."
Another pause.
Then, quietly:
"I love you."
He closed his eyes.
Same feeling.
Same weight.
Same silence.
"…Take care of yourself," he replied.
Not the same words.
But everything he could give.
The call ended.
The jet fell quiet again.
Too quiet.
He stared at the black screen of his laptop.
Then slowly… opened it again.
The Henderson file returned.
Numbers. Contracts. Strategy.
Control.
He worked.
Minutes passed.
Maybe longer.
But something was different.
He paused more.
Thought longer.
Her voice lingered.
"Take a break."
His fingers stilled.
For the first time…
He didn't push forward immediately.
Instead, he leaned back.
Eyes closing briefly.
Breathing.
The jet began its descent.
The pilot's voice cut through the silence.
"We'll be landing in Washington shortly, sir."
Sebastian opened his eyes.
Just like that—the moment was over.
The calm. The pause. The softness.
Gone.
He straightened.
Laptop closed again.
This time with purpose.
He adjusted his cuffs.
His jacket.
His watch.
Everything back in place.
Everything under control.
Outside, the clouds broke.
The city came into view.
Washington.
His jaw tightened slightly.
Henderson could be fixed.
Negotiated.
Controlled.
But this…
This was different.
His reflection stared back at him in the window.
Sharp. Composed. Untouchable.
But his eyes—
Not as steady.
Not as certain.
He looked away.
The jet descended lower.
Closer.
Closer.
No more distance.
No more delay.
Only what was waiting.
And he wasn't sure which would be harder—
Losing the deal…
Or facing the man who had made him who he was.
The wheels touched down.
Smooth. Controlled.
Just like him.
Or at least… what he showed the world.
The jet slowed.
And Sebastian Wolfe prepared himself for what came next.