Isabelle's POV
I didn't know how long I'd been asleep, but when I opened my eyes, everything felt… warm. Peaceful. The kind of sleep that pulls you under like silk and refuses to let you go.
The bed beneath me was too soft to be real, and the gentle hum in the background reminded me where I was—Logan's private jet.
I sat up slowly, stretching just enough to loosen the delicious ache in my limbs, and smoothed my sundress as I stepped out from behind the curtain.
The main cabin was quiet, except for Logan's low voice.
He stood near the window, one hand tucked in his pocket, the other holding his phone to his ear. His tone was calm but firm, the kind that made people listen. The way his jaw tensed when he spoke, how the light highlighted his strong features and sharp cheekbones—it was dangerous, really, how good he looked while doing something so mundane.
