The wheels of the jet kissed Xavier Knight's private tarmac with a soft whisper of privilege, the sound of money even cushioning the landing. Cathleen's eyes sliced across the cabin like a blade, cutting through the silence and locking onto Xavier. She had learned to cut with her eyes, every glance honed by years of courtroom battles.
"I can take care of myself; thank you," she said, her voice frosty. The words were not just a statement, but a challenge. The coldness in her gaze was at odds with the vulnerability that her wheelchair suggested—a contradiction that she wore like a suit of armor.
Xavier met her coldness with a glacial calm of his own. The line of his lips remained a strict one, as unyielding as his realm. He did not speak, but his eyes, piercing and devoid of compassion, dr
