The jet's interior was pure, unapologetic obscenity.
Cream leather seats wide enough to sleep three people comfortably. Polished wood accents that probably cost more than most people's entire education. Ambient lighting that shifted through warm, seductive tones like the aircraft itself was mood-conscious and slightly horny.
A full bar stocked with bottles whose labels Phei has been seeing since he was young from the galas his parents had always dragged him to as a child — back when private jets were just how the family moved between Tokyo and Paradise, between Paradise and his mother's parents in Suzhou.[1]
He hadn't been in anything like this in the last ten years.
Growing up, things had turned the way they turned.
And all of it was a slow, choking suffocation of a life that should have been his — stolen away piece by piece until he'd almost forgotten what it felt like to exist in spaces designed for people who owned the damn world.
