The jet hummed steadily through the night sky.
Soft cabin lights glowed dimly along the ceiling.
Lillian had tried to focus on the smart-home interface documents spread across the table in front of her. Specifications. Interface drafts. Market projections.
But her eyes kept drifting toward the closed door at the back of the jet.
The separate cabin.
Where Sebastian had locked himself away.
It had been almost an hour.
No movement.
No sound.
She exhaled slowly and rubbed her temples. He should rest.
Her gaze flicked to her laptop screen again, but she couldn't concentrate. The image of the orange prescription bottle kept replaying in her mind.
Severe insomnia.
Had he taken it?
He hadn't when she last saw it. He'd shoved it into the suitcase angrily.
What if he hadn't taken it at all?
The thought unsettled her more than she liked.
She shook her head and returned to work.
Ten minutes passed.
Then twenty.
Then—
A sound.
Faint.
Muffled.
She froze.
It came from the back cabin.
Another sound.
A sharp inhale.
Then something like a strained breath.
Her heart skipped.
She listened carefully.
There it was again.
A low, distressed murmur.
"No—."
Her stomach dropped.
She stood slowly, pushing her chair back without making noise.
Another strained sound came through the door.
A sharp breath.
Then—
"Stop—."
It wasn't loud.
But it was clear.
Lillian's pulse began to race.
He was having a nightmare.
Again.
Her feet moved before her mind caught up.
She walked quietly toward the back of the jet.
The door was fully closed.
She hesitated.
This was his private space.
He made that clear.
But another strained sound came through the door.
A sharp, uneven breath.
Like he was fighting something.
Her hand hovered over the handle.
"Mr. Wolfe?" she called softly.
No response.
Inside, something shifted.
A rustle.
Then a tense whisper.
"No… don't…"
Her chest tightened.
She knocked gently.
"Mr. Wolfe?"
Still nothing.
Only another sharp inhale.
Her hand tightened on the handle.
And before she could overthink it—
She opened the door.
The cabin lights were dim.
Sebastian lay on the leather bench seat, jacket discarded, shirt slightly wrinkled.
His hands were clenched in the fabric near his chest.
His jaw was tight.
A faint sheen of sweat covered his forehead.
His breathing was uneven.
Distressed.
He shifted suddenly.
"Don't," he muttered hoarsely.
Lillian stepped inside carefully and closed the door behind her.
"Mr. Wolfe," she said softly.
He didn't wake.
His hand tightened into a fist.
His breathing grew sharper.
Her eyes scanned the small space instinctively.
The suitcase was open near the wall.
She glanced inside quickly.
Clothes.
Laptop case.
Documents.
But—
No orange bottle.
Her heart sank.
He hadn't taken it.
He hadn't taken the medication.
She swallowed.
"Sebastian," she said a little louder.
He jerked suddenly.
His body tensed as if bracing for impact.
And then—
He shot upright.
His breathing ragged.
Eyes wide.
Wild.
For a split second, he didn't seem to know where he was.
His chest rose and fell rapidly.
Then his gaze locked onto her.
And the vulnerability vanished.
Replaced with ice.
"What are you doing in here?" he demanded, voice rough from sleep.
She stiffened. "I heard you."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"You were having a nightmare."
Silence.
His jaw tightened.
"You had no right to enter."
"You weren't responding," she said quietly. "I knocked."
"I didn't authorize you to come in."
Her shoulders squared slightly. "You were in distress."
His eyes darkened.
"I was asleep," he snapped. "That does not qualify as distress."
She didn't move.
Didn't back down.
"You were struggling to breathe."
That struck something.
He looked away briefly.
Then back at her.
Cold again.
"I don't require supervision."
Her gaze flicked once more to the open suitcase.
Still no medication visible.
"You didn't take it," she said softly before she could stop herself.
His head snapped toward her.
"Excuse me?"
"The medication," she clarified. "You didn't take it."
A dangerous silence filled the small cabin.
His voice dropped lower.
"Miss Parker."
She swallowed but held her ground.
"You should have taken it."
His eyes hardened instantly.
"You will not instruct me on my own medical decisions."
"I'm not instructing," she said quickly. "I'm just—."
"Just what?"
She faltered.
"Just concerned?" he finished coldly.
Her lips parted slightly.
He let out a short, humorless breath.
"I don't need concern."
The words were sharp.
Final.
She clasped her hands together to stop them from trembling.
"I know," she said quietly.
Silence stretched between them.
The jet hummed steadily outside the cabin walls.
He ran a hand through his hair, tension visible in every line of his posture.
"I was fine," he muttered.
"You weren't," she replied gently.
His eyes flashed.
"Leave."
The word wasn't loud.
But it was firm.
She hesitated.
He looked exhausted.
More than exhausted.
There were faint shadows beneath his eyes.
His breathing had steadied, but his shoulders remained tense.
"You should try to rest again," she said softly.
He stood abruptly.
"I said leave."
The movement made the cabin feel even smaller.
More confined.
She stepped back.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I didn't mean to invade your privacy."
He didn't respond.
He just stared at her.
Cold.
Guarded.
But something flickered there.
Something fragile.
Then it vanished.
She turned and opened the door.
Before stepping out, she paused.
"You don't have to fight everything alone," she said, barely above a whisper.
His voice came back immediately.
"I do."
She closed the door gently behind her.
Back in the main cabin, she sank into her seat slowly.
Her heart was still racing.
Her hands trembled faintly.
She stared at the documents in front of her, but the words blurred together.
He hadn't taken it.
He chose not to.
Even knowing what would happen.
Why?
Pride?
Control?
Punishment?
She exhaled shakily.
Inside the private cabin, she could hear nothing now.
No movement.
No sound.
Just the steady hum of the aircraft.
She pressed her fingers lightly to her temples.
Why did this bother her so much?
He had snapped at her.
Dismissed her.
Made it clear she had crossed a line.
And yet—
All she could see was the look in his eyes when he woke up.
Not anger.
Not first.
Fear.
The kind that lingers long after sleep ends.
Inside the cabin, Sebastian remained standing.
His hands were braced against the edge of the seat.
His breathing finally even.
He stared at the closed door.
She shouldn't have seen that.
He hated that she had.
He walked to the suitcase slowly.
Opened the side compartment.
The orange bottle was there.
Untouched.
He stared at it.
Then closed the compartment firmly.
He didn't need it.
He didn't need anything.
He straightened his posture and sat back down.
Eyes open this time.
He wasn't going to sleep again.
In the main cabin, Lillian leaned back in her seat.
The jet continued cutting through the clouds.
Three hours suddenly felt much longer.
This trip wasn't just business anymore.
It was tension.
Distance.
And secrets neither of them were ready to confront.
She closed her eyes briefly.
But sleep didn't come to her either.