Chapter 3: An Getaway

Sansa's POV

I sat curled in my first-class seat on the airplane, my body trembling as I stared out the window, watching the city lights vanishing into the vast darkness of the night. 

Tears kept slipping down my cheeks. No matter how many times I wiped them away, it wouldn't stop.

The two people that made my world. My husband and my best friend.

“They've never loved me, both of them,” I mumbled dejectedly.

Who could I blame? Astrid for sleeping with my man or Killian for betraying me with my best friend after three years together?

I clutched my arms around myself, trying to hold myself together, but it was useless. I felt like I was falling apart in front of a cabin full of strangers on the airplane.

Somehow, I wished this flight would never land.

“Miss?” 

I flinched at the voice, startled from my miserable thoughts.

“Huh?" I replied, lost.

He was older, possibly in his early or mid forties.

Tall, broad-shouldered, and elegant in a way that screamed power and class.

He had brown hair and the bluest shade of eyes I had ever seen on someone in real life.

He tilted his head, watching me with mild curiosity. “Are you alright?” 

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. 

Was I alright? No. 

But I couldn’t say that. I couldn’t even form the words. No one had to know my story. It was too pathetic. Too sad. Too shameful.

I shook my head quickly, swiping at my cheeks. “I—I’m fine.” 

He didn’t look convinced. 

“Forgive me for intruding, but you’re crying. Beautiful women don't cry when they're fine.” 

I forced a laugh, but it sounded pathetic. “It’s nothing.” 

“That didn’t sound or look like nothing.” 

He said and without warning, his hands came on my cheek and wiped a single tear away.

A fresh wave of emotion struck me. I couldn't breathe. His touch was electrifying. Bringing my body alive in ways I didn't want.

I couldn’t do this. Not here. 

Muttering an excuse, I unbuckled my seatbelt and practically ran to the restroom, slamming the door behind me. 

I gripped the sink, panting, my reflection was a disaster. Red eyes and smudged mascara.   

This was what Killian reduced me to. 

I clenched my fists. I hate him.

But my heart refused to stop loving him.

A soft knock startled me. 

I wiped at my face quickly, trying to steady my breathing. “Occupied.” 

A pause. 

Then the voice came through the door. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

I froze. 

It was the man from earlier. The one that had wiped my cheeks.

Gosh, he must think I'm a psycho.

I hesitated, unsure how I should respond. 

Then he spoke again. 

“I'm so sorry if I made it worse. I didn't mean to."

I hiccupped, trying to steady my breath. “It's fine, it has nothing to do with you.”

There was silence and I thought for a second that he'd moved away. But no.

“Whatever it is you’re running from, maybe you need a little escape.” 

I swallowed. My hands trembled against the sink. 

“Can I take you somewhere far from here?"

What?!

“I don’t even know you,” I said quietly. 

“That’s the point,” he said. “No strings. No expectations. Just a break from whatever has you crying on a plane. I promise not to pry.”   

I closed my eyes. 

A break. 

A moment to forget. It sounded insane but maybe, just maybe, I needed some kind of insane in my life.

I exhaled shakily and opened the door. 

He stood there, watching me carefully.

“What’s your name?” I asked and then hurried to provide my name but he stopped me.

“Shhhh," he said, laying his hands on my lips. “I don't need to know who you are. Let's just call ourselves…strangers."

It sounded like a good idea. No name. No identity. Just strangers.

I nodded.

“One week.” He slid his hands into his pockets. “A week away from whatever’s breaking you.” 

I stared at him, searching for an ulterior motive, but all I found was a kind and mysteriously attractive stranger.

And right now, I wanted to forget. 

“Okay,” I whispered. 

“Good choice. I'll get my private jet ready, once we land, we're going to Italy.”

And he wasn't bluffing.

The next few hours were spent on the private jet and Mr. Mystery and I arrived in Italy the next day.

A fleet of luxury cars arrived at the airport and picked us up.

The restaurant Mr. Mystery took me to was unlike anything I’d ever seen. Killian barely took me anywhere. I was the housewife that stayed home and wished for a little bit of his affection.

“I hope you like Italian cuisines," Mr. Mystery said and smirked, “They make the best in the city."

It was all overwhelming. I hadn't been treated like this since I married Killian.

The restaurant had dimly lit chandeliers, candlelit tables, soft jazz humming in the background. Everything was gold, from the polished floors to the accents on the chairs. 

I had barely eaten a thing all day, but when the waiter set down a beautifully plated meal, I only pushed the food around my plate. 

“You should eat,” he said, watching me over his glass of whiskey. 

“I’m not hungry.” 

He raised a brow. “Lies.” 

I exhaled, forcing myself to take a small bite. The rich flavors melted on my tongue, but I barely tasted anything. 

Mr. Mystery sipped his drink, studying me. “You’re still thinking about it.” 

I tensed. 

“Not anymore,” I lied. 

He smirked. “You’re terrible at lying.” 

I set my fork down, eager to change the topic. “What do you do, Stranger?” 

“Business.” 

“That’s vague.” 

He swirled the whiskey in his glass. “It’s a vague business. Don't forget, no history. No past, just now.” 

With a slow exhale, I picked up the glass and took a sip. 

One sip turned into two. 

Two turned into the entire glass. 

He chuckled. “Good girl.” 

Warmth spread through me, numbing the ache and or the first time in hours, I felt something other than pain. 

And I wanted more. 

Hours and a karaoke later, we had left the restaurant, moving from one club to another, dancing, drinking, forgetting. 

I laughed as I leaned back, my body buzzing from alcohol and adrenaline as Mr. Mystery finally announced it was time to go back to the hotel. 

He smirked at me. “Feeling better?” 

I chuckled drunkenly. “Much.” 

His gaze flickered to my lips. “Good.” 

As we stepped into the hotel suite, I turned to him. He was undoing the buttons on his cuffs, rolling his sleeves up as we said our good nights and he was about to leave me to his own suite.

I hesitated. “Stranger, can I make a request?” 

He waited and those piercing blue eyes locked onto mine. “Anything.” 

I swallowed hard. “Stay with me. Just for tonight.” 

His hooded eyes went to my lips, "I almost fucked you in that elevator. Don't make this harder than it is.”

His words left me soaked. I could feel the wetness coat my panties.

“Please.” My voice was soft, almost fragile. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.” 

He exhaled, rubbing his jaw as if debating something. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Alright, just to keep you company.” 

I turned toward the bedroom with a smirk. I didn't know what came over me. But I knew I wanted him badly.

I faced him, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I touched his lips. “I don’t want to think. I don’t want to feel anything but this moment.” 

His jaw tensed. “You don’t know what you’re asking for, stranger.” 

“Yes, I do, please.” 

Those words were his undoing.

At once, I was in his arms. His mouth crushed against mine, demanding, consuming.

His hands explored my back, pulling me closer, molding me against his hard frame as his fingers skimmed down my spine, igniting nerves I hadn’t known existed. 

I gasped when his lips left mine, trailing along my jaw, my neck, down to my breasts, whispering dirty words against my skin. His hands pushed beneath the fabric of my dress, fingertips grazing the sensitive skin of my thighs. 

Every touch, every kiss, every rasp of his breath against my skin sent a bolt of pleasure through me. 

Tonight, there was no past, no heartbreak. 

Only me and Mr. Mystery.