"I can't believe we're flying to Italy."
My first business trip ever, and somehow it involved an international investigation.
The moment I reached home, I immediately called my mother to tell her the news. She was thrilled.
Of course, another question quickly appeared.
Should I stay with my family?
Or should I stay at the hotel with the team?
Honestly, I had no idea.
My mother solved the problem by completely ignoring it and focusing on the fact that she would finally see me after nearly a year.
Over the next two days, I packed everything I needed and received instructions to meet the team at the airport.
To my surprise, Vincent had announced that two seats had been booked in Business Class.
Who would get them?
Apparently, that information would only be revealed at the airport.
Naturally, I hoped it would be me.
Not because of comfort.
Okay, maybe partly because of comfort.
But mostly because everyone claimed Business Class food was life-changing.
My expectations were probably unrealistic, but being delusional occasionally was healthy.
At least that was what I told myself.
The next challenge was deciding what to wear.
Professional?
Casual?
Professional casual?
Casual professional?
I spent twenty minutes confusing myself before finally calling Evelyn.
After a very serious discussion that consisted mostly of us changing our minds repeatedly, we reached a conclusion.
Casual.
America had influenced both of us far too much.
I finally settled on a deep mocha belted shirt dress paired with cream block heels and a structured chocolate-brown tote bag.
For my hair, I initially planned a low ponytail.
Then changed my mind.
Then changed it again.
Eventually, I left it open and clipped it neatly behind.
Simple.
Comfortable.
Done.
Accessories were minimal.
A gold watch.
Small hoop earrings.
Nothing more.
An hour later, I arrived at the airport.
And for once...
I wasn't late.
"Look who decided to show up looking this pretty," Evelyn exclaimed the moment she saw me.
I laughed.
"Stop. You look beautiful too."
She genuinely did.
Not long afterward, Austin and Carl arrived.
We greeted each other and settled near the boarding area.
Then came the real surprise.
Vincent.
Late.
Ten whole minutes late.
Ten.
The first thing I noticed wasn't Vincent himself.
It was how unfairly effortless he made everything look.
Most men in professional circles dressed as though they were trying to prove something.
Vincent never did.
He moved through the airport with the quiet confidence of someone who had long stopped caring whether people were impressed by him—which somehow made people stare even harder.
A sky-blue linen shirt hung loosely over his frame, the sleeves rolled casually to his forearms. Cream-colored chinos fit perfectly, ending precisely at the ankle. A lightweight navy blazer rested over his shoulders, looking more accidental than intentional.
Tobacco-brown suede loafers completed the outfit.
Expensive.
Elegant.
Ridiculously unfair.
It should have looked calculated.
Instead, it looked natural.
Like he had simply rolled out of bed and accidentally become the face of an Italian luxury advertisement.
"Dannazione."
The word slipped out before I could stop it.
Evelyn immediately turned toward me.
"What?"
"Nothing."
Absolutely nothing.
Why was the airport suddenly so warm?
Was the air conditioning broken?
"Sir, you're late," Evelyn informed Vincent dramatically.
Vincent nodded.
"That's true."
We all blinked.
No excuses?
No explanations?
"However," he continued calmly, "I am still early compared to our boarding time."
Technically...
He wasn't wrong.
"Miss Vale," Vincent said, looking toward me, "have you contacted the CEO?"
"Yes. He said he'll be available the day after tomorrow."
"Good."
A few minutes later, while we were heading toward check-in, Austin suddenly remembered something.
"Sir, what about those two Business Class seats?"
"Ah."
Vincent nodded.
"Thank you for reminding me."
I immediately paid attention.
Very professional attention.
Definitely not desperate attention.
"When booking the tickets, only three economy seats remained available together. Therefore, Mr. Austin, Miss Evelyn, and Carl will be seated in economy."
My heart sank.
Then Vincent continued.
"Miss Vale and I will be in Business Class."
I froze.
"Me?"
For a second, I genuinely thought I had misheard him.
Evelyn immediately grabbed my arm.
"Want to trade?"
"No."
The answer came far too quickly.
Everyone laughed.
After nearly forty-five minutes of waiting, boarding finally began.
As expected, Austin somehow found something to complain about.
"The line is too long."
Nobody responded.
"The airport coffee was overpriced."
Still nobody responded.
"The flight is eleven hours."
Evelyn finally looked up from her phone.
"Then don't go."
"I wish."
"You've said that ten times."
"I'll say it eleven."
Carl laughed.
I shook my head.
Some things never changed.
As we slowly moved through the boarding queue, Austin suddenly narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
"Sir."
Vincent glanced up from his phone.
"Yes?"
"What are the chances that the only remaining Business Class seats happened to belong to you and Miss Vale?"
I nearly choked.
Vincent remained perfectly calm.
"The same chances that economy was full."
"Suspicious."
"Coincidence."
"Very suspicious coincidence."
"Extremely suspicious," Evelyn added helpfully.
I looked between them.
"What exactly is suspicious?"
Austin placed a dramatic hand over his chest.
"The betrayal."
"What betrayal?"
"The rest of us are suffering in economy."
"You didn't even pay for the ticket."
"Exactly."
Austin pointed at me.
"I paid with trust."
Carl burst out laughing.
Even Vincent looked dangerously close to smiling.
"Do any of you intend to behave professionally in Italy?" Vincent asked.
"No," Austin answered immediately.
Carl shook his head.
"I'm honestly impressed by your commitment."
"Thank you."
"That wasn't a compliment."
The boarding gate finally opened, saving Vincent from questioning his career choices.
Inside the aircraft, the group split according to their seats.
Austin, Evelyn, and Carl headed toward economy.
Vincent and I continued toward Business Class.
Evelyn turned around dramatically.
"If they serve cake, send pictures."
"I will."
"If they serve steak, send pictures."
"I will."
"If they serve gold-plated food—"
"Evelyn," I interrupted, "I'm literally sitting four rows ahead of you."
"I know."
A flight attendant guided us to our seats.
I stopped walking.
The seat was enormous.
There was enough room to stretch properly.
Someone handed me a menu.
A menu.
On a plane.
"This feels ridiculously luxurious."
Vincent glanced toward me.
"Does it?"
"Yes."
I looked around.
"People have entire living rooms smaller than this."
A laugh escaped him.
A real one.
Unfortunately, it made him even more attractive.
I immediately looked away.
The flight attendant approached.
"Would you like something before takeoff?"
"Do you have hazelnut cold coffee?"
"We do."
"I'll have one with less ice, please."
The attendant nodded before turning toward Vincent.
"And for you, sir?"
"Black coffee."
The attendant left.
I slowly turned toward him.
"What?"
"Black coffee?"
"Yes."
"It's more bitter than bitter gourd."
"It's refreshing."
"It's terrifying."
"I dislike sweet drinks."
I stared at him.
He stared back.
Then laughed at my expression.
Traitor.
A strange mix of emotions settled inside me as the aircraft slowly moved toward the runway.
Excitement.
Nostalgia.
Hope.
And beneath all of that...
Determination.
Italy wasn't just home.
It was where our investigation might finally uncover something real.
Vincent noticed my smile.
"What?"
I looked toward him.
"What what?"
"That smile."
I immediately turned back toward the window.
"Nothing."
"I don't believe that."
I gave him a completely unimpressed look.
Unfortunately, it only amused him more.
Silence settled between us.
Not awkward.
Comfortable.
The kind that didn't demand conversation.
After a moment, I spoke quietly.
"I think I'm excited."
"About Italy?"
"About proving we're right."
Vincent's expression softened.
"We will."
The certainty in his voice surprised me.
But somehow...
I believed him.
Meanwhile, a few rows behind Business Class, Carl had just finished storing his carry-on luggage in the overhead compartment.
The moment he sat down, Austin leaned toward him.
"Question."
"No."
"You don't even know the question."
"I know enough."
Across the aisle, Evelyn looked up from her phone.
"I know the question too."
Carl closed his eyes briefly.
"That's exactly why I'm saying no."
Austin pointed dramatically toward the Business Class section.
"You've been talking to Aurelia a lot lately."
Carl blinked.
"And?"
"And Vincent notices."
The silence that followed was almost impressive.
Carl slowly turned his head.
"Excuse me?"
Evelyn nodded confidently.
"Oh, he notices."
Austin nodded too.
"He notices everything."
Carl looked genuinely confused.
"I was discussing evidence."
"Sure."
"I was."
"Sure."
Carl stared at both of them.
"You two create stories out of oxygen."
Austin sat back proudly.
"Thank you."
"That wasn't a compliment."
Evelyn folded her arms.
"Whether you realize it or not, you're currently participating in a legal thriller and a romance novel."
Carl rubbed his forehead.
"I regret sitting here."
"Too late," Austin replied cheerfully.
"Also," Evelyn added, lowering her voice, "did anyone notice how fast Sir volunteered Miss Vale for yesterday's investigation?"
Austin immediately pointed.
"THANK YOU."
Carl groaned.
"Oh God."
"No, listen," Austin continued. "The moment you asked to join, suddenly the entire team got invited."
"Maybe he wanted more manpower."
"Maybe."
"That is literally the logical explanation."
Austin looked unconvinced.
"I reject logic."
"You reject everything."
"Correct."
Evelyn leaned forward conspiratorially.
"And have you noticed something else?"
"What now?" Carl asked.
"When he talks to Aurelia, it's always 'Miss Vale.'"
Carl frowned.
"Okay?"
"But when he talks to me it's 'Miss Evelyn.'"
Austin's eyes widened dramatically.
"Oh my God."
"See?"
"I SEE."
"I DON'T SEE ANYTHING," Carl interrupted.
The two ignored him completely.
Austin lowered his voice.
"Do you think he practices saying 'Miss Vale' in the mirror?"
Carl nearly choked.
Evelyn laughed so hard she had to cover her mouth.
"You both need hobbies."
"We have hobbies."
"No, you have theories."
The conversation paused briefly.
Then Evelyn suddenly leaned forward again.
"You know what the funniest part is?"
"What?" Austin asked.
"I genuinely don't think Aurelia notices anything."
Carl laughed.
"That part is true."
Austin nodded immediately.
"She's completely clueless."
"Painfully clueless."
"Tragically clueless."
"Professionally clueless."
Carl pointed toward them.
"See? This is exactly what I'm talking about."
Meanwhile, several rows ahead, the subject of their conversation remained completely unaware.
Aurelia was busy staring out the window while occasionally sipping her hazelnut cold coffee.
Beside her, Vincent appeared to be reviewing case files.
Appeared being the important word.
For the past three minutes, he had been looking at the exact same page.
Not reading it.
Simply holding it.
His attention drifted toward Aurelia again.
Then back to the file.
Then back to Aurelia.
Then back to the exact same paragraph he still hadn't finished.
Eventually, even he noticed what he was doing.
Unfortunately, noticing it didn't stop it.
His gaze landed on her once more.
The excitement in her expression was impossible to miss.
Italy.
Home.
For the first time since the investigation began, she looked genuinely happy.
Not determined.
Not stressed.
Not exhausted.
Just happy.
The realization made something inside him soften.
Most people spent their lives searching for things that made them feel alive.
Aurelia simply became alive whenever she spoke about the things she loved.
Italy.
Law.
Music.
Her family.
Justice.
The list wasn't long.
But it was real.
And somehow, that made it dangerous.
Because Vincent was beginning to care far more than he should.
A flight attendant walked past.
"Would you like anything else, sir?"
Vincent blinked.
For a second, he'd completely forgotten where he was.
"No, thank you."
The attendant smiled and continued down the aisle.
Beside him, Aurelia finally turned away from the window.
"Do you ever stop working?"
Vincent looked at the file in his hands.
Then at her.
Then back at the file.
"No."
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
"Liar."
For the first time that evening, Vincent laughed openly.
Aurelia looked entirely too pleased with herself.
As though making him laugh had somehow proven her argument.
Maybe it had.
Outside, the aircraft continued its journey across the Atlantic.
Inside, five investigators were heading toward Italy.
Toward answers.
Toward secrets.
And toward a truth none of them yet realized would change far more than just the case.