The private jet from the States hummed to a gentle stop on the runway at Geneva Airport, the engines winding down like a sigh after a long night.
Devon unbuckled his seatbelt and stood up, stretching his long legs.
He grabbed his bag from the overhead compartment, the one that still smelled faintly of hotel soap and perfume from the wedding weekend. As he stepped down the stairs.
The black Maybach was waiting right there, shiny under the airport lights, with the driver standing by the open door. "Welcome back, sir," the man said with a nod, his voice steady and professional.
Devon slid into the back seat, the soft leather hugging him like an old friend.
He loosened his tie, kicked off his shoes for a second to flex his toes, and pulled out his phone. A quick scroll through messages—nothing urgent. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and let the memories play like a movie in his head.
