message Doe and hand the phone over

I glance at Julia’s expectant expression as she waits for me to give her my phone. The rotors outside are beginning to spin, the noise growing louder by the second.

Before I comply, I quickly unlock the screen and open my messages. My fingers hover for a moment-- what could I even say? The last time I saw Doe, her apology was tangled in guilt, and I walked out without a word.

I type:

I’m with Julia now. Not sure what this is about, but I’ll be okay. We’ll talk when I’m back. Please don’t cry.

After hitting send, I take one last look at the message thread-- dozens of moments from a relationship that has started to feel like a business arrangement. I swallow hard and hand the phone to Julia.

She pockets it without a word and focuses on the controls. “Good,” she says, flipping a switch on the panel. “We don’t need distractions where we’re going.”

The plane lurches forward. As we climb, the city shrinks into a blur of gray and light beneath the clouds.

I steal a glance at her-- sharp, calm, and unreadable. “So where exactly are we headed?” I ask over the roar.

Julia doesn’t look at me. “You’ll see soon enough,” she says. “Doe said you’re adaptable. Let’s hope she’s right.”

Her words hang in the air like a challenge. I can’t tell whether she means physically, emotionally, or morally.

The silence stretches between us, filled only by the hum of the engine. I think of Doe again-- the confusion in her eyes, the tears, the guilt. Whatever this new job or arrangement is, I’m not sure I trust anyone anymore.

Somewhere deep down, I hope she reads my message before Julia cuts the signal.

The propellers hum like a heartbeat as the Cessna cuts through a wall of pale clouds. Julia keeps her eyes on the instruments, her posture rigid but graceful. I can tell she’s trying to stay professional-- too focused, maybe-- as if the silence between us might say too much.

At one point, she leans forward to adjust a dial, the neckline of her flight suit gaping slightly. It’s unintentional-- or maybe it isn’t-- but I catch a brief glimpse of her collarbone, the smooth curve of tanned skin. She notices where my eyes go, and for a second, there’s the faintest smile tugging at the corner of her lips, as she slightly unzips her suit to reveal triangular tan lines over her left boob, before zipping it back again as she looks away.

“So,” she says, voice steady but lighter now, “you and Doe-- how long?”

“Almost a year,” I answer. “It feels longer, though. She’s changed.”

Julia nods slowly, gaze fixed ahead. “Doe changes for whoever she’s trying to save. She forgets herself in the process.”

Something in her tone feels personal-- like she’s not just talking about Doe. I want to ask, but the words die in my throat.

When we land, the air outside smells of rain and jet fuel. The field looks empty except for a hangar and a black SUV parked nearby. Julia steps out first, adjusting her flight suit, the wind brushing strands of hair across her cheek. She looks... softer, for a moment-- until the SUV door opens.

A tall man in a gray suit steps out, his movements slow and deliberate, as though the world were his stage. “Mr. Lang,” Julia calls, her tone clipped and respectful.

Lang’s eyes skim over her before landing on me. “You must be John.” He smiles, extending his hand — firm, controlled, practiced. I take it, but his attention has already shifted back to Julia.

He steps close to her — too close — and leans in to whisper something I can’t hear. She stiffens slightly as his fingers squeeze her right boob through the thin fabric of her flight suit, her polite expression cracking for a heartbeat before she hides it again. Whatever he said, it wasn’t professional.

“Let’s head inside,” Lang says, walking toward the hangar. Julia follows without a word, but the color has drained from her face.

Inside, the hangar has been converted into an office space — sterile, minimalist, all glass and metal. Lang gestures toward a table covered in files and glossy photographs.

He speaks smoothly, as if rehearsed. “Doe’s operation is impressive. Empathy, connection, intimacy — whatever name you give it, it works. I’m offering to take it beyond small clients. Global. Structured. Profitable.”

I sit across from him, my hands tightening unconsciously on my knees. “Profitable how?”

Lang’s smile widens, but not pleasantly. “You, John, are proof of concept. You’re her core product. Her… prototype. We could scale that.”

Julia looks away, jaw tightening.

“And Doe?” I ask.

Lang waves a hand dismissively. “She’ll remain involved. For now. But your contract would be separate. Independent.”

The tone in his voice makes my stomach twist. Julia finally speaks, her words careful. “John deserves to know what he’s agreeing to.”

Lang turns to her with a faint laugh. “That’s why you’re here-- to make him understand.”

He rests a hand on her shoulder as he says it-- then moves it down to her waist. She doesn’t move, but I can see every muscle in her back tense. His fingers knead her ass like it was a typical thing to do. When he finally removes them, Julia exhales slowly and keeps her eyes fixed on the floor.

I realize she’s caught in something-- a chain of quiet obedience. And for the first time, I see her not just as my escort, but as someone trapped.

Lang’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “So, John, are you ready to build something bigger than the two of you? Or would you rather walk away and leave Doe to face the consequences alone?”

I glance at Julia. Her expression is unreadable, but her eyes-- they’re asking me to be careful.