Forced to Wed: A Billionaire's Demand

Chapter 48

Vincent

I didn't bother saying goodbye to that little brat this morning, but now I'm feeling a bit...I don't know...

Melancholic?

No, that's not a term I'd ordinarily associate with myself. Yet, here I am, feeling a twinge of something similar to regret for not saying goodbye to Sarah this morning.

This is absurd.

She passed out completely after I gave her her fourth orgasm. Jeez, if she is going to stick around as my wife, she better learn to fucking keep up.

My plane was supposed to take off in a few minutes, so I contemplated calling home to hear her voice, but I decided against it at the last minute.

It's a moment of weakness, nothing more. I am Vincent Sterling, after all, a man who doesn't succumb to sentimental urges.

I lean back in my seat, staring out at the clouds rolling by.

"Could I offer you something to drink, sir?" The flight attendant interrupts my thoughts.

"Whiskey, please," I say shortly.

The flight attendant offers me a glass of whiskey, and I accept it with a nod, hoping it might dull the sharp edges of these unwanted thoughts about that little firecracker.

I open my laptop, hoping to do some work to distract myself.

I stare at the screen of my laptop, the open document in front of me remaining blank.

I type a few words, then delete them. My concentration fragmented. This isn't like me. I don't get distracted. I don't lose focus especially not because of some... sentimental attachment.

"She better not see that Jared guy when I'm not there," I murmur.

"Sorry, are you talking to me?" Someone speaks next to me.

Startled, I glanced to my side, realizing that my muttering had been louder than intended. I meet the curious gaze of the passenger seated next to me, a middle-aged man with an inquisitive look.

"No," I reply curtly, offering no further explanation. I have no interest in engaging in idle chatter, especially not when my mind is a tumultuous mix of business strategies and unwanted personal reflections.

Turning my attention back to the laptop screen, I attempt to refocus. The document before me requires my undivided attention, yet Sarah's image, coupled now with the unwelcome intrusion of Jared into my thoughts, distracts me.

"Get it together, Vince," I mutter again.

The idea of Sarah spending time with Jared, especially in my absence, gnaws at me more than I care to admit. It's a possessiveness that feels foreign yet undeniably real.

I slam the laptop shut. I can't work like this.

I lean back in my seat, closing my eyes as I try to clear my mind. It's just a few days away, I remind myself.

Sarah is my wife, in name if nothing else, and I shouldn't concern myself with who she chooses to spend her time with. And yet, the thought of her with Jared, laughing and having a good time, unsettles me.

I need to call her. Make sure she is at home and behaving herself.

Once the seatbelt sign is off and we are up in the air, I grab the plane phone and dial the number.

The phone rings three times, and then I hear her melodious voice stating that she is not available to take the call.

What the hell is she doing that she can't take my damn call?