★★Leon's POV★★



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After a couple of hours, the pilot's voice comes through the loudspeaker. "Bonjour, patron. Nous sommes actuellement à dix minutes de l'atterrissage. Veuillez attacher votre ceinture et vous préparer pour l'arrivée. Merci. (Good morning, boss. We are currently ten minutes from landing. Please buckle up and prepare for arrival. Thank you.)"

I exhale sharply, leaning back in my seat. Eight hours in the air, and not a single moment of sleep. Typical. Insomnia and I are close companions—if it can even be called that. It's not like I chose this friendship. It crept into my life years ago and has refused to let go. At this point, I've stopped fighting it.

Instead of sleeping, I kept busy. Emails needing replies, reports that couldn't wait—I convinced myself they were more important. Maybe they were. Or maybe I just can't stand the silence long enough to attempt sleep.

The sound of snoring breaks through my thoughts, loud and obnoxious. I don't even have to turn my head to know who it is.

Antoine. Of course.

I glance over and see Antoine slumped on the couch, one leg dangling off the edge, an arm draped over the side. He looks ridiculous, mouth slightly open as he snores like a goddamn chainsaw.

As I look closer, I notice a trail of drool at the corner of his mouth, glistening under the soft cabin lights. Beside him on the floor is an empty container of popcorn, lying on its side like it had been carelessly discarded.

Typical Tony.

I smirk and let out a quiet scoff, shaking my head as I turn away. He doesn't have a care in the world, does he?

Must be nice.

I close my laptop with a soft click. There's no point in keeping it open; we're already here. The descent has started, and soon enough, we'll be landing in New York. Another long day ahead.

Damien, ever the efficient one, managed to slip away to one of the rooms during the flight. He worked until his body couldn't take it anymore, then collapsed into sleep, no doubt recharging for the chaos to come.

The sound of a door creaking open catches my attention, and I glance up to see Damien walking back to his seat across from me. He looks well-rested—or at least better than me. I smirk, leaning back slightly.

"About time you woke up," I say, watching as he takes a seat, my tone flat but laced with impatience.

He looks at me with his tired eyes, slumping against the seat as if the weight of the world is pressing down on him.

"Did you fucking die in there? You slept for way too long," I say, my voice dripping with annoyance, unable to hide the frustration in my tone.

He rubs his eyes, letting out a slow, exhausted sigh, as if my words are the last thing he needed. "I wasn't sleeping, just trying to get a minute of peace," he mutters, though the exhaustion in his voice tells a different story.

I roll my eyes, crossing my arms. "Peace? That's a luxury we don't have right now." I lean in, narrowing my eyes. "We've got work to do, and I'm not waiting around for you to catch up." My impatience hangs in the air like a thick fog, but it doesn't faze him. He knows how this works. We're always on the clock, always moving—whether we're ready or not.

As he settles into his seat, his gaze drifts to Antoine, still sprawled on the couch like some kind of drunken idiot.

Damien raises an eyebrow, glancing back at me. "He's still breathing, right?" he asks, his tone laced with dry sarcasm.

I scoff, shaking my head. "Barely," I reply, my eyes flicking to Antoine's motionless form. "But if he's not up by the time we finish this, I'm not carrying him out of here."

Damien lets out a quiet laugh, leaning back in his seat. "Figures. Always the one doing the heavy lifting." He glances back at Antoine again, his lips curling into a half-smirk. "Guess we'll let him sleep it off... for now."

I just roll my eyes. "Don't get too comfortable. We've got bigger problems than a drunk idiot."

Damien doesn't respond. Instead, he picks up a nearby pillow, silently weighing it in his hands. Without a word, he hurls it directly at Antoine.

It hits him square in the face with a satisfying thud.

Antoine jolts awake, flailing his arms as he sits up, looking utterly disoriented. "What the hell?! Ow." he sputters, blinking rapidly as he tries to process what just happened.

Damien leans back in his seat, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Good morning, sunshine," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Missed you."

I rub my temple, the beginnings of a migraine starting to throb behind my eyes. The pressure builds, and I can feel my patience slipping. Glancing over at Antoine, I let out a quiet, frustrated sigh before my tone turns colder. "Clean up your mess, Antoine. You're not five anymore."

He doesn't respond, still half-conscious, and the silence only makes my irritation grow. I look back at Damien, barely holding back the frustration in my voice. "This is the shit I have to deal with."

Antoine groans, rubbing his face and muttering something under his breath about how he can't catch a break.

A few minutes pass, and the plane finally touches the ground. I let out a low groan, running a hand down my face.

Well, fuck. Here we go.

I unbuckle my seatbelt, standing up and grabbing my briefcase.

Antoine stumbles to his feet, still groggy, while Damien moves with his usual precision, adjusting his tie. The three of us make our way to the stairs, the door opening to the crisp air of New York.

Outside, my attention shifts as I scan the scene. My team is already in position, lined up near the base of the stairs, weapons secured at their sides. Tactical vests hug their frames, their eyes sharp and scanning the area for any potential threat. My employees are already lined up, standing at attention with their hands behind their backs. Professional and disciplined, just as I demand.

"Bon matin, patron, (Good morning, boss)" they all say, nodding as I approach.

I look at them, but suddenly my focus is on something far more important.

There she is.

My beautiful, flawless baby waiting for me. My lips curve into a small smirk as I take in the sight of her. She's so fucking gorgeous, gleaming under the morning sun like a work of art. I mean, just look at her—my lovely Bugatti La Voiture Noire, her custom red paint glistening as if she knows she's the star of the show.

I feel a swell of pride as I approach her. This was probably the second "big boy" purchase I made when I was seventeen.

Antoine whistles low beside me, his hands shoved into his pockets. "Man, she still looks better than most women," he mutters, shaking his head in disbelief.

"That's because she's perfection," I reply coolly, running a hand along her smooth exterior.

The engine hums softly as if she's alive and ready to perform.

Damien snorts faintly, already heading to the back seat. "Are you going to stand there and admire your car all day, or can we get to this meeting before you decide to kill someone out of boredom?"

I glance over my shoulder, smirking. "Jealousy doesn't suit you, Damien."

With one last admiring look at my Bugatti, I slide into the driver's seat, the interior hugging me like a tailored suit. Antoine climbs into the front, immediately leaning forward to mess with the settings on the sound system.

I glare at him briefly, but he waves me off. "Relax, man. We need some tunes for the ride." Damien slides into the passenger seat without a word and scrolls through his phone.

The engine of my Bugatti rumbles to life, its power vibrating through the air as the car speeds off, cutting through the streets with precision.

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Thoughts on how you think the meeting is going to go?

*Favorite fruit?*

Bye, lovies! (っ◔◡◔)っ

Maddie♡