Love Fell Silently from the Clouds

In the aviation world, everyone knew Mrs. Lancaster played her part to perfection.

When gossip about my husbands first-class flings spread through the industry, I was the one to clear the air.

When a mistress made a scene in the VIP lounge demanding recognition, I was the one to smooth things over with a quiet settlement.

Everyone said I loved Arthur Lancaster without reservation, without a single boundary.

He believed it too. Which is why his hunts at thirty thousand feet became more and more reckless.

Until she appeared.

This time was different. Arthur put aside his usual games. He treated her like she was precious, one of a kind.

The girl was frail, prone to dizzy spells and nausea, so he asked me to look after her.

Staring at the red flag on her health screening"HIV Antibody Preliminary Test: POSITIVE"I gently deleted the record.

From then on, I not only gave up my slots on the most coveted international routes but also encouraged Arthur to spend more time with her, to show her the world.

"That's my girl," he praised me. "I knew you'd understand."

I accepted his praise with a smile.

And watched as they fell deeper into their nightly embraces, and deeper into the abyss I had prepared for them.

1

After dealing with his thirteenth mistress, I leaned against the doorframe of his office.

Arthur Lancaster was lounging in his plush leather executive chair, idly spinning a sleek fountain pen between his fingers. His eyes danced with amusement as they settled on me.

"Seraphina, so cooperative," he mused. "You're playing the part better than ever."

I turned away, pulling a small bottle of hand sanitizer from my purse and meticulously cleansing the hand he had just touched.

"Am I?" My voice was flat. "It's not as if you're going to stop."

He chuckled, tossing the pen onto the vast mahogany desk. "You should have realized that long ago." He stood, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. "For families like ours, marriage eventually becomes a partnership of separate lives. It's best you've come to terms with it. Saves us both the embarrassment."

I watched in silence as he fastened the Vacheron Constantin watch to his wrist.

Five years of marriage hadn't dulled his sharp good looks. He still carried the undeniable swagger of the crown prince of aviation, an allure in his eyes that made young flight attendants flock to him like moths to a flame.

"Not coming home tonight?" I asked.

"Nope." He picked up his suit jacket, the one Id given him for his birthday last year. "Why? Got something planned?"

I shook my head. "Just asking."

He shrugged, but paused at the door. "Oh, right. There's an industry summit next Friday. I need you there with me. Make sure you look good. The press has been hounding me lately."

"Alright."

The door clicked shut.

I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows for a long moment, waiting until his black Maybach pulled away from the Lancaster Aviation tower, disappearing into the river of evening traffic.

Then I picked up my phone and dialed a number.

"He's gone," I said. "You can come in now."

Five minutes later, three figures in full hazmat suits entered the office. They moved with quiet efficiency, collecting stray coffee cups and papers, wiping down every surface with medical-grade disinfectant. They stripped the covers from the sofa, sealing them in biohazard bags.

The woman in charge nodded at me. "Mrs. Lancaster, we're finished. Viral inactivation is at 99.99%."

"Thank you," I said. "Be meticulous with anything he touched. I want it all completely sanitized."

"Understood."

I stepped out of the office, closing the door behind me. The hallway lights gleamed on the cream marble floors. On the wall hung our wedding portrait. I was in a custom couture gown, my smile poised and gracious. Arthurs arm was wrapped around my waist, his eyes brimming with what looked like adoration.

Back then, we were the golden couple of the aviation world.

Now, this building was a gallery of his conquests, haunted by the lingering traces of different perfumes, lipstick stains and viruses.

It was his lovers who had cost me my career. An "accident" during a flight, orchestrated by one of them, had left me with permanent spinal damage. I could never fly again.

I gave the portrait one last, placid look, then turned and walked away.

Back at our penthouse, a cake box sat on the dining table.

I opened it, placed a single candle in the center, and lit the wick. The small flame flickered, casting dancing shadows across my face.

Arthur only remembered his date tonight, a romantic rendezvous with his new flame to watch the city lights.

He had, as usual, forgotten that today was our fifth wedding anniversary.

And my birthday.

I stared at the tiny fire for a long time before blowing it out.

The truth was, I had been ready to file for divorce. The lawyers were on standby, the papers drawn up.

But now, I'd had a change of heart.

I wanted his billion-dollar aviation empire.

I wanted the entire Lancaster dynasty.

And I wanted him dead.

2

For five straight days, Arthur didn't come home.

But his new plaything, Faye, seemed to believe she'd been granted a special privilege: tormenting me with texts, right on schedule.

[Mrs. Lancaster, he says I know how to please him so much better than you do~]

[Mrs. Lancaster, he says he's sick of uptight socialites like you!]

[He's not coming home again tonight. Must be lonely in that big empty apartment, huh?]

I didn't reply to a single one.

I just took my medication on schedule, went to my appointments at the private clinic for a full battery of tests, and had my assistant file away the results.

On the evening of the sixth day, Arthur called. I was in a VIP room at the clinic, having just had the eighth vial of blood drawn.

His voice on the other end was low, laced with the lazy satisfaction of a man fresh from bed. "Seraphina, there's an interview with Aviation Weekly tomorrow. I need you to come to the office and clear something up about Faye."

I paused for a beat. "Clear what up?"

"Just say she's my cousin. New to the company, needs a little guidance, so she's training with me," Arthur said. "You know how it is. She's young, can't handle the gossip."

I glanced down at the purple-blue pinprick on the back of my hand. "Fine," I said.

He audibly relaxed. "You're the best," he said, his tone softening. "Should I come home tonight? It's been a while. I miss you, babe."

"I haven't been feeling well the last couple of days," I cut in. "I had some tests done. The doctor said I need to rest."

The line went quiet for a second. "Oh. Alright then." He sounded disappointed, but his usual careless tone quickly returned. "Get some sleep."

After hanging up, I stared at the dark screen of my phone, a cold smile touching my lips.

He probably thought I was saving myself for him. The fool had no idea I just found him utterly filthy.

The next day's interview was held at the Lancaster Aviation headquarters. The press turned out in droves, a sea of cameras and microphones aimed at the industrys model couple. I was on Arthur's arm, impeccably dressed in a Dior suit, my smile warm and gracious.

When a reporter asked about the rumored affair, Arthur shot me a nervous glance.

I took the microphone from him.

"It's all a misunderstanding," I said, my voice smooth as silk. "Miss Faye is my husband's cousin. She's new to the company and requires some training, so she's staying with us for the time being. I hope we can all give the young woman some space and avoid any undue speculation."

Another reporter pushed, "Mrs. Lancaster, does it really not bother you at all?"

I turned to Arthur, my eyes filled with a look of pure trust and devotion.

"Of course not. I trust my husband completely."

I felt his grip tighten on my arm.

But halfway through the interview, his phone buzzed. Arthur glanced at the screen, and the color drained from his face. He shot to his feet without even a look in my direction.

"My apologies, a sudden emergency," he announced to the room before turning and striding away.

I was left sitting alone, the microphone still in my hand. A murmur went through the crowd of reporters.

Someone shouted, "Mr. Lancaster, is it about Miss Faye? We heard she wasn't feeling well!"

His pace faltered for a fraction of a second.

Then he was gone, leaving me alone in the spotlight to clean up his mess and finish playing my part in our charade of a happy marriage.

After the press had cleared out, my assistant approached me cautiously. "Ma'am, are you alright?"

I stood and smoothed down my skirt.

"I'm perfectly fine."

And I was. Because I knew he had just pushed me one step closer to the finish line.

He didnt come home that night.

He only sent a single text: [She has a fever. I'm at the hospital. Go to sleep.]

I typed back a single word: [Okay.]

Then, after a moment's thought, I sent another. [My mother isn't well. I'm flying back to New York tomorrow. I'll probably be there for a month.]

[Do you want me to come with you?] he replied.

[No, you're busy. I can handle it.]

[Okay.]

After sending the message, I let out a slow breath and set my phone aside, turning my attention back to the latest report from my private physician.

The words on the page were clear and precise:

Virus has passed the window period. Subject is now highly contagious. Carrier is exhibiting initial symptoms.

3

The next morning, I left the penthouse.

As the car pulled out of the garage, I caught a glimpse of the building in the rearview mirror. It had been my home for five years. The sky was a hazy blue-gray, the morning fog not yet burned away by the sun.

The terrace was filled with white jasmine.

He had hired a designer from France to create it for me years ago, all because Id once casually mentioned I liked the fragrance. The crown prince of aviation had built the most lavish private garden in the city for me. Business journals had written about it for months. We were the golden couple.

I remembered laughing, telling him, "This is so extravagant. People will say you're completely under my spell."

He had kissed me then. "I want the entire world to know that my wife, Seraphina Lancaster, deserves the very best of everything."

The very best of everything.

I tore my eyes away from the mirror and settled back into the soft leather seat, closing my eyes.

Now, a revolving door of women came and went from that home, and I was the only one who still paid the gardeners to tend to the flowers. Our home had long since become his playground.

I didn't fly to New York. I was driven to Seabrook Sanctuary, a private wellness retreat on the Connecticut coast.

My doctor was waiting.

"Mrs. Lancaster, all your tests came back negative," he said, flipping through my file. "But to be absolutely safe, I recommend a one-month period of isolated observation."

"I understand," I nodded.

"As for Mr. Lancaster" he hesitated.

"Continue to monitor him," I finished for him. "Notify me immediately of any developments."

I settled into the most secluded villa at the sanctuary. My days fell into a quiet, peaceful routine: check-ups, medication, reading industry reports, and long walks along the shore. I was patient. I was waiting for a countdown to end.

On the seventh night, Arthur called. It was the first time he had contacted me since I'd left. The background was loud, like he was at a club.

"Where are you?" he asked, his tone impatient.

"New York," I lied.

"Why haven't you been answering my texts?" he demanded. "I'm not feeling great. Probably just exhausted from work. When are you coming back?"

"I'm not sure," I said softly. "My mother's condition is unstable."

He was clearly annoyed but managed to keep his temper in check. "Fine. Just take care of yourself."

Right before he hung up, he added, "Oh, by the way, Faye's out of the hospital. She has nowhere to go, so I let her move into the penthouse. She's staying in your bedroom. Don't read too much into it when you get back."

I hummed in agreement.

Of course I wouldn't read too much into it.

It was, after all, the tomb I had chosen for them.