The Contract

TRAVIS'S P.O.V

"Here are the papers, Mr. Ferrari," the air hostess said as I tore my gaze from the window. Her voice pulled me back from the blur of clouds streaking past in the night sky. She handed me the papers, and my eyes instantly locked onto the bold, glaring headline.

Breaking News: Travis Ferrari Signs Multimillion-Dollar Deals Amid Divorce Scandal

"We’ll be landing shortly. Please ensure your seat belts are secured," she added with a professional smile before leaving. My attention drifted back to the newspaper in my hand.

I flipped to the page and began reading, each word etched with both praise and condemnation:

Despite the chaos surrounding his highly publicized divorce from Pearl Vega, Empire Corporation CEO Travis Ferrari is proving that business comes first. The mogul has reportedly signed several multimillion-dollar deals in the past week, solidifying his position as one of the most successful executives in the industry.

The words stung, not because they were untrue, but because they painted a picture I didn’t recognize. A man thriving amidst destruction. A man who had somehow "moved on."

Sources close to Empire Corporation revealed that Ferrari finalized a landmark partnership with global tech giant Vortex Innovations, a deal estimated to be worth over $500 million...

I stopped reading. My grip tightened on the edge of the paper. They made it sound like I was unshaken, like I hadn’t just spent sleepless nights in Europe, working deals while burying my personal hell under layers of corporate success.

With a sharp exhale, I folded the paper and set it aside, reaching for my glass. The bitter taste of the drink did little to dull the growing knot in my chest.

Moments later, the plane touched down. I unclasped my seatbelt, glancing at my phone as it buzzed with an incoming call. No greeting. Just orders. Croatia was behind me, but their demands still chased me.

As I descended the jet’s stairs, my footsteps faltered. A figure stood by one of the cars, his posture tense, his expression unreadable. Abel.

My mind raced. What was he doing here? Where was she? If Abel was here… who was with her?

I ended the call and pocketed my phone, my movements measured as Abel approached. His face, grim and shadowed, sent a ripple of unease through me.

"Abel—"

He interrupted, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a set of keys. Without hesitation, he extended them toward me.

I frowned, glancing down at the keys before meeting his gaze. "What’s this?"

"I’m done," he said flatly.

The words hit me like a blow. My brow furrowed as I stepped closer, my voice low but sharp. "What do you mean done?"

Abel inhaled deeply, his jaw tight. His eyes darted away before he finally met my stare.

"Pearl is gone."

My heart stopped. The words didn’t register. "Why do you keep saying 'gone'?" I demanded, my voice rising.

"Because she left!" he snapped, his frustration boiling over. "Does that make it clearer for you? She’s gone. She’s not coming back."

He shoved the keys into my hand, the cold metal pressing against my palm as the weight of his words sank in. He turned to leave but stopped abruptly, his shoulders rigid as he glanced over his shoulder.

"She doesn’t deserve this, Travis," he said, stepping back. His voice was heavy, layered with unspoken truths. "None of this"

Then he walked away, leaving me standing at the foot of the stairs, holding the keys to a world I didn’t know how to face anymore.