playboy with wings 2

Just don't fall so hard you forget how to land."

The next morning, the sky was painted in strokes of gold and pink as the Castell jet sliced through the air like a silver bullet. Riven reclined in the plush leather seat, sunglasses on, glass of whiskey half-full, flipping through texts from women whose last names he couldn't remember.

"Need anything, Mr. Castell?" the flight attendant asked.

He didn't even look up. "Silence would be great."

She left without another word. Riven leaned back, closed his eyes, and let the hum of the engines lull him. He had a beachfront suite waiting, a party lined up, and two actresses flying in by nightfall. It was all perfect.

Too perfect.

It started with a flicker.

A rumble.

A pop.

Then metal screamed.

Riven jolted upright as the lights above began flashing red. The cabin tilted sharply, a roar filling the air like a monster had grabbed the plane and was shaking it out of the sky.

"What the hell.

The oxygen masks dropped. His glass exploded. Luggage tore loose. He slammed sideways against the wall as the jet dipped hard. Alarms wailed. The co-pilot's voice buzzed over the intercom, frantic and choppy: "-Mayday-systems down-engines failing-brace for impa-"

There was no time to scream.

The world flipped. Glass shattered. Then nothing.

Somewhere far away, he heard waves.

Soft at first. Then louder.

A gull cried overhead.

His eyes opened to sky-not ceilings. Not clubs. Not chandeliers.

Just sky. Wide and endless.

He was lying on sand. Shirtless. Barefoot. Soaked in seawater and blood. The sun was hot on his face. His head throbbed like it was caving in from the inside. When he tried to sit up, the pain in his ribs punched him flat again.

Where was he?

His lips cracked when he tried to speak. "Water..."

He looked around. No wreckage in sight. No phone. No one.

No name.

He couldn't remember his name.

Not where he came from. Not why he was here.

Only the cold realization that he was alone-not just physically, but in every way that mattered.

He didn't know his name.

Didn't know his story.

But somehow, deep in the hollow silence of his chest,

he felt like he had just lost everything worth knowing.

And somewhere in the distance, hidden in the trees and salt air...

someone was watching him. The air was thick with heat-the kind that made wooden desks sticky and turned the school's ceiling fan into little more than a slow-spinning tease. The scent of old chalk mixed with warm dust. Kaia Solen sat near the back of the room, a pencil tapping softly against the edge of her desk, her gaze tilted toward the open window.Beyond the schoolhouse walls, palm trees danced lazily in the breeze. Seagulls skimmed the horizon. The ocean stretched wide and endless in the distance, as familiar to her as her own heartbeat.

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