The laughter from the plane was still fresh, but it didn’t shake her.
She’d planned this, booked the ticket under Claire’s name, worn the old clothes, boarded the flight to see what Orion Air’s staff would do when they thought no one important was watching—and they had shown her exactly what she needed to see.
The humiliation on that plane had started slow, like a spark catching dry grass.
Lysandra had walked up the jetway, her boarding pass in hand, and stepped into the first-class cabin.
The seats were wide leather, the kind that screamed money.
A guy in a tailored blazer, mid-40s, with a smug grin and too much cologne, looked her up and down and snorted: “Lost your way to economy, hun?”
he said, loud enough for the whole cabin to hear.
A woman across the aisle, dripping in gold jewelry and fake charm, chimed in: “Oh, let her stay.
