Bright Lights, New Rules

HAZEL

I had never flown before.

Not in a private jet, not in economy, not even in one of those flight simulators that children begged their parents to ride in at the mall. And yet, here I was—soaring above clouds in the middle of the night, with the city lights below glittering like spilled diamonds.

My heart still hadn’t settled from the rush of sneaking out.

Tristan hadn’t said much since we left. He never did. But he’d held the car door open for me, adjusted his hand against the small of my back as we slid past security, and stood beside me like a quiet force while we boarded the jet, silent as ever—but somehow reassuring.

He belonged to the night, I decided. He wore it like a second skin.

Now, as I leaned into the curved glass of the jet window, my reflection looked nothing like the girl who’d smiled politely at her engagement party hours ago. The diamonds were gone. My makeup was smudged from rubbing my eyes with champagne-damp fingers. My hair was a mess of waves from the wind, and I had traded my heels for the hotel slippers someone had tossed into my overnight bag.

But I didn’t care.

This—this was freedom. Messy and loud and terrifying.

Tristan sat across from me in one of the white leather seats, his body angled ever so slightly in my direction. His jacket had come off somewhere after takeoff, and the dark shirt underneath stretched over broad shoulders and arms that looked like they could catch the world if it decided to fall.

The scar that marked the side of his face caught the low amber lighting in the cabin, not softening him, but making him more real.

“So…” I murmured, tearing my gaze from the window. “This is what it’s like. To fly.”

He raised a brow. “First time?”

I nodded, curling my legs beneath me. “It’s… addicting. I feel like I’ve been asleep my entire life, and this—” I gestured toward the clouds, the sky, the freedom beyond it, “—this just slapped me awake.”

Tristan’s lips curled into the faintest smile. “Some people never wake up.”

“I was one of them,” I whispered.

The silence that followed was comfortable. He didn’t try to fill it. He just let me be. That, somehow, made it easier to speak.

“I’ve never left my city before,” I confessed, tucking my chin into my knees. “Never even crossed the border. My father said traveling was for people who had nothing to lose. And I had everything to lose, apparently—his reputation, his business contacts, my ‘virgin appeal’ for some god-awful reason.” I paused, staring out again. “But right now… I don’t care what I lose. I just don’t want to go back.”

“Then don’t,” Tristan said simply, as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

I looked at him. “You say it like it’s a choice.”

He met my gaze head-on. “It is.”

I remained silent after that.

Was it really a choice? I don't think so.

The plane’s engines hummed beneath us like a lullaby, but sleep was the last thing on my mind.

I pressed my forehead to the chilled oval window, watching the clouds float past like delicate cotton veils torn open by moonlight. My heart fluttered in my chest—not from fear, but from something dangerously close to wonder. The champagne buzz still lingered in my limbs, but this wasn’t drunken bravado anymore. This was freedom. Frightening, fragile freedom.

And I had no idea how to handle it.

I let out a long sigh, rubbing my temples. “This is insane.”

“You keep saying that,” Tristan said, voice low, steady.

“Well, it is.” I turned to face him, pulling my knees to my chest on the plush seat. “Sneaking away from my own engagement party… boarding a jet in the middle of the night… to go to Vegas, of all places? It’s the most reckless thing I’ve ever done.”

“And yet,” he said, without looking up from his quiet watchfulness, “you’re still here.”

I frowned. “Because I needed… something.”

He finally met my eyes. “And what is that, Hazel?”

I hesitated. Then answered honestly. “Air. Space. A moment that belongs to me—not my father, not Richard, not some political alliance disguised as an engagement.”

The words came faster now, tumbling out of me as I stared down at my bare feet. “I’ve never left the city before. Never even had a sleepover. My whole life’s been parties and fittings and press appearances. My father said girls like me don’t need to see the world. That the world comes to us.”

I laughed bitterly. “He didn’t mean it as a compliment. He meant it like… I was a doll. A porcelain thing to be shown off, kept in one place, married off to the highest bidder when the time was right.”

Tristan said nothing. But I saw the way his jaw flexed.

“I just…” I whispered, “I wanted to do something before I’m stuck in that life forever. Before Richard puts a ring on me like I’m his possession. Before I lose whatever little piece of me is still free.”

The plane dipped slightly as the pilot announced our approach. I felt the thrill rise in my chest again.

“You know this isn’t permanent, right?” I asked softly, my eyes still on the window. “I’m not running away. I’m not brave enough for that.”

“I know,” Tristan said quietly. “But you don’t need to be brave forever. Just long enough to remember what it feels like.”

My gaze snapped to his. “And what if my father finds out?”

“I’ll deal with him.”

That made my heart ache for reasons I couldn’t name. He didn’t say it like a threat. He said it like a promise.

As the plane descended through the clouds, Vegas came into view—glittering, chaotic, magnificent. The lights stretched endlessly in every direction, blinking like the world’s heartbeat. My eyes widened as the Strip came into focus, pulsing with energy.

I sat up straighter, breath caught in my throat. “Is this what freedom looks like?”

“No,” Tristan said, standing as the jet began to taxi. “This is what a break looks like. But maybe… it’s enough.”

The plane landed with a soft thud, the cabin lights brightening. I turned to Tristan as he moved to retrieve our things. The sharp line of his jaw, the way he moved—quiet, composed, like the world could explode and he’d still stand tall in the wreckage.

He turned, holding out a hand to help me stand. I placed mine in his without hesitation.

We walked down the steps together into the warm desert air. For the first time in my life, there were no paparazzi. No father barking orders. No man trying to claim me like a trophy.

Just me. Hazel Voss. Bare-faced, in borrowed flats and oversized clothes, standing beside a man who didn’t ask questions—only followed when I said let’s go.

And for tonight, that was enough.