EIGHT

GRAYSON POV

I got back on my private jet and made my way back to New York. The thoughts of Sylvia lingered in my mind, and as much as I tried, I couldn't shake it off. Every detail of our recent interactions played over and over, and I found myself questioning everything I had said and done.

“Was I doing too much? Could she see desperation written boldly on my face? Has she caught on to the fact that ever since she left I longed to see her again?” These unanswered questions welled up in my all day long.

As soon as we landed, my driver, Paul, was there to pick me up. He took my luggage and opened the car door for me.

"Hi, Paul," I said, trying to sound casual.

"Good morning, sir," he responded, his tone professional as always.

I settled into the back seat of the car, watching as Paul loaded my bags into the trunk. The familiar surroundings of New York felt strangely different, almost foreign, after the intense encounter I had just experienced in Los Angeles.

As we drove through the