The Villains Must Win-Chapter 217: No Second Chances 17

Lina climbed up the stairs, quietly as possible, and ducked into the plane. It was empty—for now.

Dim cabin lights lit up leather seats and folded tray tables. No flight crew. No pilots. Not yet.

She was finally inside.

Chest heaving, she slid her bag off and crouched behind the last row of seats. Her fingers trembled as she fumbled for her phone.

She needed to call her grandparents. They’d know what to do. They could send help.

Get me out of here. Please.

But just as she pulled up their contact, she heard it.

Footsteps.

Sharp. Purposeful. Coming closer.

Lina held her breath and ducked lower, clutching her phone tightly. The footsteps climbed the stairs of the aircraft—heavy boots, too heavy for airline crew.

She moved fast, slipping into the narrow hallway that curved slightly toward the front of the plane. The hum of the engines vibrated faintly beneath her feet, and just as she reached the end of the passage, she spotted a door to her left—slightly ajar, with a sleek, chrome plate that read Private.

She didn’t hesitate.

Lina slipped inside, shutting the door behind her as quietly as she could, her pulse racing in her ears. She turned and took in her surroundings—and her breath caught in her throat.

The room was nothing short of opulence.

A plush king-sized bed took up the center, its sheets tucked with crisp perfection beneath a dark navy comforter embossed with a subtle monogram—elegant, expensive.

Velvet throw pillows in muted gold were arranged neatly at the headboard, which was upholstered in soft leather, stitched with meticulous care.

Every surface gleamed. Mahogany paneling ran along the walls, trimmed with brass details. A small crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, refracting soft, ambient light that glowed like evening sun.

To her left was a sleek minibar built into the wall, complete with crystal decanters and rare vintage bottles.

A touchscreen console blinked softly beside it, likely for calling crew or adjusting lighting and temperature.

Across from the bed was a mounted flat-screen, currently off, and a small desk made of polished dark wood with a matching leather chair.

A private jet.

There was no doubt in her mind.

This wasn’t just first-class—this was owned by someone.

Someone rich. Someone powerful.

Lina’s eyes darted around the room as she crouched near the edge of the bed, torn between awe and fear.

The blankets smelled faintly of cologne—clean, subtle, masculine.

Whoever owned this jet had taste. And money. Lots of it.

She didn’t know where the plane was going, or who it belonged to—but right now, it was her only shelter. Her only chance to escape.

And she was already in too deep to turn back.

The muffled sound of footsteps echoed down the narrow hallway just outside the room. Lina held her breath, heart pounding as she crouched low beside the bed, her back pressed against the smooth leather frame.

She could hear voices—low and indistinct—moving past the door. For one tense moment, she was certain the knob would turn, that someone would step in and find her hiding like a stowaway.

But then, the footsteps faded. The voices disappeared.

And a moment later, the engines roared to life.

The entire jet trembled beneath her feet, a low growl building from deep within the hull. Lina’s eyes widened.

They’re taking off.

She hadn’t expected that. She had only wanted to hide—to avoid Christian’s men, to slip through security and figure out a next move.

She staggered as the jet began to taxi, grabbing the edge of the bed for support. The room rattled, slightly, with the growing force of the engines, and Lina braced herself, clutching onto one of the brass poles attached to the minibar just as the aircraft surged forward.

Her breath hitched as the plane lifted into the air.

Her ears popped from the altitude. Her stomach dipped. She held on tighter.

After several long minutes, the pressure eased. The vibrations quieted. The jet leveled out, and smooth cruising silence settled in—a strange and almost eerie stillness after the chaos she’d just escaped.

Lina remained crouched on the floor, her grip loosening from the pole as the adrenaline slowly drained from her system. She sat up carefully, peeking around the room again. No one had entered. No one seemed to know she was there.

But her luggage . . . it was gone.

She had left it back at the terminal in her rush. Her carefully packed suitcase—her backup ID, her clothes, her emergency stash of money—everything was gone.

All she had with her now was her carry-on: a simple leather bag slung across her shoulder with a phone, charger, a small amount of cash, and a few toiletries.

Nothing that could sustain her long if things went south.

She pulled her phone from the bag, quickly checking for a signal—but of course, there was none. No bars. No service.

Just "No SIM" blinking at the top corner of the screen. She had swapped her number earlier to avoid being tracked.

Still, the Wi-Fi icon flashed faintly. In-flight Wi-Fi.

Tempting. But dangerous.

She knew better than to connect. Christian was good with tech—he’d find her in seconds if she left even a digital footprint.

Besides, she didn’t know the password anyway.

With a frustrated sigh, Lina leaned back against the bed frame and looked around again.

She had boarded a private jet bound for who-knows-where, owned by who-knows-who, and had no way to contact anyone.

But at least—for now—she was out of Christian’s territory.

Out of reach. And for the first time in days . . . she could finally breathe.

Just as Lina started to relax, letting her head fall back against the cool edge of the bedframe, she heard it.

Click.

Her eyes snapped open.

Crack. Creak.

The soft, unmistakable sound of a door handle turning.

Footsteps—measured, slow, deliberate—pressed down against the plush carpet outside the room. The door, which she’d pulled shut but hadn’t locked, groaned softly on its hinges as it opened by just a few inches.

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