Still a little groggy from just waking up, Lilian hadn’t fully processed Morrison’s confession. By the ti her mind caught up, her first instinct was to toss the two sheets of A4 back at him, a sharp, annoyed sound escaping her lips:
"Boring."
As she threw the papers, Morrison caught her wrist, his gaze burning into her.
"I love you, Lilian."
Three simple words—but not just written words. Spoken aloud, they carried the weight of his heart, his intention.
Lilian glanced at the hand he held and curled her lips into a cold, ironic smile. Her voice was sharp, cutting straight to the point:
"Do you love ... or just yourself?"
Over the past year, Lilian had heard from Laurent that he had broken up because of fear of commitnt. Fear of commitnt ant he loved himself most, right? Not willing to be bound to a woman for life—it had to be self-love, nothing else.
Morrison was montarily taken aback by her words, but he looked at her, sincere and unflinching, and admitted his mistake:
"That was being foolish—"
"Then stay foolish forever!"
Before he could even finish explaining, she interrupted him without rcy. With a swift motion, she pulled her wrist free and called over the flight attendant for a glass of water, refusing to give him another word.
The flight attendant, anwhile, kept throwing flirtatious glances at him, which only made Morrison’s head ache. He rembered the ti after their breakup when he had used a model to provoke her, but now, he didn’t need any of that nonsense. All he wanted was to sincerely pursue the girl he loved.
Any random woman getting in the way could ruin her impression of him. Ten won, twenty—he might never recover his chance.
So he decided to personally cut off this potential trouble.
When the attentive flight attendant brought over a fruit platter, he gestured for her to place it beside Lilian and said with a calm smile:
"My girlfriend loves fruit. Give it to her."
Lilian, engrossed in her drama on her phone, didn’t hear a word he said to the flight attendant. But after noticing the attendant making repeated trips in front of him, she could feel the intent. She didn’t care. This man had nothing to do with her now.
She picked up the platter politely, refusing it:
"Sorry, I didn’t order this. Did you bring it by mistake?"
The flight attendant gave a sour smile:
"Your boyfriend sent it!"
And stalked off.
Lilian’s brow furrowed at the word "boyfriend." She turned to Morrison, who casually glanced up from his docunts, and asked coldly:
"What did you say to her?"
Finally, Morrison put down the papers and looked at her with a calm smile:
"I just wanted to cut off this trouble and, at the sa ti, show you my sincerity."
He seized every opportunity to declare himself. Lilian, however, simply smiled faintly:
"Why cut it off? I think you should enjoy it."
She picked up the fruit platter and leaned it onto the tray in front of him, her smile teasing:
"This was specially prepared for you. It’s so exquisite—enjoy it."
And with that, she gave him a small, playful smile.
"Mr. Morrison, maybe age has affected your mory, so let kindly remind you—I’m not your girlfriend. I’m your ex. Please don’t get it wrong again."
Age?
Those words hit Morrison like a punch straight to the chest. His chest burned with frustration, a storm of anger churning inside him, yet no sound ca out. He could only glare at her, feeling the heat rise, until finally all that fire condensed into a single, long sigh.
"One year apart... and you’ve beco sharper with your tongue," he murmured, his eyes never leaving her.
Lilian’s smile was radiant, playful, and just a little teasing:
"Likewise, Mr. Morrison—you’ve beco even more shaless."
Morrison... was utterly defeated.
After that little sparring match of words, Lilian discovered sothing both fun and oddly satisfying—she enjoyed irritating Morrison.
Instead of pretending to be cold and indifferent, she realized it was far more entertaining to just take whatever he said or did and flip it back on him, watching him grow increasingly frustrated with no way to retaliate.
For example, later she switched to her computer to watch sothing. Since there was only an aisle between them, Morrison, ever so deliberately, leaned over, trying to catch her attention. Naturally, Lilian wasn’t about to let that go unnoticed. She opened a series of videos—model runway shows.
The focus? Male models.
Handso faces, killer physiques, commanding presence. So fully dressed, walking seriously down the runway; others... less so. Muscles everywhere, oozing confidence.
She clicked play, and within monts, she could practically feel the temperature drop beside her. One glance at his expression, and it was obvious—he was furious, cold, and sulky all at once.
Lilian, anwhile, was thoroughly enjoying herself. She wasn’t actually that interested in the male models—usually she watched female runway shows for inspiration—but today? This was deliberate, a little payback for his earlier audacity.
After a while, Morrison’s voice, deep and low, cut through the air:
"Is this really appropriate for a young lady?"
Without looking up from her screen, Lilian replied casually:
"Why wouldn’t it be? Plenty of people watch shows like this live. And these are just online videos."
Morrison’s impulse was to reach over, close her laptop, maybe even delete the videos entirely—but he couldn’t. Not here.
After taking a deep breath, he studied her side profile, a sly grin forming at the corner of his mouth.
"Enjoying it that much, huh?"
Lilian nodded innocently, which only made him smirk more mischievously.
"Not satisfied with what’s on screen? I have so... real-life versions, ready and waiting. Want a taste?"
That earned him an imdiate glare—and a very annoyed Lilian.
Lilian shot him a glare, fuming, while Morrison grinned like it was the most innocent thing in the world.
"My physique—you’ve inspected it thoroughly already," he said, smirking. "I’d say I’m at least on par with these models. Those videos? You can’t touch them, can you? Why not just look at instead?"
Lilian took a deep breath, suppressing her exasperation, and gave him a sharp once-over.
"Not even close," she said with disdain. "Those guys are young, strong, pri specins. Morrison... you’re almost forty. How could you possibly compare?"
Morrison felt his blood pressure spike.
Calling him old? At his age, that was the ultimate insult!
Spending so much ti with Bert had taught the girl exactly how to hit where it hurts most.
Gritting his teeth, he glared at her.
"You won’t know if you can compare unless you actually try. Do you dare?"
He was secretly hoping she’d say yes.
Instead, Lilian giggled lightly.
"I’ve tried. Tried you before, and just recently tried one of those beefy models... no contest."
"Lilian Washington!!"
Morrison practically exploded, shouting her na in outrage.
Another flight attendant approached, smiling politely.
"Sir, please watch your volu."
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