The terminal went quiet. My father’s jaw dropped, and even Laya looked stunned. All around, travelers whispered, their eyes following me.

The man in uniform gestured to a sleek private jet, polished and gleaming. “We can take off whenever you’re ready,” he said.

I took a deep breath and walked toward it, calm and confident despite my racing heart. Whispers followed me. “Who is she?” someone murmured. “How did she get that jet?” I smiled inwardly—finally, I held the power.

At the jet’s entrance, I turned to face my father and Laya. His arrogance had faded into regret; her smirk had vanished into shock. “I guess some of us make better life choices,” I said, echoing her own words. The irony was delicious.

Stepping inside, the cabin’s plush seats and soft lighting felt like freedom. The pilot’s voice came over the intercom: “Ready for departure, Miss Monroe.”

“Let’s go,” I said, a quiet determination in my voice.

As we lifted off, the city below spread out like a map of endless possibilities. I realized I wasn’t just leaving the airport—I was leaving the past behind. Ahead lay New York, opportunity, and a future entirely my own.