Alondra avoided the first-class corridor for as long as she could, sticking to economy, where the chatter of families and the clatter of trays drowned her thoughts. But no matter how much she busied herself, she felt the burn of eyes from behind that private curtain, the shadow of him lodged in her chest.
When she finally pushed the galley door open, Clara was already gushing in her little breathless voice.
"He actually spoke to me," she whispered, cheeks flushed pink, "Mr. Carter. He asked for still water, not sparkling, and I almost dropped the glass, but he thanked me. Can you imagine, thank you, from him?"
Alondra smirked, though her stomach twisted.
"Congratulations, you've survived the wolf," she said dryly.
"You're jealous," Clara teased, her grin wide. "Don't worry, you'll get your turn. Men like that notice women like you, even if you pretend you're invisible."
Alondra shut the cabinet harder than necessary, the clang of metal louder than her pulse.
"Men like that don't notice anyone. They take what they want and move on."
Rafael, overhearing as he passed, chuckled under his breath.
"Careful, Alondra, you're talking like you know him personally."
She didn't answer, just adjusted her scarf again, a nervous habit, the fabric tight at her throat.
Hours stretched long. Passengers dozed; the cabin lights dimmed, and the engines hummed steadily. Yet her mind wouldn't settle. She hated that her body still remembered the nearness of him, the way his words had crawled under her skin like heat.
Near midnight by cabin time, she walked down the aisle to check first class. Most curtains were drawn, screens glowing faintly behind them. When she reached the VIP suite, she hesitated. Her hand hovered, then fell, but the curtain twitched from inside.
"Are you going to stand there all night?" His voice came, low and unhurried, like he already knew it was her.
Her breath caught. She pushed the curtain aside. He sat reclined, jacket off, shirt open at the collar, a book in his hands. The bodyguard was nowhere in sight. Just him.
"I was checking the cabins," she said, trying for steady, "making sure all passengers are comfortable."
His gaze didn't lift from the page.
"And am I comfortable?"
"You don't look uncomfortable."
He closed the book slowly, placing it on the table, his eyes finally finding hers.
"You fell asleep in my suite earlier. Now you linger at my door. Should I believe it's all an accident?"
Her face heated.
"You're imagining things."
"Maybe," he said softly, leaning back, studying her, "but I rarely imagine. I deal in facts. And the fact is… You interest me."
The words dropped heavily between them. She wanted to laugh it off, to roll her eyes, but her body betrayed her—her pulse stuttered, and her lips parted.
"Passengers and crew," she said quickly, "it's against policy."
"Policy," he repeated, as if the word amused him. "Do you follow every rule?"
"Yes," she lied.
"Liar."
The way he said it, calm and sure, struck deeper than any insult. She clenched her fists at her sides.
"You don't know me."
"Then let me."
The silence after was thick, the hum of the engines the only witness. She should've walked out, but her feet stayed planted.
Finally, she whispered, "Why me?"
He tilted his head, as if even he wasn't sure.
"Because you looked unguarded," he admitted, voice low, "because you fell asleep without fear. Do you know how rare that is, to see someone real?"
Her chest tightened, caught between defiance and something softer.
"I'm not real to you," she said, almost bitter. "I'm just… a distraction on your way to Dubai."
His eyes darkened, the corner of his mouth twitching, not a smile but something heavier.
"Maybe," he murmured, "but some distractions are worth missing a flight for."
Her breath hitched. She hated him in that moment for making her feel like the ground had tilted, like the walls of the plane weren't enough to hold her steady.
Before she could answer, Rafael's voice cut through the curtain.
"Alondra," he called, his tone edged with warning, "the captain needs you in the galley. Now."
She stepped back fast, almost stumbling.
"I have to go," she said, her words tumbling, her throat dry.
He didn't move and didn't block her this time. He just watched, unblinking.
"Run then," he said quietly, "but we'll speak again before we land."
She didn't breathe until the curtain fell behind her.
Back in the galley, Rafael stood with arms crossed, eyes sharp.
"What the hell was that?" He muttered, low enough not to be overheard, "Are you insane? Talking to him alone. Do you know what people like him do with women like us?"
Alondra bristled.
"I wasn't doing anything—"
"Doesn't matter. His name alone could ruin you if anyone thinks—"
"Thinks what," she snapped, her voice sharper than she meant, "that I'm human. That I made a mistake. That I don't want to live like a robot every day."
The words slipped out before she could cage them. Rafael's expression softened, but only a little.
"Careful, amiga. He's not a man; he's a storm. Get too close, and you'll drown."
She wanted to say she could swim. Instead, she busied her hands with cups, ice, anything to hide the shaking.
By dawn, the cabin stirred back to life, passengers stretching, shades opening to desert light. The captain announced their descent, and seatbelts clicked. Alondra walked the aisles, double-checking latches, her routine mechanical again.
But when she passed the suite, her steps faltered. He was still watching her, with the same piercing eyes, but this time, he lifted his phone, thumb hovering over the screen. He angled it just enough for her to see. A photograph. Of her. Asleep.
Her heart lurched, heat flooding her veins. She snapped her gaze away, quickening her pace, her mind with a storm of questions.
Had he taken it then, when she drifted off in his cabin? Was it blackmail, or proof, or something else entirely?
The wheels hit the runway with a jolt, passengers clapping softly at the landing. Alondra's stomach was already in freefall, because she knew one thing for certain.
This wasn't just turbulence. It was the start of something she wasn't ready for.
Ezean Carter had a picture of her that she never gave him permission to take, and as the plane rolled toward the Dubai terminal, she realized she wasn't just a flight attendant anymore—she was already tangled in his game.