“If you ever need help,” he said quietly, leaning in so only I could hear, “just ask.”
And then he was gone, striding away, leaving me rooted to the spot—heart racing, skin tingling, unable to forget the feel of his eyes on me.
Now, on the plane, the years have only deepened whatever existed in that first look. Aleksander sits impossibly close, and I sense the same hunger in him—a pull I can’t escape. I steal a glance at his hands, remembering the way they gripped my hips, the way they made me feel in the bathroom, claimed, possessed. It scares me, how much I still want that, even with all the reasons I should run.
His voice, low and velvet-dark, breaks through my thoughts. “You never did ask for help,” he murmurs, a sly smile flickering at the corner of his mouth, eyes trained on my face. “You always did like to do things the hard way.”
I flush, but I hold his gaze. There’s challenge there, but also longing. “Sometimes I wish I’d let you in sooner.”
His eyes darken, lips parting just slightly. “It’s not too late, Bella.”
The promise in his tone—the warning—makes my heart thump so loudly I’m sure he can hear it. I can’t tell if I’m Little Red, or if I’ve always wanted to be chased.
But Aleksander is patient, the wolf at the door, waiting for me to decide if I’ll let him in.
Against all reason, I feel myself leaning in, drawn to Aleksander like there’s a gravity between us. The soft hum of the cabin fades, my world narrowing to the taste of his breath, the heat rolling off his body. His hand finds mine, his thumb brushing the inside of my wrist, and it’s almost enough to make me forget where we are. Forget the risks. Forget the secrets.
I’m just about to close the last inch between us when a scream tears through plane, from somewhere outside the safe haven of my suite.
Every instinct flares to life. I sit back, heart pounding, eyes flying to my daughter, who is now awake and startled, clutching her blanket. Aleksander straightens beside me, his face shifting from desire to alertness in an instant.
The private little bubble we built bursts. Around us, other passengers are stirring, murmuring anxiously, craning their necks to see what happened. Somewhere up front, a flight attendant’s voice tries to calm the chaos, but the unease rolls through first class like a chill.
I pull my daughter close, stroking her hair, my own pulse racing with leftover adrenaline and something colder. Aleksander’s hand is steady on my knee, grounding me, but his attention is fixed on the commotion outside our cabin. Something is horribly wrong.
6
ALEKSANDER
The scream pullsme to my feet before I even realize I’m moving. Instinct. The cabin is alive with the low thrum of nervous voices, people twisting in their seats to see what’s going on. I glance at Bella—she’s up too, her daughter clutched to her chest, eyes wide but face calm. She’s trying to hide the fear for her kid.
As we step into the aisle, a stream of passengers trickles past. Some are just rubberneckers, but one woman stops right next to us, gripping her purse like a lifeline. Her voice is thin and breathless. “Did you know they found a dead body in the cabin upstairs?”
For a second, I think I misheard.
“A dead body?” Bella echoes.
The woman nods, swallowing hard, eyes flicking from me to Bella. “Crew found him in his seat. Business class. They said there was blood.” She presses her lips together, like she’s afraid she’s already said too much, then hurries on down the aisle.
I glance at Bella, trying to read her reaction, but her face is blank—only her grip on her daughter gives her away. Around us, whispers ripple, rumors blooming. The flight attendants are tense, voices clipped, trying to keep order but not quite succeeding. There’s a new smell in the air, something metallic and wrong, just faint enough to make me question if I imagined it.
I move closer to Bella, lowering my voice. “Stay here.” My words are soft but meant to be an anchor. I want to protect her, even though I know she hates that, hates being told what to do. But right now, I can’t help it.
Her eyes meet mine, guarded, searching. “What are you going to do?”
I scan the cabin—faces pale, anxious, people whispering into their phones or glancing toward the stairs. The urge to act, to find answers, surges in me. “I’m going to see what’s happening up there,” I say. “Stay with her. Don’t move until I’m back.”
She nods, holding her daughter close. For a moment, something tightens in my chest—guilt, maybe, for dragging her into my world, or for wanting her so badly, even now.
I move quickly up the narrow staircase, pushing past a couple of panicked passengers. The buzz of anxious voices gets louder. Two flight attendants are blocking the entrance to business class, faces tense, arms outstretched to keep people from coming any closer.
I flash them my most reassuring smile, lowering my voice. “Is everything under control? I can help if you need—security, medical, whatever.” It’s automatic, the old instincts kicking in, the part of me that always needs to take charge in a crisis.
One attendant glances at my face, trying to gauge whether I’m a problem or a solution. She doesn’t answer, just shakes her head, eyes flicking to the curtained section at the front of the cabin. I can see the shapes of crew clustered around one seat, their voices urgent, movements tight and professional.
Behind me, other passengers are getting bold, trying to peek around the blockade, their curiosity turning ugly.
The attendant softens, just for a second. “Please, sir, go back to your seat. The authorities will meet us when we land. We need the aisle clear.” Her voice is polite, but there’s fear under it.
