Then he’s on me again, pressing me up against the elevator wall. His mouth claims mine, his hands gripping my hips. I gasp into the kiss when I feel the hard line of his cock pressing against me through his trousers. My body arches instinctively, hungry for the friction, for him. He groans, grinding against me, not even pretending to play gentle now.
His hand slides under my skirt, up my thigh, fingers bold, claiming. I clutch at his shoulders, head spinning as his lips trail down my neck, his hips rocking into mine, the elevator humming beneath us.
When the doors glide open, he doesn’t even pause. He grabs my hand, leading me down a quiet hallway, glancing back only once with that wicked, devastating grin.
And I follow—heart pounding, reason gone, wanting nothing else but more.
The memory lingers, making my skin hot, my chest tight. Aleksander’s mouth, his hands, the way he looked at me likethere was no one else in the room. How easy it was to forget the world with him, to lose myself in that wild, reckless feeling.
I pull in a shaky breath and blink hard, shaking myself free of the past. The dull roar of the plane presses in—strange, uneasy. I glance at my daughter, still sleeping soundly, then quietly slide open the cabin door.
The mood in the aisle is tighter than before. Crew members are moving briskly, but there’s a tension in every glance, every clipped word. I slip out, trying to look like I belong, curiosity outweighing caution.
At the front of the deck, there’s a cluster of hushed voices. I pause by the galley, out of sight, listening.
“…landing in a few hours,” the hostess is saying, voice hushed but firm. “The authorities will want to talk to everyone. No one’s leaving until they’ve spoken to the police, so let’s keep everyone calm.”
I return to my suite. Lily mumbles in her sleep beside me, curled up so small she barely takes up half the seat cushion. I run a hand over her hair, wishing I could calm the storm inside myself as easily.
A shadow falls across our row. “Need any help, ma’am?” a kind air hostess asks, her voice low and warm. Her name tag reads “Elena.”
“No, thanks,” I say, summoning a smile I don’t feel. “I was just about to get my bag. It has my daughter’s bunny—she loves sleeping with it.”
She nods, following my gesture to the overhead storage. “No problem, ma’am. I’ll get it for you.”
Bella, I remind myself.You’re Bella now, not whoever you were before. I sit back, feeling the press of too many eyes, the electric buzz of fear and speculation threading through the cabin. My mind is still spinning, everything out of order—maybe I’m going to be sick, or maybe it’s just Aleksander’s effect on me, the way my pulse hammers every time I think of him somewhere on this plane.
The hostess, a tall brunette, moves with practiced confidence, unclicking the latch and reaching for my carry-on. She scans the tags, finds the right one, and slides it out with hardly a sound. Her hands are steady, her smile never wavering. I’m so grateful I could almost cry.
She clicks it open, and after a few moments, she holds up a small, worn stuffed bunny. “Is this it?” she asks, offering it to me gently.
Relief rushes through me. “Yes, that’s it. Thank you so much. You’re so sweet.”
I tuck the bunny under the blanket with Lily, brushing her cheek with the soft edge of one of its ears. She sighs, relaxing at once, her face smoothing out into something peaceful.
“Let me know if I can get anything for you. I’m here if you need me,” the hostess assures me before walking toward the back.
Despite her assurances, I don’t feel good. Passengers are peering over the seats, whispering to each other. The air feels electric—everybody on edge, waiting for answers.
I drift closer and catch a glimpse of the body being moved, zipped into a plastic bag on a stretcher. The crew keeps most people back, but for a split second, as they maneuver past, the zipper slips just enough to reveal a face.
I gasp, hand flying to my mouth.
It’s him. The man Aleksander argued with in the lounge, the one who’d looked at me with cold eyes as I walked past. The man from the fight Aleksander had brushed off with a casual shrug and a half smile. Kirov.
My stomach twists, pulse racing. When Aleksander returns to my suite a moment later, my first instinct is to demand answers, but suddenly I wonder—what if I don’t want to know?
He’s in this. He always has been.
And now there’s no pretending the danger is just a feeling, or that I’m not already tangled up in it.
But the words tumble out before I can stop them. “Did you do something?” My voice is soft, almost broken, and I immediately wish I could take it back.
Aleksander’s eyes meet mine, steady, unreadable. For a moment he says nothing, just studies me—like he’s weighing what I can handle.
“You need to sleep,” he says gently. His thumb brushes over my knee. “It’s going to be a long night. You’re safe here, I promise.”
I open my mouth to argue, but exhaustion tugs at me—fear and adrenaline leaving me spent, my whole body tense. He sits with me a moment longer, not moving until I finally lie back on the reclined seat, the soft blanket pulled up around me.
