You don’t own me.

...Chapter Two...

The chuckle rolled out of him low and dark, the kind of sound that lingered in the air and curled around me like smoke. I hated the way it made my skin prickle, hated that something inside me reacted when all I wanted was to brush it off as meaningless. He finally leaned back, lifting his glass with ease, sipping as if I hadn’t just pushed back against his arrogance.

“Good girl” he murmured almost to himself, ice-blue eyes locked on me.

My breath hitched. My spine stiffened. That wasn’t a compliment it was a test, and he was enjoying the fact that I’d played right into his game.

I gave him the smile I’d perfected, the one meant to say you don’t affect me, and straightened my shoulders. Without another word, I turned, heels clicking softly against the floor as I walked down the aisle, forcing my hips to sway with a confidence I didn’t truly feel. I could sense his gaze burning into me with every step, trailing like hands I refused to imagine.

In the galley, I finally let my mask slip. My chest heaved as though I’d been running. My hands curled into fists, nails digging into my palms, a poor attempt to ground myself. He was just a man another entitled, arrogant man. I’d dealt with plenty. So why did this one crawl beneath my skin?

“Everything alright?” my colleague whispered, noticing the strain on my face.

“Fine,” I lied quickly, pasting on another fake smile. “First class passengers… you know how they are.”

But she didn’t know. Not about him. Not about the way his stare had unsettled me, made me feel like prey under the eyes of a predator.

Hours stretched on, the flight humming steadily through the night. I avoided him as best as I could, sending another attendant when possible, but fate seemed determined to drag me back to him. Every time I passed, he was watching. Not discreetly, not politely. Openly. Boldly. His eyes followed me with that same calculating hunger, as though he was already imagining all the ways he’d claim me.

And each time, a traitorous part of me wondered—what would it feel like if he did?

The thought made me sick with myself. I shook it away, busying my hands, pouring drinks, collecting trays, anything to distract from the weight of his stare. Yet no matter what I did, the awareness of him lingered, sharp as a blade against my throat.

When we finally landed, relief swept through me. Passengers shuffled out, eager to return to their lives, and I held onto the hope that I would never see him again. Just another difficult man, just

another memory to bury.

But when the cabin emptied and I gathered my things, I froze.

He was still there.

Leaning casually in the aisle seat, suit jacket

unbuttoned, shirt collar loose now, as though the flight had only made him more comfortable, not less. That same slow smirk curved his mouth, his eyes fixed solely on me.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said smoothly, his voice quieter now but even more dangerous.

I swallowed hard, pulse thundering. “Because it wasn’t worth answering.”

That earned me another low laugh. He stood, towering over me, his presence filling the narrow space until I could hardly breathe.

“You’ve got fire,” he said, stepping closer, close enough that the scent of whiskey and something darker wrapped around me. “But fire can be tamed. And I enjoy the process.”

Heat crawled up my neck, anger mixing with a confusing flicker of something else. I should have stepped back. I should have reported him, walked away, done anything but stand frozen as his gaze devoured me.

“You don’t even know my name,” I whispered, my voice sharper than I intended.

“Not yet,” he agreed, tilting his head slightly, his smile wicked. “But I will. And when I do, it’ll be the only name you’ll want on your lips.”

His words hit me like a blow, heat coiling low in my stomach despite the fury twisting in my chest. I opened my mouth to argue, to tell him

exactly what kind of arrogant bastard he was, but nothing came out. My voice failed me. My

resolve wavered.

And he knew it.

With one last lingering look, he slipped past me and strode off the plane as though he owned not just the cabin, but me along with it.

I stood there, fists clenched, trembling with anger and confusion. Part of me wanted to scream. Part of me wanted to run. And a tiny, traitorous part of me wanted to chase after him.

I hated that part most of all.

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