A young woman accidentally dozed off on a flight, resting her head against the shoulder of the wealthiest, most ruthless tycoon in the region

The cabin of Flight 704 was slowly coming back to life. Faint chimes echoed through the overhead

speakers as the flight attendants began preparing the morning coffee service, filling the confined space with the warm, comforting aroma of roasted beans.

Chloe Miller blinked hard, her eyelashes fluttering against the rough fabric of a tailored woolen suit jacket.

Wait.

Her brain, still sluggish from barely two hours of fragmented sleep, tried to process her surroundings. She wasn't lying against the cold plastic airplane window. Her cheek was pressed firmly against something solid, warm, and distinctly masculine.

Panic seized her chest like an iron fist.

Chloe jerked upright so fast her neck popped. Her eyes flew wide open, fixing in sheer horror on the man sitting right beside her.

He was breathtakingly handsome, yet terrifyingly imposing. His sharp jaw was set in a calm, neutral line, and his dark, penetrating eyes were fixed calmly on her face, devoid of any anger, yet holding an intensity that made her breath hitch.

"Oh my god," Chloe gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as a deep, burning flush rushed up her neck and flooded her cheeks. "I—I am so, so sorry! I didn't mean to—I was just so tired, I didn't even realize..."

She scrambled backward against the window frame, frantically grabbing her canvas bag and clutching it to her chest like a shield. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She had fallen asleep on a complete stranger—and not just any stranger, but a man who looked like he stepped out of the pages of a high-fashion magazine, wearing a suit that probably cost more than her entire annual salary.

"Please, I am so sorry," she babbled, her voice cracking with mortification. "I haven't slept in two days, my mother is sick, and I completely lost control of my balance during the turbulence. I didn't ruin your jacket, did I? Let me—let me get a tissue—"

She reached into her pocket, but a large, warm hand gently closed over her wrist.

The touch was firm, authoritative, yet surprisingly gentle.

Chloe froze, her wide eyes locking onto his face.

"Relax, Ms. Miller," Tariq said. His voice was deep, smooth, and possessed a quiet command that instantly quieted the frantic panic in her chest.

Chloe stopped breathing. "How... how do you know my name?"

Tariq didn't answer immediately. He slowly released her wrist, resting his hands casually on his knees. He looked her over once—not with the predatory gaze she was used to receiving from tired, cynical doctors, but with the cool, analytical assessment of a master strategist evaluating an invaluable asset.

"You dropped your patient log on my knee," Tariq said calmly, gesturing toward the cracked leather notebook resting neatly on the empty center console between them. "And as for your jacket concern—it’s washable."

Chloe swallowed hard, her face burning hotter than before. She snatched the notebook off the console, clutching it tightly against her chest. "I... I didn't mean to invade your space. Truly. I’ve had a... a very long forty-eight hours."

"I am aware," Tariq replied smoothly. "Forty-eight consecutive hours on your feet at St. Jude’s Clinic. Followed by a frantic red-eye flight because your mother’s experimental treatment slot is hanging by a thread."

Chloe stared at him, her jaw dropping open in sheer disbelief. A cold shiver ran down her spine.

"Who are you?" she whispered, the fear finally cutting through her exhaustion. "How do you know about my mother? Are you... are you with the collection agency?"

Before Tariq could answer, the captain’s voice crackled over the intercom, announcing their imminent descent into the capital airport. “Cabin crew, please prepare for landing. Fasten your seatbelts and secure all tray tables.”

The warning bell chimed across the cabin. Passengers began rustling around, pulling bags from overhead bins and straightening their clothes.

Tariq turned his head slightly toward the window as the sprawling, concrete-and-glass skyline of the metropolitan financial district rose up through the morning clouds below.

"I am not with the collection agency, Chloe," Tariq said quietly, his dark eyes turning back to meet hers with a piercing intensity. "In fact, collection agencies are notoriously bad at their jobs. They lack imagination."

Chloe stared at him, completely bewildered, unsure whether she was talking to a lunatic, a stalker, or someone entirely out of her depth.

"Look," she stammered, unbuckling her seatbelt with trembling fingers as the plane touched down with a heavy, screeching jolt against the tarmac. "I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but I need to get off this plane. My mother’s appointment is at eight o'clock, and I have to sign those papers."

She scrambled out of her seat into the crowded aisle, her canvas bag bumping against passengers as she rushed toward the exit door like her life depended on it—because, in truth, it did.

Tariq sat calmly in his seat, watching her disappear into the surge of disembarking passengers. He didn't move an inch.

Kael leaned over from the aisle seat, his expression tight with professional concern.

"Boss. The executive committee is waiting at the private hangar. The merger conference starts in twenty minutes. We don't have time to—"

"Cancel the morning conference, Kael," Tariq interrupted smoothly, unbuckling his belt and standing up to his full, imposing height.

Kael blinked, stunned. "Cancel? Sir, the board members flew in from Zurich and Tokyo specifically for this—"

"Reschedule them for tomorrow," Tariq said, adjusting his cuffs with absolute, unyielding calm. He reached down, picking up his leather portfolio. "Right now, we have a very important appointment at a regional medical center fifty miles north."

Kael stared at his boss for three seconds, realized there was zero room for argument, and immediately pressed his comms earpiece. "Understood. Re-routing the convoy to the north sector. Move."

As Tariq stepped off the aircraft into the private VIP terminal, a cold, predatory smile played across his lips.