Elena's POV
I couldn't believe my luck. I'd been dreading the long flight from New York to London in economy, but when the gate agent smiled and said, "You've been upgraded to first class," I nearly fainted.
Maybe this was a good sign. Maybe the universe was rooting for me and my interview tomorrow. Maybe—just maybe—I wouldn't completely mess it up.
The flight attendant led me to a window seat in first class, where luxury practically glowed. Smooth leather seats, sparkling glasses, soft lighting.
And then I saw him.
The man next to me looked like he walked off a runway—chiseled jawline, deep stormy eyes, thick dark hair. He wore a simple black hoodie and jeans, but somehow made it look like royalty.
He nodded once in acknowledgment but didn't say anything. His voice, when he finally spoke a polite "Hi," was deep and smooth. I smiled nervously and muttered a soft "Hey."
I pulled out my notebook, trying to focus on last-minute interview notes, but my nerves buzzed worse than my phone's silent mode.
Then the plane jerked suddenly. Turbulence.
My hand instinctively shot out—and wrapped tightly around his.
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Zayden's POV
She clutched my hand like her life depended on it.
I should've pulled away. I never liked physical contact. I avoided closeness. But her grip was small, warm… trembling. Something about it made me freeze.
I looked down at her.
She didn't even realize what she'd done. Eyes wide, cheeks flushed, her breath uneven. I gently shifted, intertwining our fingers more comfortably without thinking.
When the turbulence calmed, she made no move to let go.
Neither did I.
"Hey," I murmured, trying to calm her. "It's over. We're okay."
She blinked, looking up at me. Her eyes were soft brown with flecks of gold, like sunlit caramel. Her lashes fluttered, and before she could say anything—she yawned.
And just like that, she leaned into me… and fell asleep. On my shoulder.
I stilled. What the hell?
But I didn't wake her.
Instead, I looked at the flight attendant as she passed and whispered, "Can you bring a blanket? Quietly."
The woman nodded with a knowing smirk.
As the blanket was draped over her, I caught myself brushing a strand of hair off her cheek. She stirred but didn't wake.
I should've moved. Should've leaned away.
But I didn't.
Her scent—like vanilla and something citrusy—wrapped around me. I felt her breath against my collarbone. And then, as if mocking my control, my heart began to race.
Faster than it had in years.
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Elena's POV
I woke up with the horrifying realization that I had been using someone's shoulder as a pillow.
And not just anyone. Mr. Greek-God-Next-Seat.
"I am so sorry!" I blurted, sitting up so fast I almost knocked my forehead into his.
He chuckled softly. "You were tired."
"I didn't drool on you, did I?" I whispered.
His lips curved slightly. "No. But even if you did, I wouldn't tell you."
I wanted to die.
Then a glass of champagne appeared in my hand—compliments of the flight crew, apparently. I smiled awkwardly, took a sip, then another.
A little too fast.
By the third sip, my nerves had floated somewhere over the Atlantic. My head felt light. I leaned into him again, and before I could stop myself—I was out.
Again.
This time on his chest.
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Zayden's POV
She was like a stray sunbeam. Warm, unexpected, impossible to ignore.
When she rested her head against my chest, my entire body stiffened. Not because I minded—but because I didn't understand why I liked it so much.
Why I suddenly wanted to freeze time.
My heart was thudding hard under her ear. I wondered if she could hear it.
Then she mumbled something in her sleep.
"Don't leave yet…"
I blinked.
Who had she lost?
What pain was she carrying?
I stared down at her, brushing her arm gently. "I'm not going anywhere," I whispered, even though she wouldn't hear it.
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Elena's POV
I woke again—still slightly tipsy—and realized the flight attendant was handing me a glass of water. I reached for it clumsily… and my hand bumped it.
The water spilled right onto him.
"Oh my God!" I gasped, reaching for napkins, panic rising. "I am so sorry—are you okay?"
He nodded slowly, but I saw a red scrape on his hand where the glass had grazed him.
Without thinking, I dug into my purse, pulled out my emergency band-aid kit (which included unicorns, hearts, and smiley faces), and grabbed the first one.
A bright pink heart-shaped band-aid.
I peeled it and gently placed it on his hand.
He stared at it. Then at me.
And for the first time, his guarded eyes cracked—just a little.
Something flickered in his expression.
Was it… fondness?
Was it… interest?
No… it was something more dangerous.
It was the beginning.
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