...Chapter 1...

It had been eight long years since life had ripped away your only love, your father. Eight years since that date, 09.08, had become a permanent scar carved into your memory. Every year, when it came around, it pressed against your chest like a heavy stone. You smiled for the world, of course. That was what you were good at smiling when you were shattered inside. Wearing the mask, holding it in place, pretending. Because what else could you do? The world didn’t care about your grief. The passengers boarding your plane didn’t care about the ache clawing at your ribs. All they wanted was your service, your beauty, your calm, your smile.

Beautiful but sad that was your curse. A face that could light up an entire cabin, and eyes that betrayed the storm behind them.

And then there was him.

The moment you saw him, your heart skipped as though it recognized danger. He was sitting in first business class, his presence filling the space like he owned it. His legs spread wide in effortless arrogance, one arm draped along the seat as though the leather itself bent to his command. His suit was black sharp, expensive, the kind of fabric you knew would feel like sin if you touched it. Beneath it, a crisp white shirt, the top buttons undone, revealing a glimpse of tanned skin and the delicate curve of his collarbone. But it wasn’t his clothes that stole your breath. It was his eyes.

Piercing, ice blue, and merciless. They scanned you slowly, deliberately, stripping you bare without ever touching you. The look made your skin prickle and your stomach tighten. You shivered, hating that he noticed. Then his hand lifted, two fingers curling toward himself in a gesture that was both a command and an invitation. You should have ignored him. Walked on. Pretended you hadn’t seen. But you didn’t. Something in you a spark of defiance, or maybe curiosity tilted your chin up. You put on that practiced smile, the one passengers always fell for, and swayed your hips just enough with each step as you made your way toward him. A silent war began before a single word was spoken. When he finally did speak, his voice was deep, rich, the kind of sound that vibrated through your chest.

“Whiskey.”

Just one word. But he didn’t look at your face when he said it. His eyes dragged over you instead, lingering too long, making your breath catch even as anger simmered beneath your skin. You wanted to snap at him, tell him to stop staring, but your training held you in check. You brought him the drink whiskey with ice and a splash of coke, just as he ordered. But when you set it down, he didn’t immediately take it. Instead, he leaned forward, his expression unreadable. Then, with a crooked finger, he gestured again, pulling you closer. Your body obeyed before your mind caught up. You leaned in, and that was when you felt it—his breath. Hot, deliberate, brushing over the sensitive skin of your neck. It was enough to make you tremble, though you clenched your fists to hide it. His voice dropped lower, intimate, dangerous.

“How much do you cost?”

The words struck like a slap. Your eyes widened, heat flooding your chest not from shame, but from fury. You wanted to lash out, to throw the whiskey in his smug face, to scream that you were not something to be bought or sold. But your uniform weighed heavy on your shoulders, reminding you of duty, professionalism, the mask you wore so well. So instead of giving him the satisfaction of your rage, you lifted your chin. Your voice came out cold, crisp, and razor-sharp, a respectful yet cutting response. The kind of reply that told him you were not afraid, even as confusion and unwanted desire tangled deep in your stomach. And then he chuckled. A low, rumbling sound that curled around you, equal parts mockery and amusement. He finally leaned back, taking his drink at last, as though he had only been testing you. As though the entire exchange had been nothing but a game to him. But you knew, with a bone deep certainty, this was no game.

This was the beginning of something far more dangerous.

...Drago’s Pov....

The moment I saw her, my heart did something it hadn’t done in years it stumbled, skipped, thrashed against my ribs like it had forgotten how to beat properly. I hadn’t felt that since I was a teenager, back when I was foolish enough to believe in innocent love. And yet, there she was, walking down the aisle with that practiced smile, and suddenly I was caught in something I couldn’t explain.

What was it about her?

Was it her long, dark hair, falling like midnight silk, daring me to run my fingers through it until she begged me to stop? Or maybe it was her eyes those captivating black eyes that called like a siren’s song, a storm raging in their depths, sadness hidden carefully behind that beautiful, practiced smile. That smile wasn’t for me; I could see the lie in it. She was breaking inside, yet still shining like fire, and that contradiction hooked me deeper than I wanted to admit.

Or maybe just maybe it was her body. The body of a goddess hidden beneath the neat, crisp

uniform. Every sway of her hips, every movement, subtle but sharp, stirred something primal in me. Desire, yes but more than that. Obsession.

I couldn’t figure it out. Not yet.

But one thing I knew without a single doubt. She would be mine.

In my world, everything has a price. Sex. Love. Loyalty. Even happiness. Everything can be bought, controlled, owned. And she this woman with her stormy eyes and angel’s smile would be no exception.

But when she pushed me away, her rejection wasn’t soft. It wasn’t timid. It was raw, burning with pure hatred and disgust. Most men would have felt insulted. Most men would have turned their backs. But me?

I laughed.

Because that spark, that fire, that refusal it made me want her even more. I love a challenge. I live for it. And she was the most exquisite challenge I’d ever seen. She wasn’t going to be easy to take, and that only made her worth everything.

I wanted to strip that defiance from her piece by piece, to hear her beg after she swore she never would. I wanted to tame her, to break her walls until she had no choice but to surrender. Not

because I forced her. No that would be too simple.

I wanted her to choose me, against her will, against her hate because I had carved myself so deep into her that there was no escape.

And the thought of it… the thought of possessing something so wild, so untouchable, and bending it to me…

It thrilled me more than anything ever had.

She was already mine. She just didn’t know it yet.

And when the time will come, when her walls

finally crumbled and she realises she could no longer fight me, I would be there waiting. Not as a man she hated, but as the only man she could never escape. The one she feared. The one she desired. The one who would ruin her and rebuild her in my name.

The moment I laid eyes on him, something in me faltered. Not quite fear, not quite attraction, but a strange pulse of awareness that caught me off guard. I’d seen countless men in business suits, arrogant and wealthy, filling first class cabins with their entitlement. But he wasn’t like them. He was more.

More dangerous.

More consuming.

More impossible to ignore.

His eyes were the first thing that struck me icy blue, sharp enough to slice right through me. They didn’t just look at me; they studied me, as if peeling away every layer I carefully put in place. I hated that. Hated how

exposed I felt beneath his gaze, as though he could see every scar, every secret, every hidden ache I worked so hard to keep

hidden behind my smile. Still, I forced myself to keep walking, hips swaying, smile steady, just another flight attendant doing her job. At least, that’s what I told myself. In truth, the moment his gaze locked with mine, the air thickened, heavy, like something unspoken was happening between us. Something I couldn’t name. And I didn’t like it.

The way he sat legs spread, posture

dripping with arrogance irritated me. It was the kind of stance that screamed ownership of the world, as if even the plane itself belonged to him. His suit was flawless, black as midnight, tailored to perfection, the kind of suit that whispered of power and control. A few undone buttons revealed the curve of his collarbone, skin kissed by sun, tempting in a way I refused to acknowledge.

I didn’t want to find him attractive. I didn’t want to notice the way his voice rolled out, low and rich, when he finally spoke.

“Whiskey.”

One word, but it sank into me like a hook, deep and sharp. My skin prickled, my pulse betrayed me, quickening against my will. I told myself it was irritation, nothing more. But even as I brought him his drink, I knew there was more at play.

When he crooked his finger at me, commanding without words, I should have been offended. I should have ignored him. But I didn’t. Against every bit of logic, I leaned in, breath caught in my throat. His scent hit me then clean, masculine, laced with something darker, richer, expensive.

And then he asked it.

“How much do you cost?”

For a moment, everything inside me burned. Anger. Disgust. But beneath it, shamefully, a tremor of something else I couldn’t admit aloud. He wasn’t just insulting me. He was testing me. Pushing, prying, waiting to see if I would break.

I didn’t. My reply was sharp, controlled, my smile tighter than ever. And when he chuckled, deep and amused, my chest tightened with something confusing something dangerous.

Because a part of me hated his arrogance. But another part… a darker, quieter part… was already curious what it might feel like to let him win. Because a part of me hated his arrogance. But another part… a darker, quieter part… was already curious what it might feel like to let him win.

And that curiosity terrified me more than his words, because deep down I feared he already owned a piece of me.