Kim’s Pov.

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.

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