Mira’s fingers curled against the fabric of her skirt as she shifted in her seat, restless energy buzzing under her skin. She wasn’t ready for this. For him. Not after Seraphina. Not after the weight of his words on her birthday.

  But it didn’t matter.

  The flight would board soon. The doors would close. And for the next ten hours, she would have no choice but to face it.

  As they stepped into the first-class cabin, Mira immediately noticed something was… off. Instead of two separate suits, the space had been transformed into a spacious double suite—and in the center, a fully made-up double bed.

  She froze.

  "Wait—" Mira started, blinking at the arrangement, her brain short-circuiting.

  Adrian, meanwhile, didn’t react. He simply placed his carry-on to the side, glancing at the bed as if analyzing a minor logistical issue.

  The flight attendant quickly noticed Mira’s hesitation and gasped. "Oh, my apologies! We thought—" A nervous chuckle. "I’ll have it rearranged immediately."

  Mira exhaled, nodding quickly, but her face still burned.

  Within minutes, the crew restored the space to its intended setup—two separate reclining seats, still connected in the luxurious private suite, but no longer an intimate shared bed.

  Mira sank into her seat, still overwhelmed. The sheer luxury of it all—the plush leather, the private doors, the personal vanity mirror, and the skincare set tucked beside her seat—was unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

  Normally, she flew economy. Normal seat, normal airline, for normal people.

  And now… she was here. Accompanying him.

  Adrian settled into his seat effortlessly, as if this level of opulence was nothing. He glanced at her once, noting her reaction.

  "First time in a first-class suite?" His tone was unreadable, but the slight curve of his lips made her bristle.

  Mira straightened, refusing to give him the satisfaction. "I just wasn’t expecting… this."

  Mira exhaled, still trying to wrap her head around it. Easier said than done.

  The hum of the airplane filled the space between them, the quiet tension stretching as Mira kept her eyes fixed on the in-flight magazine, flipping through pages she wasn’t really reading.

  Adrian broke the silence first. His voice was calm, almost conversational.

  "Should we go over the work now? We still have ten hours ahead."

  She hesitated but eventually nodded. It was inevitable.

  "Your main responsibilities are managing the meeting minutes and handling the interview schedule," he explained smoothly. "The university requires documentation of each session. I can recall everything, but recording and organizing them is your task."

  Mira barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. Of course, he could remember every word spoken.

  "And the interviews?" she asked.

  "You’ll be the one to accept or decline them. If you think a request is worth my time, arrange it. If not, reject it."

  Simple enough, but the weight of responsibility settled in. She was essentially the filter between Adrian and the rest of the summit.

  After a moment of hesitation, she turned slightly toward him.

  "What’s the criteria for accepting or rejecting an interview?" she asked. "How many can you take?"

  "That’s up to you."

  Mira blinked. What? She frowned. "Up to me?"

  "You’re my assistant," he said smoothly. "Filter them as you see fit. If you think it’s important, schedule it. If not, don’t."

  She let out a slow breath. He wasn’t going to make this easy. "So there are no specific guidelines? No preferences?"

  He finally turned his head slightly, his gray eyes meeting hers briefly. "Use your judgment, Mira. I trust you’ll make the right decisions."

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  Mira leaned back against the seat, exhaling. Great. Just great.

  Then, Mira pulled out her tablet, double-checking the schedule she had received from the university. She read through it carefully, confirming the details.

  "Just to go over this again," she said, keeping her tone neutral. "First day: arrival, check-in, preparation, networking, and possibly time for interviews if any come up." She glanced at him for confirmation before continuing. "Second day: the main summit, fully occupied, panel discussion at night, then the dinner cruise. No interviews unless extremely urgent."

  Adrian gave a slight nod, indicating she was correct.

  "The third day includes some political visits, then some free time afterward. You could take one or two small interviews if needed," she continued. "Then no scheduled activities until the night flight back."

  She lowered her tablet, tapping a finger lightly against the screen. "Did I miss anything?"

  Adrian shook his head. "No, that’s correct."

  Mira exhaled slowly. It was a packed schedule, but at least now she had a clear idea of what to expect. So this is what I signed up for… or, rather, what I was tricked into signing up for.

  As the conversation shifted back to work, Adrian spoke again.

  "Maybe you already know, but let’s be clear. You will accept no gifts. No additional documents beyond what has already been vetted by the organizer. Nothing from anyone."

  Does he think I’m careless? She opened her mouth to say something, but he wasn’t finished.

  "On the last day, there will be no small talks or interviews—only the compulsory activities as planned. After that, you’ll have free time before the flight."

  She nodded, making a mental note, but then he added, "Also, when you were standing next to me, every camera, every broadcast would be on you as well. Don’t make any… odd expressions."

  Mira turned to him, eyes narrowing.

  "I’m a professional," she stated flatly, resisting the urge to cross her arms.

  A moment later, Adrian’s gaze shifted toward her wrist. His expression remained unreadable, his tone casual—but precise.

  "How’s your wrist? Can you handle the tasks?"

  Mira stiffened, her fingers brushing over the bandage. She exhaled slowly, keeping her focus on the seat in front of her. "Almost okay," she said evenly. "The bandage is just to make sure everything stays in control. The doctor said it should be fine in a few days. I’ll go for a final check-up after the summit."

  She didn’t look at him, but she could feel the weight of his gaze.

  "Good. Just don’t overdo yourself."

  Before the silence could stretch too far, a soft knock at the suite door signalled the arrival of dinner. A flight attendant slid the panel open, stepping in with a polite smile.

  "Good evening, Mr. Adrian, Ms. Mira. Your dinner is ready. Would you like to dine separately or together?"

  Mira hesitated, unsure of the protocol. Adrian, however, barely looked up from his tablet. "Together," he answered smoothly.

  Mira glanced at him, slightly surprised, but before she could object, the attendant had already set the table between their seats and unfolded a crisp white tablecloth over the surface.

  Within moments, their meal was presented course by course—each dish plated with restaurant-level precision.

  First came the amuse-bouche—a delicate bite-sized appetizer, followed by the starter, a lobster and avocado salad drizzled with citrus dressing.

  This wasn’t just airplane food. This was art.

  The flight attendant poured their drinks—a carefully selected wine pairing for Adrian, sparkling water for Mira—before presenting the main course options.

  "Tonight, we have three selections: Wagyu beef tenderloin with black truffle sauce, pan-seared Chilean sea bass with saffron risotto, or a vegetarian option—wild mushroom ravioli with sage butter."

  Mira had no idea what to choose. She was used to pre-packed trays and plastic cutlery, not… whatever this was.

  "The beef," Adrian decided effortlessly.

  The flight attendant turned to Mira expectantly.

  She cleared her throat. "Uh… the sea bass, please."

  As their plates were placed before them, she picked up her fork carefully, still feeling like she was intruding in someone else’s world.

  Adrian, however, was perfectly at ease, cutting into his steak with practiced precision. He didn’t say anything at first, simply eating as if this was just another meal.

  Mira took a small bite of her fish—and immediately paused.

  It was incredible.

  "Something wrong?" he asked, taking a sip of his wine.

  Mira shook her head quickly. "No. It’s just… better than I expected."

  "First-class does that."

  She huffed, focusing back on her plate.

  Their meal continued with little conversation, but the tension had shifted—no longer stiff, just… different.

  By the time dessert arrived—a choice of chocolate soufflé or fresh fruit with mascarpone—Mira had finally relaxed enough to admit, at least to herself, that this was probably the best meal she’d ever had on a plane.

  And yet, the most unsettling part wasn’t the luxury.

  It was the fact that, despite everything, dining across from Adrian like this almost felt… normal.

  For a while, they ate in silence, the occasional clink of utensils filling the space between them. Mira wasn’t sure if she should say something or just let the quiet settle.

  Eventually, she glanced around the suite; after hesitating for a moment, she cleared her throat.

  "Uhm... how to put this... There should be a partition here, right?"

  The flight attendant, who had just returned to clear their plates, offered a polite smile. "Ah, yes. If you'd like, we can set it back after the meal."

  Mira nodded quickly. "Please."

  With the partition finally restored, Mira exhaled, sinking into her bed. The sheer relief of having a proper boundary between them was almost laughable.

  Nine hours left.

  Mira closed her eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. After a while, she shifted, reaching for the small control panel beside her. Dimming the lights, adjusting the seat—anything to get comfortable.

  Then, a soft ding.

  A message.

  She blinked. Who would be messaging her at this hour?

  Reaching for her phone, her stomach twisted slightly when she saw the sender.

  A message from Adrian.