CHAPTER 4

HAZEL COLLINS POV

The rhythmic hum of the Boeing 777’s engines was a low, comforting vibration beneath my feet. As a VIP passenger in the ultra-exclusive first-class cabin, I had the entire luxury pod to myself. A frosted glass door separated me from the main aisle, while Julian and the twins occupied the adjoining suite further down.

I leaned back against the plush leather seat, slowly swirling the sparkling water in my crystal glass. Going back to New York was business, nothing more. The Montgomery-Collins Group was aggressively expanding its global footprint, and taking over the hospitality contracts for Anderson Airlines' premium international lounges was a highly strategic move. They needed our name, our impeccable reputation, and most importantly, our capital.

A sudden electronic chime echoed through the cabin, signaling the end of our initial ascent and the stabilization of the aircraft.

"Good day, ladies and gentlemen. This is your Captain speaking," a deep, rich baritone washed over the PA system.

My fingers instantly froze around my glass. My breathing stalled in my throat.

"We are currently cruising at an altitude of thirty-five thousand feet, heading west toward JFK International. The weather in New York is clear, and we expect a smooth, uneventful flight. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the service."

Caleb.

It was him. I could recognize that precise, commanding voice anywhere, even after five long, grueling years of forced silence. It was the exact same voice that used to whisper breathless promises against my skin in the dark, the same voice that had effortlessly dismissed me to his co-pilot as a mere temporary distraction. My heart did a violent, defensive thud against my ribs before I forced my corporate shield right back up. He was flying this plane. Of all the commercial flights, of all the days in the year, he was the one sitting in the cockpit.

"Ma'am? Is everything alright?" the flight attendant asked politely, noticing my sudden rigidity.

"I'm fine. Just a bit chilly," I lied smoothly, offering a practiced, elegant smile that I had spent years perfecting in front of boardroom mirrors. "Could I get a warm towel, please?"

"Right away, Ms. Collins."

I took a long, deliberate breath, smoothing down the fabric of my tailored trousers. New York was a massive, sprawling city, and he was just a pilot. Our paths didn't need to cross outside the official corporate boardroom meetings, and even then, I would be dealing primarily with Arthur Anderson, not him. Caleb was just the arrogant heir who preferred the open sky over the restrictions of a CEO chair. I had absolutely nothing to fear from him anymore.

An hour into the cross-Atlantic flight, I stood up to check on the twins. The first-class lounge area was exceptionally quiet and dimly lit, designed specifically for maximum privacy and comfort. As I walked down the narrow, carpeted corridor near the forward galley, the heavy cockpit security door suddenly clicked open.

A tall man in a crisp, pristine white captain's uniform stepped out into the galley area. His broad shoulders completely filled the confined space, the brilliant gold stripes on his epaulets catching the soft cabin lights. His dark hair was perfectly styled, but his face carried a rugged, exhausted look that hadn't been there five years ago. Lines of tension were permanently etched around his jaw.

Caleb turned around to speak briefly to the purser, his profile sharp, aristocratic, and thoroughly commanding.

I paused mid-step, intending to turn right back to the safety of my private suite, but the heel of my designer shoe made a distinct, sharp click against the floor.

Caleb’s head snapped toward the sound with military precision. His dark, piercing eyes instantly locked onto mine.

Time seemed to completely stop inside the cabin. The low, steady hum of the airplane faded into absolute, suffocating silence. I watched the color rapidly drain from his tanned face, his jaw dropping slightly as his eyes frantically tracked my face, my hair, and the expensive designer clothes I wore. He looked exactly like a man who had just seen a ghost rise from the grave.

"Hazel?" he breathed out, his voice cracking violently, entirely stripped of his usual pilot authority.

I didn't flinch. I didn't run away. I stood my ground firmly, keeping my posture rigid, my expression entirely blank and professionally detached. The trembling, broken girl he had abandoned in that rain-slicked office was long dead.

Caleb took a desperate, unthinking step forward, his hands reaching out instinctively toward me before he caught himself, his eyes scanning me with a volatile mixture of shock, utter disbelief, and a sudden, burning longing that made my stomach turn. "Hazel... it’s really you. My god, I’ve been looking for you for five years. Where have you been? Why did you vanish?"

"Excuse me, Captain Anderson," I interrupted him, my voice smooth, cold, and completely devoid of any human emotion. I looked at him like he was a minor, annoying inconvenience delaying my walk. "Do I know you?"

Caleb flinched visibly, as if my words were a physical slap to his face. He shook his head, taking another step closer into my personal space, lowering his voice significantly so the cabin crew wouldn't overhear his desperation. "Hazel, please don't do this to me. I know you're angry. I know exactly what I did, and I've regretted it every single day. Just let me explain..."

"I believe you have mistaken me for someone else, Captain," I said, tilting my head with a polite, icy corporate smile that didn't reach my eyes. "My name is Hazel Collins, Executive Director of the Montgomery-Collins Group. If this emotional outburst is regarding the upcoming business merger with your family's airline, please direct all your personal communications to my legal team."

"Hazel, stop it," he pleaded, his voice thick with an emotion I couldn't care less to analyze. Guilt? Regret? It was five years too late for a conscience. "I saw the international passenger manifest before we departed London. I know it's you. Please, just give me five minutes of your time when we land at JFK."

"Captain, your crew is waiting for your report," I pointed out coldly, glancing toward the confused flight attendant standing by the galley counter. "And I have children to get back to in my suite."

Before he could even begin to process the weight of the word .children, I turned around elegantly, my silk blazer glittering under the cabin lights as I walked away. I left him standing frozen in the narrow corridor, clutching the cockpit door handle as if it were the only thing keeping him upright.