Chapter seventeen

She was already angry before she reached the line.

 

That much was obvious to everyone within a five-meter radius.

 

The airport terminal hummed with its usual chaos, rolling suitcases, muffled announcements, crying babies, impatient sighs but her irritation cut through it all like a blade.

 

Her heels clicked sharply against the tiled floor as she marched forward, chin lifted, posture rigid with entitlement.

 

“This is ridiculous,” she snapped, stopping abruptly and forcing the man behind her to stumble. “Do you people enjoy wasting others’ time?”

 

No one answered her. A few heads turned. Most people pretended not to notice. Airports had taught everyone the same survival skill: mind your business.

 

She exhaled loudly, arms folding across her chest.

 

She was dressed to be seen. That much was deliberate.

 

A tailored cream trench coat hugged her slim figure perfectly, the belt cinched tight at the waist.

 

 

Underneath, glimpses of a fitted black outfit appeared every time she moved. Her heels were expensive, thin, sharp, impractical for travel, but she wore them anyway.

 

A structured designer bag hung from her arm like an extension of herself, pristine and carefully positioned so it wouldn’t brush against anyone.

 

Her skin was smooth and warm-toned, glowing even under the harsh airport lights.

 

Her makeup was flawless but not heavy,  defined brows, sharp eyeliner, lips painted a soft nude that still managed to look commanding.

 

Her hair fell in glossy waves down her back, dark and thick, styled to perfection as though she had stepped out of a private car rather than battled traffic and security lines.

 

She looked like someone who did not wait in lines.

 

And she clearly believed it.

 

She glanced ahead, assessing the length of the queue with visible disgust.

 

“You’ve got to be joking,” she muttered. Then louder, “Excuse me.”

 

A middle-aged woman in front of her turned around, startled. “Yes?”

 

She smiled tightly. “How long have you been standing here?”

 

The woman frowned. “About twenty minutes.”

 

“Twenty minutes?” Her eyes widened in exaggerated disbelief. “That’s unacceptable.”

 

The woman blinked. “Well… that’s the line.”

 

She leaned slightly forward, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. “I’m in a hurry. I suggest you let me pass.”

 

The woman stared at her. “No.”

 

That was when her expression changed.

 

Not surprising. Not embarrassment just annoyance.

 

“I wasn’t asking,” she said coolly.

 

A murmur rippled through the people nearby. Someone behind them scoffed.

 

“Hey,” a man said from two people back. “We’re all in a hurry.”

 

She turned slowly, eyes sharp. “Then perhaps you should have planned better.”

 

“That’s not how this works,” he replied.

 

She rolled her eyes. “Please. This line is moving at a ridiculous pace. I’ll be through in seconds.”

 

She attempted to step forward, angling her body to slip past.

 

The woman in front of her blocked the space with her suitcase.

 

“Absolutely not.”

 

Her jaw tightened. “Do you know who I am?”

 

The woman shook her head. “And I don’t care.”

 

That did it.

 

“This is unbelievable,” she snapped, throwing her hands up. “You people are so small-minded. I shouldn’t be standing here like this.”

 

A uniformed airport staff member noticed the rising tension and approached. “Ma’am, is there a problem?”

 

She turned to him immediately, relief and irritation mixing in her expression. “Yes. There is. I’ve been delayed long enough. I need to pass.”

 

The staff member glanced at the line. “Everyone here is waiting, ma’am.”

 

She laughed, sharp and humorless. “You can’t seriously expect me to stand here like everyone else.”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” he said politely. “That’s exactly what we expect.”

 

Her smile vanished. “That’s unacceptable.”

 

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” he replied evenly, “but you’ll have to wait your turn.”

 

She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Listen carefully. I have places to be. Important ones. You don’t want to be responsible for delaying me.”

 

The staff member straightened. “Ma’am, please step back into line or I’ll have to call a supervisor.”

 

People were openly watching now. Some with annoyance. Some with amusement.

 

She straightened slowly, smoothing the sleeve of her coat as if regaining control. “Fine. I’ll wait. But this is going to be reported.”

 

She stepped back, heels clicking, eyes burning holes into the back of the woman in front of her head.

 

The line moved an inch.

 

She checked her phone. No signal.

 

Of course.

 

A few minutes passed in tense silence. She shifted her weight, irritation radiating off her in waves. Every delay felt personal to her.

 

A child bumped into her accidentally while his mother struggled with their bags.

 

“Watch it!” she snapped.

 

“I’m so sorry,” the mother said quickly, pulling the child closer.

 

She gave them a once-over and turned away without responding.

 

Finally, she reached the front.

 

The counter agent greeted her with a practiced smile. “Good afternoon. Passport, please.”

 

She dropped it on the counter instead of handing it over.

 

The agent picked it up, opened it, and typed something into the system.

 

Her fingers tapped impatiently against the counter.

 

“Next time,” she said, not looking at the agent, “you should consider priority lanes for people who actually matter.”

 

The agent didn’t respond. Just continued typing.

 

A few seconds passed.

 

Then the agent paused and Looked down again.

 

Then up.

 

Her expression shifted, just slightly.

 

“Ms. Ashford?”

 

She lifted her chin. “Yes.”

 

The agent glanced once more at the passport, then spoke clearly, her voice cutting through the surrounding noise.

 

“Vivian Ashford.”

 

A small smile curved her lips.

 

“Yes,” she said smoothly. “That’s me.”

 

And the terminal seemed to hold its breath.