Chapter 5 5

The door sealed shut, cutting off the noise of the world outside. The silence inside the cabin was sudden and profound. The air was cool, conditioned, and smelled of leather.

Seraphina sank into the plush cream seat. Her body, running on adrenaline for the last hour, suddenly felt heavy.

Harrison sat opposite her, his eyes scanning her face, looking for bruises, for scars. He looked like he wanted to wrap her in bubble wrap.

"We have a guest," Harrison said, gesturing to the rear of the cabin. "We were mid-flight to London for a merger. He... insisted we divert. Said he felt a disturbance."

Seraphina turned her head.

She hadn't noticed him. He was sitting in the shadow of the fuselage, deep in the corner seat. He was looking at a tablet, his finger scrolling slowly.

He looked up.

The air in the cabin seemed to thin.

Nicholas Vanderbilt. She knew the name. Everyone knew the name. But the photos didn't do justice to the reality of him. He was dark-haired, sharp-jawed, with eyes that were black pools of indifference.

But Seraphina didn't look at his face. She looked at the light.

It was blinding.

Radiating from him was a golden aura, dense and heavy, like liquid sunlight. It wasn't just light; it was merit. It was a force field of such intense positive karma that it almost hurt her eyes to look at it directly.

He was a walking battery.

Nicholas stared at her. His gaze was cool, analytical. He didn't look impressed by the dramatic rescue.

"Miss Sterling," he said. His voice was a low baritone, smooth and detached.

Seraphina stared at him. Her fingers twitched. She had been running on empty for years, draining her own spiritual reserves to survive the Grimes house. Being near him was like standing next to a roaring fire after freezing to death.

"You carry a heavy shadow on your left," she said.

It was vague enough to be a guess, but specific enough to catch his attention.

Harrison stiffened. "Seraphina..."

Nicholas didn't blink. He set the tablet down. "Why do you say that?"

Seraphina pointed a finger vaguely toward him. "There is a smudge on the light. Something cold. It hasn't let go yet."

Nicholas's eyes narrowed. He looked at his shoulder, then back at her. Most people would have called her crazy. He didn't. He looked intrigued.

"My grandmother," he said simply. "Buried three days ago."

Harrison looked between them, confused.

Seraphina leaned forward. The pull was irresistible. She needed to recharge. Just being in this enclosed space with him was making her fingertips tingle.

"Can I..." She stopped herself. She couldn't just ask to touch him. That would be weird.

Nicholas watched her. He saw the exhaustion in her eyes, the way her hand trembled slightly on the armrest. He saw the scratch on the back of her hand where she had scraped it on the trailer door.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. It was white, monogrammed silk.

He held it out. "Your hand is bleeding."

Seraphina hesitated. She reached out. Her fingers brushed against his as she took the cloth.

Zap.

It wasn't static electricity. It was a rush of pure, clean energy. It shot up her arm, flooded her chest, and settled in her core. Her vision sharpened. The fatigue vanished. The headache she had been nursing for days evaporated.

She gasped, pulling her hand back as if burned. But it wasn't a burn. It was a thrill.

Nicholas didn't pull back. He held his hand there for a second longer, staring at his own fingers. He had felt it too. A drain. A connection.

"Thank you," she whispered.

She pressed the handkerchief to her hand. It smelled like him. Clean rain and ozone.

Nicholas nodded slowly, leaning back into the shadows. But he didn't pick up his tablet again. He kept his eyes on her, calculating.

Harrison cleared his throat. "We'll be at the Manor in twenty minutes. Father is waiting."

Seraphina looked out the window. The clouds were below them now. But she could still feel Nicholas's gaze on the side of her face.