Chapter 101

Sean POV

Thomas was already scrambling out as we arrived at Malpensa Airport, ready to handle the luggage and check-in procedures.

The week-long negotiations in Milan had finally concluded.

"I'll take care of everything, Mr. Shaw," he assured me, the slight tremor in his voice betraying his perpetual anxiety. "The check-in counter is just inside. They're expecting you."

I nodded.Inside, I made my way toward the restrooms. As I pushed open the door with my shoulder, I noticed a small boy struggling with the heavy door, his arms loaded with what appeared to be a toy airplane and a book.

Without breaking stride, I reached over and held the door open for him. The child looked up, his green eyes brightening.

"Thank you, sir," he said politely before slipping inside.

I froze, a strange feeling washing over me. That voice-hauntingly familiar-pulled at my memory.

I turned to glimpse the boy again, but he had vanished into a stall. All I could see was the top of his dark, slightly wavy hair, strangely familiar.

"Mr. Shaw!" Thomas appeared at the restroom entrance. "We need to board immediately. There's been a seating issue."

"What kind of issue?"

He swallowed. "The booking system glitched. First and business class were full when I confirmed your seat."

I stopped and turned to face him. "You didn't secure my seat?"

"I tried, sir, but the flight is overbooked."

"Where am I seated?" I asked, my voice cold.

"Economy, sir. I'm so sorry."

The anger surged. "Thomas, when we return to New York, we'll discuss your future with Shaw Group."

His color drained. "Yes, sir."

The economy cabin felt like a cruel joke. The seats were narrow, the legroom nonexistent for someone of my height.

"Sir," Thomas hovered in the aisle, his expression frantic. "I'm trying to find someone willing to switch seats. Just give me a few minutes."

I didn't respond, instead pulling out my phone to review emails, deliberately ignoring him and the curious glances from nearby passengers who were clearly wondering why a man in a five-thousand-dollar suit was crammed into economy.

Fifteen minutes into boarding, Thomas reappeared, accompanied by a nervous-looking young man.

"Mr. Shaw," Thomas said quietly, "this gentleman has kindly offered to exchange his first class seat with yours."

The young man practically vibrated with excitement. "It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Shaw! I've followed your career for years. I'd be happy to take your seat-no compensation necessary."

I silenced him with a look, rising from the cramped seat with as much dignity as I could muster. "Thomas will take your contact information," I said coldly, collecting my briefcase.

The first class cabin was mercifully spacious and quiet.

I closed my eyes, about to rest, but a childish voice rang in my ear.

"You're really handsome, mister!"

I opened my eyes to find a small girl standing beside my seat, her dark curls framing a heart-shaped face that displayed absolute confidence in her statement.

"Aria?" The name slipped out before I could stop it, surprising me as much as her.

Her eyes widened, and she took a half-step closer. "How do you know my name? Are you one of Mama's friends?"

I blinked, realizing my error. "I... no. I've seen your cooking show on Instagram. The one with your brother."

"You watch our cooking show? Really truly?"

I nodded, finding myself unable to look away from her animated face. "Yes. The risotto episode was... quite educational."

She beamed, rocking back on her heels. "Mama says people who like watching children cook must have really kind hearts. Is that true? Do you have a kind heart?"

The question caught me off guard. In my entire adult life, no one had ever described me as kind-hearted. Brilliant, yes. Ruthless, certainly. But kind?

"I'm not sure," I answered honestly.

Aria seemed to consider this, her head tilting slightly. "Mama says everyone has kindness in them, but some people forget where they put it." She leaned closer, as if sharing a secret. "Like how I always lose my hairbands, but they're usually just under my pillow all along."

A smile tugged at my lips. "Your mother sounds very wise."

"She is!" Aria nodded enthusiastically. "She says even busy people like you should learn to cook, because then you can take care of yourself and the people you love even when work gets crazy."

"Is that so?" I asked, oddly touched by this child's earnest wisdom.

"Yep! That's why we do our cooking show. To help busy people remember how to make yummy food." Her expression turned serious. "Do you know how to cook, mister?"

"Not really," I admitted. "I usually have people who do that for me."

Aria frowned slightly. "That's sad. Cooking is fun! Mama says the best feeling is making something delicious for someone you love and watching their face when they taste it."

Something about her words struck a chord deep within me. When was the last time I'd done anything for someone else's enjoyment?

"Your mother sounds like an exceptional person," I said softly.

Aria nodded with absolute conviction. "She's the best person in the whole world."

A flight attendant appeared then, her expression apologetic. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Shaw. Is she bothering you?"

"Not at all,"

"Nevertheless, sweetheart, you need to return to your seat. We're preparing for takeoff." The attendant held out her hand to Aria.

The little girl sighed dramatically but accepted the attendant's hand. Before leaving, she turned back to me with a bright smile.

"Bye, mystery Instagram man! Maybe you can try cooking something when you get home!"

I found myself watching her as she disappeared down the aisle, the lingering scent of children's shampoo the only evidence she'd been there at all.

For the first time in what felt like years, the constant tension in my shoulders had eased slightly, replaced by a curious warmth I couldn't quite name.

As the plane began its descent, I made a decision. I would find them before they left the airport-just to say hello properly, to thank Aria for her unexpected company.

I watched carefully as the economy section emptied, looking for Aria's distinctive curls or her brother's serious expression. But as the minutes ticked by and the cabin cleared, there was no sign of them.

"They must have already deplaned," I muttered, finally rising from my seat.

"Who, sir?" Thomas asked, confusion evident in his voice.

"It doesn't matter," I replied, gathering my belongings. "Let's go."