Sandra was just about to open the front door, her luggage already in hand, when the doorbell rang. She opened it to find Roland standing there in his usual sharp, formal attire, a soft but unreadable smile on his face.
She blinked at him, then glanced down at her own outfit—jeans and a loose sweatshirt.
"Are you flying... or attending a board meeting?" she asked dryly.
Roland gave a low snicker. "I just left one, actually. We need to head out. Are you ready?"
Sandra nodded. One of the bodyguards stepped forward to take her suitcase, and they made their way to the airport.
Ten minutes before boarding, they were seated side by side in the private VIP lounge. Andreas, Roland's ever-efficient assistant, handed Sandra a cup of coffee, which she accepted gratefully. After a moment, he leaned in to whisper something to Roland, who then turned to her.
"I need to step out for a conference call. I'll be back in five."
Sandra nodded and waved him off, focusing on her phone.
Not even a full minute passed before a woman in a flight attendant uniform entered the lounge. With a frown barely masked behind her polished smile, she approached Sandra.
"Excuse me, ma'am. This lounge is reserved for our VIP passengers. May I see your boarding pass?"
Sandra looked up, startled. "Boarding pass?"
Only then did she realize—she didn't have it. Andreas had always handled those details.
"I do have one," she explained politely. "My companion has it—he'll be back shortly."
The stewardess gave her a look of mocking skepticism. "I'm sorry, but if you can't present your pass, I'll have to ask you to leave. Or I'll be forced to call security."
Though annoyed, Sandra didn't want to make a scene. She calmly gathered her things and exited the lounge.
Just as she reached the corridor leading back toward the public gates, Roland—followed closely by Andreas—saw her.
"Where are you going?" he asked, concern flickering in his eyes.
"Oh, you're back," Sandra said casually. "They kicked me out of the lounge because I didn't have my boarding pass."
Her words were light, unbothered. But Roland's expression darkened instantly. Andreas, sensing danger, broke into a cold sweat. Roland shot him a glare that could kill.
"I deeply apologize, madam," Andreas bowed low. "This will never happen again."
Sandra blinked, surprised by the overreaction. "No, no, don't worry. It wasn't your fault at all."
Just then, a man in a pilot's uniform approached with purpose in his stride.
"Mr. Fleming," he said with a respectful bow. "It's an honor to have you on board. May I escort you and your guest to board now?"
Still confused, Sandra followed. Only when they entered the aircraft did she realize—they weren't flying commercial economy. This was first class, and not just any first class. It was luxury beyond her expectations.
Roland guided her to her seat like a gentleman, helping her settle in before taking the opposite cubicle seat for himself. The crew moved like clockwork, offering welcome drinks and treating every movement as a performance of class and precision.
Among them was the same stewardess who had kicked Sandra out of the lounge—Jessica.
As she caught sight of Roland, her eyes sparkled.
Unlike the typical wealthy passengers—aging, balding, and bored—Roland was young, devastatingly handsome, and radiated power. Now this, she thought, is someone worth catching.
Approaching with her best smile, Jessica offered, "Good afternoon, sir. What would you like to drink?"
Without looking up from his laptop, Roland took the menu. After a brief glance, he handed it back and said flatly, "The Moët will do."
That was it.
Not a glance. Not a smile.
Still, Jessica didn't give up. It was a 13-hour flight—she had time to try again.
She returned with the champagne and, determined to make her move, approached the opposite seat.
Knocking lightly on the cubicle door, she waited. Sandra, already half-asleep from pulling an all-nighter the night before, reluctantly opened the door.
"You?!" Jessica snapped, her voice rising.
Sandra blinked, expression flat. "Oh, it's you."
"How did you get in here?" Jessica asked with disbelief.
"Obviously, I'm a passenger," Sandra said coolly, shrugging as she leaned back, reaching to close the door.
But Jessica wasn't done. She grabbed Sandra's shoulder to stop her, startling her. Reflexively, Sandra pushed back—and Jessica went sprawling to the floor with a dramatic shriek.
Within seconds, attention turned their way.
Before anyone could assess the situation, Jessica hastily radioed security.
The plane was still boarding, passengers hadn't settled yet.
Andreas, who had been resting nearby, bolted up at the commotion. He rushed over to find Sandra flustered but composed, while Jessica was on the floor, now weeping loudly.
"She's not a passenger!" Jessica shouted. "She assaulted me when I asked her to leave!"
The lead flight attendant, who had heard the noise, arrived—and her heart dropped when she saw the scene.
No. Please no. Her face turned pale.
Andreas immediately stepped beside Sandra, inspecting her with worry. "Madam, are you alright?"
Just then, Roland who came from the restroom arrived.
His eyes scanned the room. When he saw Sandra, visibly upset and humiliated, something snapped inside him.
"Is this how you train your crew?!" he thundered, voice like a blade. "This is my fiancée!"
The cabin crew leader dropped into a deep bow, trembling.
"I deeply apologize, Mr. Fleming. This is a disgrace. Security—remove her at once!"
Jessica's mouth dropped. "W-What?! I—she—wait, no! You can't—!"
"You're fired!" the crew leader barked. "Don't even think of working in this industry again! You humiliated the fiancée of Roland Fleming! You're beyond stupid!"
As Jessica was dragged away, kicking and screaming, Sandra calmly sat back down, closed her cubicle door, and drifted off to sleep—as if the chaos had nothing to do with her at all.
Roland stood still for a moment, looking at the closed cubicle
So strong, so unbothered. Like a tigress—fierce and untouchable.
And yet, deep in his heart, he couldn't help but think:
Sometimes, just sometimes... I wish she'd act like a damsel in distress, so I could be her hero.