Kian Ashford didn't wait for fate.
He moved toward it.
And as Chloe Redgrave stepped through the terminal, her focus sharp, her presence untouchable, he crossed the distance with quiet, deliberate certainty.
Not rushed.
Not hesitant.
Measured. Intentional.
The crowd barely mattered.
The murmurs, the voices, the constant movement—it all fell away.
Because at this moment, she was the only thing worth acknowledging.
And when Chloe's gaze finally lifted—finally landed on him—
he saw it.
Recognition.
Not surprise—something deeper.
Something that felt like impact. Like the weight of six years suddenly pressing into the space between them.
Kian's lips barely curled, a fraction of amusement at the way she stilled—the way everything seemed to shift the moment she saw him standing there.
And then—he spoke.
Low. Intentional.
"Chloe Redgrave."
The sound of her name between his lips—an undeniable statement, not just an acknowledgment but a claiming of the moment itself.