CHAPTER 1 — RUNAWAY WINDS
The airport smelled like rain, jet fuel, and the faintest trace of freedom—something Aria Valencia hadn't tasted in months. Maybe years. She dragged her suitcase across the glossy tiles, her boots clicking with a stubborn determination that barely covered the chaos swirling inside her.
She wasn't running.
She wasn't escaping.
She was leaving—and there was a difference.
At least, that's what she told herself.
Her friends had begged her to reconsider. Her mother had cried. Her ex had tried—pathetically—to apologize at her doorstep after cheating, gaslighting, and attempting to mold her into a woman who's "easier to love."
Easier.
Aria scoffed under her breath. Maybe she wasn't meant to be easy. Maybe she was meant to be wild—the kind of woman who couldn't be owned, softened, or made small.
So she booked a ticket to an island she'd never heard of until two nights ago, shoved her clothes into a suitcase, and told no one except the barista who asked why she was buying three chocolate croissants at six in the morning.
Because she deserved them.
Because heartbreak demanded carbs.
Because if she stood still any longer, her life would swallow her whole.
The airport announcements droned overhead as she checked her gate. The flight wasn't full, the weather reports looked clean, and the island promised nothing but silence. Exactly what she needed.
She walked toward the boarding area, dodging families, businessmen, and exhausted travelers sprawled in chairs. Her heart beat fast—from nerves, anticipation, and the strange sense that she was stepping into the beginning of something unpredictable.
Aria whispered to herself, "Here's to a new life."
She didn't expect the universe to respond so quickly.
---
On the other side of the world—or more accurately, the other end of the terminal—Leon Sorel was also running.
Well, technically, Leon Sorel didn't run. He didn't need to. People moved for him.
His stride was sharp and controlled, suit immaculate despite having been worn for nearly eighteen hours, and his expression carved from stone. Assistants trailed behind him like anxious satellites, clutching tablets, documents, and a laptop connected to three global markets.
"Mr. Sorel, the board wants a quick word before your flight—"
"No."
"But the Seravian investors are threatening to withdraw—"
"Let them. I don't bend to threats."
His tone was icy, final, and absolute.
Leon didn't like chaos. Didn't tolerate surprises. And didn't take vacations unless they had a strategic purpose. This one did: a land acquisition meeting on a remote island, where a promising development project waited for his approval.
He intended to stay two days, finalize the deal, and leave without allowing the ocean breeze to touch him more than necessary.
Personal time was a luxury for people who didn't have empires to maintain.
"Your flight boards in twenty minutes, sir," his assistant reminded him.
Leon gave a curt nod. He lifted his eyes to the huge windows overlooking darkening clouds. A storm was forming—unwelcome, inconvenient, and typical. He hated storms. They signaled disorder.
But the deal needed sealing, and the faster he flew out, the faster he could return to his perfectly structured world.
He had no idea his plane, his schedule, and his carefully mapped-out existence were about to be shattered by a woman who wore chaos like perfume.
---
Back at Gate 14, Aria shifted her weight as passengers began boarding.
She inhaled deeply, letting the moment settle. The departure sign blinked: ON TIME. Good. The weather outside felt thick, heavy, like the world was holding its breath—but she chose optimism.
She stepped toward the boarding tunnel, suitcase rolling behind, when—
The boarding halted.
A gasp rippled through the passengers.
The sky outside had turned violent.
Winds slapped against the terminal windows. Lightning flickered across the horizon, a jagged warning.
A voice crackled through the speakers:
"Passengers of Flight 07B to Isla Paraíso, please remain in the boarding area. Weather updates in ten minutes."
Aria's heart dropped. "Of course," she muttered. "Chaos follows me like an ex."
She leaned against a window, watching rain smear the sky. Her reflection stared back at her—long brown hair, sun-kissed skin, tired eyes, stubborn jawline. A face that had survived heartbreak, disappointment, and the expectations of everyone except herself.
She was done being the woman people expected.
She was ready to be the woman she wanted.
Just as she closed her eyes, trying to calm the sudden spike of anxiety—
A loud voice made people shift and whisper.
"Is that Leon Sorel?"
Aria frowned. Leon who?
She turned slightly—and froze.
A tall man approached Gate 14 with the presence of someone who had never been told no in his life. Dark hair slicked back, suit tailored with lethal precision, eyes sharp and unreadable. His jaw looked like it was sculpted from authority itself.
He didn't look like he belonged at a tropical gate. He looked like he belonged at the head of a table made of marble and fear.
Aria whispered under her breath, "Who wears a suit on vacation?"
He must have heard her—his head tilted slightly, eyes flicking toward her for a fraction of a second.
Dark. Intense. Briefly curious.
Then he looked away as if curiosity was too indulgent.
Aria rolled her eyes. "You look rich and bored," she muttered quietly.
She didn't know who he was.
She didn't care.
She would never cross paths with him anyway.
Or so she thought.
---
Thirty minutes later, the storm worsened.
The airline staff began directing passengers toward the exit doors that led outside to a smaller shuttle bus. The plane wasn't taking off—the island ferry service had agreed to transport passengers to the island instead.
"You've got to be kidding me," Aria groaned.
A boat? In a storm?
But she had no choice. She'd decided to leave her old life behind—and she wasn't going back.
She followed the crowd, gripping her bag tighter, her hair whipping in the wind as she stepped outside. Rain instantly soaked her clothes, sticking fabric to her skin.
Lightning flashed. Thunder cracked. The ocean roared like it was daring them to try.
Aria felt the wind push her sideways—and she stumbled straight into a rock-solid wall of a person.
Except it wasn't a wall.
It was him.
Leon Sorel.
He caught her by the arm, steady but stern.
"Watch your step," he said coolly.
Heat flared up her neck. "I'm fine," she snapped, pulling away.
"You clearly aren't," he replied, brushing raindrops from his cuff.
Her mouth fell open. "Wow. Thanks for the concern. Next time I'll fall more elegantly."
A flicker—just a small one—passed through his eyes. Amusement? Annoyance? It was hard to tell with men like him.
But he didn't respond.
He didn't need to.
His silence was louder than most people's speeches.
Aria marched toward the boat, muttering curses at the storm, fate, and men with god complexes.
Leon followed, umbrella in hand, barely touched by the rain while she looked like a drowned rebel.
They boarded the ferry. People squeezed together. The boat rocked violently.
Aria's heartbeat climbed. She gripped the wooden railing so hard her knuckles whitened.
Leon stood near the back, eyes fixed on his phone, completely unfazed by the chaos around them.
Of course he was calm. Storms probably feared him.
The boat surged forward.
A massive wave crashed over the deck, drenching everyone.
Aria lost her balance again—feet slipping, body tilting.
She collided with someone—hard—sending both of them crashing onto the deck.
Pain shot through her elbow.
She groaned. "Seriously?!"
A deep voice rumbled beneath her.
"This is getting repetitive."
She blinked—and realized she was sprawled on top of Leon Sorel.
Again.
Wind whipped around them. Rain drenched them both. Passengers stared.
Aria scrambled off him, mortified. "Oh my god, I did not mean—this storm is insane—I wasn't trying to—"
"Attack me?" he finished dryly, pushing himself up.
Her cheeks burned. "I don't attack people I don't know."
A dark eyebrow lifted. "Good to know."
The captain yelled instructions. Another wave slammed the boat. The deck tilted dangerously.
Aria's breath hitched. Not from Leon.
From fear.
Leon noticed.
His voice lowered—not gentle, not soft, but steady.
"Sit. Grip the seat. Keep your weight centered."
She wanted to snap back. She wanted to stay proud.
But another wave crashed.
And she obeyed.
The storm swallowed them whole.
---
Forty minutes later, the boat finally neared the island.
The ocean calmed. The sky opened just enough to reveal a slice of golden horizon.
Aria exhaled shakily, her muscles still trembling. She felt alive, shaken, and exhausted.
The ferry docked. People hurried off.
Aria stepped onto the island's wooden pier, breathing in the scent of wet earth and tropical air.
She smiled.
Despite everything—this place was beautiful.
Raw. Real. Free.
Then a voice behind her:
"You should walk carefully. The boards are still slippery."
Aria turned.
Leon Sorel stood there, rain glistening on his dark hair, shirt slightly wet, expression annoyingly composed.
She crossed her arms. "You can stop rescuing me now."
"I didn't rescue you," he replied. "I prevented unnecessary injuries."
She laughed once—sharp and incredulous. "You know what? Keep your advice. I survived a heartbreak, a storm, and a boat ride. I think I'll survive a wet pier."
Leon didn't respond.
But his gaze followed her as she walked away.
Aria didn't see it.
Didn't feel it.
Didn't know that this was the moment her life was shifting.
She only knew she was finally free.
She did not know she had just crossed paths with the one man capable of shattering, reshaping, and redefining everything she thought she believed.
She did not know that their second collision would be far more catastrophic.
Far more intimate.
Far more unforgettable.
Because destiny wasn't done with them.
Not even close.