Flight 7

The air felt unusually heavy as I prepared for the next leg of our flight. There was a distinct tension lingering in the atmosphere, though I couldn’t quite place its origin. Passengers were boarding, the usual mix of chatter and hurried footsteps filling the cabin, but my attention kept drifting toward Adrian Blackwell. He wasn’t acting like his usual distant, composed self. Something about him seemed off.

I couldn’t help but notice how he carried himself today—a slight stiffness in his shoulders, his jaw tightly clenched, and an almost imperceptible crease between his brows. For someone who radiated control and composure, it was jarring to see cracks in his polished exterior.

“Isla, could you take care of Mr. Blackwell in 2A?” Jenna’s voice pulled me back to reality. She was balancing a tray of water glasses, her eyebrows raised in question.

I nodded, my professionalism kicking in. “Of course.”

Carrying a glass of water, I approached his seat, careful not to let my gaze linger too long. Adrian was on his phone, his expression sharp and unreadable as he tapped away at the screen. I hesitated for a moment, unsure if I should interrupt, but he looked up before I had the chance to decide.

“Water?” I asked, my tone polite and neutral, masking the curiosity bubbling beneath the surface.

His dark eyes studied me for a moment before he gave a curt nod. “Thank you.”

There was something in his voice—an edge I hadn’t heard before. It wasn’t rudeness, exactly, but it wasn’t far from it either. He sounded distracted, preoccupied, like his mind was somewhere far from this plane.

I set the glass down on the tray table and turned to leave, but his voice stopped me.

“Do you ever get tired of all this?” he asked suddenly.

The question caught me off guard. I turned back to face him, unsure how to respond. “Tired of what?”

“All of it,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “The constant pressure, the routine, dealing with people who demand more than they should.”

I blinked, surprised by his candor. It was the most human thing I’d ever heard him say. Up until now, Adrian Blackwell had been little more than an enigma—a wealthy, aloof passenger who seemed untouchable. But this? This felt different.

“I think everyone gets tired of their routines sometimes,” I replied carefully. “But it’s part of life, isn’t it? You find ways to cope.”

He let out a humorless laugh, leaning back in his seat. “Coping. Right.”

For a moment, I hesitated, wondering if I should say more. It wasn’t my place to pry, but something about his tone compelled me to stay.

“Is everything all right?” I asked before I could stop myself.

His eyes met mine, and for a split second, I thought I saw something raw and unguarded in his expression. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by the cool detachment I’d come to expect from him.

“It’s nothing,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “Just the usual family drama and business headaches.”

I nodded, pretending to accept his answer, though I could tell there was more to the story. Adrian wasn’t the type to admit weakness, not openly, and certainly not to someone like me. But the tension in his posture, the faint shadows under his eyes—they spoke volumes.

The rest of the flight passed uneventfully, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that Adrian was on the verge of something—some breaking point that he was desperately trying to hide.

---

Later, during our layover, Jenna and I were grabbing coffee in the airport lounge when I brought it up.

“Does Adrian Blackwell seem... different to you today?” I asked, stirring sugar into my cup absentmindedly.

Jenna raised an eyebrow. “Different how?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “He just seems... tense. Like something’s bothering him.”

She shrugged, taking a sip of her latte. “He’s probably dealing with some billionaire problem we can’t even begin to understand. I wouldn’t read too much into it.”

“Maybe,” I said, though I wasn’t convinced. There was something about the way Adrian had looked at me earlier, the way his voice had sounded, that made me think this wasn’t just a bad day.

---

By the time we were back on the plane for the return flight, I had convinced myself to let it go. Adrian Blackwell’s problems weren’t my concern. My job was to ensure his comfort, not to solve his personal issues.

But as I made my way down the aisle, I couldn’t help but glance at him. He was sitting with his laptop open, his expression grim as he typed furiously. I noticed he wasn’t drinking the water I’d left for him earlier, and the lines of tension in his face seemed even deeper now.

I was halfway through the safety demonstration when he suddenly closed his laptop with a loud snap, drawing the attention of several passengers nearby. He ran a hand through his hair, muttering something under his breath.

I hesitated, wondering if I should check on him, but before I could make a decision, Jenna appeared beside me.

“Looks like Mr. Blackwell’s having a rough day,” she whispered.

I nodded, glancing back at him. “Yeah. I noticed.”

“You should talk to him,” she said with a grin. “Maybe cheer him up.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not his therapist, Jenna.”

“Maybe not, but you’re good at listening. And who knows? Maybe he just needs someone to remind him that the world doesn’t revolve around his problems.”

I sighed, knowing she wasn’t going to let this go. Reluctantly, I made my way over to his seat, trying to think of the right thing to say.

“Mr. Blackwell,” I began, keeping my tone light. “Is everything all right? You seem... a little stressed.”

He looked up at me, his expression unreadable. For a moment, I thought he was going to brush me off, but then he surprised me.

“Have you ever had to choose between what you want and what’s expected of you?” he asked quietly.

The question caught me off guard. “I think everyone has at some point,” I replied carefully. “Why?”

He sighed, leaning back in his seat. “Let’s just say I’m being pulled in too many directions right now, and none of them feel right.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. Adrian Blackwell wasn’t the type of person I imagined struggling with indecision. He was powerful, confident, in control—or at least, that’s how he appeared to the outside world. But this version of him, the one sitting in front of me now, was vulnerable in a way I hadn’t expected.

“Well,” I said after a moment, “if you ever need a distraction, I hear the in-flight movie isn’t half bad.”

To my surprise, he actually smiled—a small, fleeting smile, but a smile nonetheless. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As I walked away, I couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of satisfaction. Adrian Blackwell might have been a billionaire with the weight of the world on his shoulders, but in that moment, he was just a man looking for a little bit of solace. And for reasons I couldn’t quite explain, I was glad I could give it to him.