Chapter 9 — The Airport Incident
1397 Words
Evie had expected the terminal to be busy, but she wasn't prepared for the sheer wave of noise that hit her the moment she stepped out from the staff corridor. The afternoon flights had all landed within minutes of each other, and the airport was overflowing with travelers dragging suitcases, families reuniting, and crowds weaving through the maze of arrival gates.
She adjusted the lanyard around her neck, smoothing the navy-blue uniform she still wasn't entirely used to. Two weeks ago, she was wandering the city with a stack of rejected job applications. Today, she was officially an airport ground assistant—nameless, invisible, and blissfully distant from cameras.
Exactly what she needed.
The job wasn't glamorous, but it was stable. And more importantly, no one here cared about a viral clip from a press conference that had faded from headlines as quickly as it exploded. As long as she did her work, kept her head down, and didn't spill anything on anyone, she would be fine.
Evie forced that last thought away quickly.
She didn't want to jinx herself.
She had just finished guiding a lost passenger toward baggage claim when a supervisor's voice called out from behind her.
"Evie, Gate 14 needs extra crowd control. A celebrity arrival."
Her heart skipped.
Celebrity.
At an airport.
In this city, that could mean only one of a handful of names.
But it didn't have to be him.
There were dozens of famous people coming and going every day.
Even so, her hand stiffened around the clipboard.
"Who's arriving?" she asked, trying to sound casual.
The supervisor simply waved a hand. "Don't know. Don't care. Just go help. It's a madhouse down there."
Then he hurried off before she could ask anything else.
Evie took a slow breath.
It's not him. Don't overthink. Just another day.
Still, her stomach tightened as she began walking toward Gate 14. The noise grew louder the closer she got. It wasn't the usual chatter of tourists—it was more focused, more intense, like a low rumble building under the floor.
Then she saw it.
A crowd of fans pressed against the metal barriers.
Posters.
Phone screens held high.
Voices chanting in excitement.
And right in the middle of a sign held above someone's head:
AIDEN CROSS WE LOVE YOU
Evie froze.
Of course.
Of course the universe would choose today.
She stared at the sign a second longer, hoping she'd misread. She hadn't.
Aiden Cross—international superstar, impossible perfection, world-renowned storm of talent and trouble alike—was about to walk straight into her workplace.
Into her terminal.
Into her path.
Evie swallowed hard, fighting the urge to walk the other way. But she couldn't. It was her job. And she needed this job. She breathed out slowly, trying to keep her mind clear.
He won't notice you.
He has no reason to.
Just help with crowd control and leave.
She stepped closer to the barricades, forcing herself into work mode. A few fans had already pushed forward, and the security team was struggling to maintain order. Evie helped redirect some of them back into place, keeping her voice steady.
"Please step behind the line. Yes, thank you. Please don't block the walkway."
Her uniform must have helped, because some of them actually listened.
But the noise kept growing—screams echoing through the terminal as the sliding doors to the private arrival corridor finally opened.
Dozens of phones shot upward.
Evie didn't have to raise her head to know it was him. She'd felt this kind of reaction once before—press conference, bright lights, chaos. Except this time, she wasn't the one causing trouble.
She was just trying to breathe.
Aiden walked out with two bodyguards flanking him and a black mask covering the lower half of his face. Sunglasses hid his eyes, but nothing could hide the presence he carried. He moved with quiet confidence, his long coat swaying behind him, posture straight, steps measured.
The crowd exploded.
"Aiden!!!"
"WE LOVE YOU!!"
"LOOK HERE—AIDEN—AIDEN!!"
Evie didn't look directly at him. She focused on the barrier in front of her, the job, the instructions. But even without seeing him, she could feel the energy shift when he approached.
The fans surged forward all at once.
"Back up, please!" Evie called out, pushing against the metal railing as it rattled under the pressure.
One girl was squeezing through. Another was climbing. A third was trying to shove a huge poster over someone's head. The chaos erupted so fast the bodyguards stiffened in alarm.
And then—
Evie saw him.
He was closer than she expected—barely a few meters away. For a split second, she saw his eyes behind the sunglasses. He didn't see her. He wasn't even looking in her direction.
But she froze anyway.
That moment was enough for disaster to happen.
A sharp scream cut through the air.
Evie whipped her head toward the sound—just in time to see a man break through the back of the crowd. He wasn't screaming in excitement. His face twisted with something else entirely.
Anger.
Obsession.
Something unhinged.
He shoved the metal barrier aside with sudden strength. Fans gasped and stumbled backward.
Evie's breath caught.
He was holding something.
Something metallic.
Shiny.
Aiden hadn't noticed yet—his bodyguards were reacting too slow, blocked by the rushing wave of fans.
The man lunged forward.
Straight toward Aiden.
Evie didn't think.
Not even for a fraction of a second.
Her body moved before her brain caught up.
She pushed through the gap in the barrier, sprinted across the short distance, and grabbed Aiden's arm—hard.
"Move!" she yelled.
Aiden turned in surprise as she yanked him sideways. One of the bodyguards shouted, "Sir—!"
The attacker's hand slashed through the space where Aiden had stood a heartbeat earlier.
The metal object—a box cutter—gleamed under the airport lights.
Aiden's eyes widened behind the sunglasses.
The bodyguards finally surged forward, tackling the man onto the ground. A scream rose from the crowd. Someone was crying. Someone was calling for security. Phones recorded everything.
But Evie didn't hear any of it.
Her entire body was shaking, her hand still gripping Aiden's coat sleeve. She didn't let go until she realized his arm had gone rigid under her touch.
Slowly—hesitantly—she released him.
Aiden turned fully toward her this time.
He pulled off his sunglasses.
And for the first time…
for the very first time since they met…
he really looked at her.
No anger.
No coldness.
No accusation.
Just shock—pure, unfiltered shock—mixed with something else she couldn't name.
"...You," he breathed.
Evie opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She didn't know what she expected from him. Accusation? Hostility? Fury?
But not this.
Not the way he was staring at her like the world had shifted under his feet.
Security rushed in. Shouts echoed everywhere. Fans pressed against the lines to see what had happened. The attacker screamed as he was pinned down.
Yet in the middle of all the chaos, Aiden didn't look away from Evie.
Not once.
Evie's heart slammed against her ribs.
She needed to step back.
She needed to blend into the uniformed staff and disappear.
She needed to escape before his expression shifted and he remembered who she was—the girl from the press conference, the "problem," the stain on his image.
But before she could move, before she could even breathe—
Aiden reached out.
Not to grab her.
But as if he needed to confirm she was real.
His hand hovered close, trembling just slightly.
"Why… why are you always—"
His voice died before he finished.
A security officer interrupted, grabbing Evie's arm. "Miss, are you injured? We need witness statements—"
Aiden snapped his head toward the guard.
"No. Don't touch her."
The officer froze.
And Evie stood there, stunned, as the world around them shifted again.
Aiden Cross—who couldn't even stand to be in the same room as her—
was now looking at her like she had saved his life.
Which…
she had.
Evie swallowed, breath unsteady.
This changes everything.
And somewhere deep in her chest, something unfamiliar pulsed—
fear
relief
and something dangerously close to destiny.
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