The Iron heart

Chapter 5

The jet gleamed like liquid silver under the airport lights. Amara had never been on a private plane before, she hadn’t even flown commercial. The sight of it alone made her stomach twist in a strange mix of awe and dread.

Kane walked ahead, not sparing her a glance, his dark suit slicing through the night like authority made flesh. He carried nothing, not even a briefcase. His world ran on power, and power didn’t lift luggage. An assistant had already handled his things, while Amara clutched her small, worn bag like a lifeline, everything she owned, folded neatly inside.

Inside, the jet was silent, sleek, and suffocatingly elegant. Cream leather seats lined the narrow cabin, polished walnut gleaming under the soft amber light. Every inch of the space screamed wealth, control, and the kind of perfection that had no room for mistakes. It felt less like a plane and more like another world. His world.

“Sit,” Kane said curtly, not bothering to look at her as he sank into his seat and flipped open his laptop. “We’ll work during the flight. You’ve memorised the dossiers?”

Amara swallowed, her palms damp. “Most of them.”

His fingers stilled on the keyboard. “Most?” His tone was quiet, too quiet. “Unacceptable. By the time we land, you’ll know all of them.”

She clenched her fists beneath the table, biting back the retort that burned on her tongue. Survival, she reminded herself. This is all for survival.

“I have to survive,” she murmured under her breath.

The jet lifted into the night with a smooth, soundless grace. The city lights melted away beneath them, swallowed by darkness. Kane’s questions started almost immediately, each one a strike, each pause an opportunity for failure.

“Mathéo Deveraux.”

“Head of Deveraux Tech,” she answered, eyes flicking down her notes. “Specialises in renewable energy patents.”

“Theresa Rossi.”

“Italian shipping heiress. Expanding into pharmaceuticals.”

“Claude Moreau.”

“…Um”

Kane’s brow arched in cold amusement. “Claude Moreau could buy this plane ten times over, Miss Williams. Don’t waste my time.”

Her cheeks burned, but she didn’t back down this time. She turned another page, forcing herself to remember every detail she had crammed into her brain. She recited until her voice turned raw, until her hands shook from exhaustion and the words blurred together.

Hours slipped by in the low hum of engines and the sharp click of his keyboard. The air between them was taut with unspoken challenge.

Then suddenly, the jet lurched.

Amara’s hand shot to the armrest, nails digging into the leather as the cabin tilted sharply. The seatbelt bit into her waist, her heart hammering against her ribs.

The lights flickered once. Turbulence.

The captain’s voice crackled through the intercom, calm but distant. “Just a brief patch of weather, folks. Nothing to worry about.”

Amara exhaled shakily until she turned and froze.

Kane’s hand gripped the edge of the table, white-knuckled. His jaw was tight, his eyes fixed on the wall ahead, unblinking. For once, the unshakable titan of industry didn’t look untouchable.

“You’re afraid,” she blurted before she could stop herself.

His head snapped toward her, eyes sharp as blades. But he didn’t speak. He didn’t even deny it.

Another jolt rattled the jet. Amara pressed her palm against the armrest. “It’s okay,” she said softly, her voice steadier than she felt. “No one likes turbulence. It’ll pass.”

For a heartbeat, his mask slipped, the faintest flicker of something raw and human in his gaze. His lips parted, as if he might actually respond. But then, as if catching himself in the act of being vulnerable, he straightened.

“Focus, Miss Williams,” he said coolly, the steel back in his tone. “Fear is for people who have nothing to lose.”

But Amara had seen it, the c***k beneath the armour, the quiet panic in a man who ruled everything but the sky.

As the jet steadied and the engines hummed back into a calm rhythm, Kane turned back to his laptop. But his hands lingered a second longer than usual on the keys, and his reflection in the dark window looked less like a man in control and more like one trying desperately not to fall apart.

Amara watched him in silence, something uncertain twisting in her chest. For the first time, she wondered how much of Kane Slater was armour and how much was man.