Amara climbed onto the armrest beside Richard Hawthorne, pressed two fingers to his neck, and whispered something under her breath. Then she did something that made the flight attendant go pale. Because a little girl from the back of the plane shouldn’t know how to save a billionaire’s life… Unless she’d learned it the hard way. And when Richard finally opened his eyes again, still shaking…

Richard Hawthorne had spent decades building an empire of glass towers and luxury developments, bulldozing anything that stood in his way—old neighborhoods, small businesses, struggling families.

To him, emotions were weaknesses.

Compassion was expensive.

And the only thing that mattered was winning.

He sat in his seat, sipping sparkling water, scrolling through an email from his attorney.

A deal was closing today.

A historic block of old apartments in Queens—cheap rent, low-income families—would soon become a high-end development with rooftop pools and private gyms.

Richard didn’t care who got displaced.

That was business.

That was life.

Halfway through the flight, turbulence shook the cabin.

A baby cried.

Someone cursed.

A flight attendant steadied herself against a seat.

Then suddenly—

A sharp, choking sound cut through the plane.

A man gasped.

A woman screamed.

“Oh my God—someone help him!”

Heads turned.

Passengers leaned into the aisle.

Flight attendants rushed forward, their calm professional masks slipping into panic.

Richard Hawthorne was slumped in his seat, his face draining of color. One hand clawed at his chest like he was trying to pull something out of his own body.

His lips were turning blue.

His eyes were wide with terror.