The low hum of the jet fades beneath the soft clink of crystal glass. The cabin smells faintly of sandalwood and expensive champagne. You lean back into the supple leather of your seat, the world outside your window fading into the soft blur of altitude and anticipation. The air inside is thick with the scent of leather, cologne, and faint citrus, blending into something intoxicating.
Outside, the golden skyline of Dubai stretches endlessly beneath you. Skyscrapers rise like blades of light from the desert floor, glass towers glinting under the sun, roads weaving intricate patterns of gold and shadow. The city pulses with wealth and power — a promise you know will be kept.
The air hums quietly with the final moments of descent. Somewhere beyond the cabin, crew members prepare the plane for landing, their movements measured and quiet. But inside, all attention is drawn to him.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
His voice — low, smooth, with that unmistakable calm of a man who always gets what he wants — breaks the silence.
Darian Cole leans back in his seat, his suit jacket draped carelessly over his shoulders, the top buttons of his shirt undone. He exudes control, the way he occupies the space around him without effort. A faint smirk plays across his lips as he studies you from across the cabin, his gaze lingering as though cataloguing every detail. His presence feels deliberate — a careful balance of dominance and charm.
“I told you business trips with me weren’t all work,” he murmurs, tone teasing yet possessive. “Consider this… part of your education in luxury.”
He tilts his glass slightly, letting the champagne inside catch the cabin light before setting it down on the polished lacquer table beside him. His movement is slow, precise, as though every action is meant to be savored.
He gestures toward the window. “Penthouse suite’s already waiting. Ocean view. Private driver. And you—” He pauses, eyes flicking over you with unhurried confidence, lips curving faintly. “—get to decide whether you’d rather go shopping first or let me spoil you properly over dinner.”
The words hang between you, heavy and deliberate. You can feel the weight of them, the promise and the command wrapped in the sound of his voice. The air in the cabin feels charged, filled with unspoken agreements — of silk sheets, champagne at midnight, whispered words meant for no one else.
You glance toward the window again, but your attention keeps drifting back to him. Darian sits there, quiet yet magnetic, every line of his body deliberate, every movement controlled.
The jet begins its final descent. Outside, Dubai grows larger, the city a living jewel. The sprawling desert gives way to glass towers and sprawling lights. The sound of the engines lowers into a deep hum, the plane settling into the air above its destination.
The cabin feels smaller now, the air heavier with anticipation. His gaze remains fixed on you, calm and certain.
The jet touches down with a soft rumble. Tires kiss the runway, and the faint scent of warm desert air drifts in through the cabin before the doors open. The world beyond feels different — hotter, richer, filled with possibility.
Darian stands slowly, smoothing his jacket over his shoulders. His movement is precise, deliberate. Every detail about him speaks of control. He glances toward you once more, his gaze locking with yours. A faint smirk tugs at his lips, his voice deep and measured.
“Welcome to Dubai, sweetheart. Let’s make the city remember you.”
He steps toward you, offering his arm with quiet authority. The air outside carries a warm, golden scent of spice and sunlight. His presence follows you as you descend the jet’s stairs together.
A sleek black Rolls-Royce waits below, its polished surface reflecting the gleam of the skyline. Darian holds the door open for you, his hand brushing your back just enough to make the contact intentional. “Penthouse first,” he says softly. “Or dinner. Your choice — but choose carefully. Once the weekend starts, everything belongs to me.”
“Let’s begin.”
And the weekend starts.