The first thing Sheikh Rayan Al-Zahir noticed about the young woman collapsing into the seat beside him was that she looked too exhausted to be afraid of him.

Everyone else was.

Passengers had noticed the black motorcade outside Terminal Four.

They had noticed the security officers appearing before he entered the gate.

They had noticed the two broad-shouldered men in dark suits taking seats across the aisle.

And they had certainly recognized Rayan.

At thirty-nine, Sheikh Rayan Al-Zahir controlled shipping terminals, hospitals, luxury hotels, energy companies, and enough commercial property to make financial journalists joke that a man could cross three states without stepping onto land he did not somehow own.

No one joked in front of him.

Rayan had destroyed corporations before breakfast.

He had once removed an entire executive board during a twenty-three-minute meeting.

A banker who had attempted to deceive him had reportedly left their negotiation white-faced and unemployed before his coffee had cooled.

The newspapers called him ruthless.

His competitors used less polite words.

But the woman stumbling toward seat 3B apparently had no idea who he was.

Her blond-brown hair had been twisted into a loose knot that had mostly fallen apart. Dark circles sat beneath tired green eyes. A canvas bag hung from one shoulder, and pale-blue medical scrubs showed beneath an oversized gray coat.

She stopped beside him.

“Sorry.”

That was all.

No gasp of recognition.

No nervous smile.

No request for a photograph.

She shoved the bag beneath the seat, sat down, fastened her seat belt with clumsy fingers, and leaned her head back.

Rayan looked at her once.

Then twice.

Across the aisle, Faris noticed.

Faris noticed everything.

“She’s a nurse,” the bodyguard murmured.

“I have eyes.”

Faris wisely said nothing else.

The flight attendant approached with the careful expression employees used around people who could buy their airline.

“Mr. Al-Zahir, may I bring you anything before departure?”

“Water.”

“Of course.”

She turned toward the woman.

“Miss?”

No response.

The flight attendant leaned slightly closer.

“Miss?”

The young woman’s eyes opened.

Barely.

“Sorry. Water would be wonderful.”

Her voice sounded scraped raw by fatigue.

Then her eyes shut again.

The attendant glanced at Rayan.

He gave the smallest nod.

The plane began pushing away from the gate.

Beside him, the woman struggled to remain awake through the safety demonstration.

She failed.

By the time the aircraft entered the runway, her chin had dropped toward her chest.

Rayan returned to the documents on his tablet.

He had spent the previous fourteen hours negotiating a takeover involving Meridian Children’s Health Network, a chain of struggling hospitals his board considered economically inconvenient.

At nine that evening, he was expected at another meeting.