Loving Cole Ryder: Her Billionaire Stalker

Celene's POV

“Ma’am,” the man in the black suit said, tapping lightly on the desk beside me, “a seat just opened up. If you’d follow me, I can escort you.”

I blinked up at him, still clutching the strap of my bag like it was the last thing tethering me to earth. “What?”

He smiled. Not kind, not cold. Just… empty. “You’re cleared to board.”

“But… I thought—”

“They’ll explain at the gate.”

Behind me, the desk agent looked equally confused. But she nodded, muttering something about clearance and last-minute updates.

I didn’t ask any more questions. I just moved.

My legs worked before my brain did, and the man walked ahead with a long, purposeful stride. He didn’t ask for my ticket. Didn’t check my ID. He just... knew.

We weaved through the crowd and I felt a strange buzz at the back of my neck. The airport noise faded. I felt eyes.

Not everyone’s. Just one.

Somewhere.

I glanced around.

Nothing. Just travelers. Security. And a d obnoxious kid screaming at his dad over a stuffed dinosaur.

Still, the sensation of being watched lingered.

I turned back.

The strange man held the gate open. “This way.”

I nodded once and walked through.

I wasn’t supposed to make it onto that flight.

I knew it. The woman at the counter knew it. The people still loitering around the gate with tighter suits and louder phones knew it.

And yet… there I was, walking down the aisle of the plane, guided by a man in a dark suit who didn’t give his name. He didn’t need to.

His tone left no room for argument. His steps were too sure. Too… planned.

“Right this way, ma’am.”

He called me ma’am.

It should’ve made me feel important. Instead, it made the hairs rise on the back of my neck.

I didn’t remember much between sitting and taking off. Only that I was suddenly, painfully aware of every breath I took. And that the seat beside me stayed empty, like it had been saved for someone who never showed up.

I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t. My nerves were pulled tight, trembling beneath the surface like plucked strings. I stared at the tray table. I picked at the hem of my hoodie. I avoided thinking about the man from the club—the stranger with the burning eyes and the voice like gravel soaked in sin.

When the plane landed, I didn’t wait for the seatbelt sign to chime. I grabbed my things, thanked no one in particular, and fled like the airport floor might open up and swallow me whole.

I didn’t realize I’d left my book behind until the cab was already halfway to campus.

Claimed by Azaziel.

Gone.

A whole year of my life—first draft, scribbles, post-its and all—sitting forgotten on business-class leather like a carelessly shed part of me.

I pressed my head to the window.

“God, I’m an idiot,” I whispered.

The cab driver raised a brow in the mirror. I offered a tired, apologetic smile and leaned back. Thankfully, I still had it saved on my computer or the loss with have been much worse.

Outside, New York buzzed like it hadn’t noticed I was falling apart. People moved. Horns screamed. The city didn’t care about missed memories or mysterious saviors.

The university gates loomed ahead.

I made it to class with minutes to spare. My chest was still heaving when I handed in my ID to the assistant examiner and sank into my seat.

My fingers trembled as I picked up my pen.

Halfway through the test, I forgot where I was. The letters blurred. A question asked about gothic narrative structure and all I could think about was a hallway. A hand gripping my waist. The smell of rain and danger.

Focus, Celene.

I scribbled nonsense. Or maybe genius. It was fucking hard to tell through the fog behind my eyes.

The moment I stepped out into the university courtyard, sunlight hit my face like judgment. My hoodie clung to me like a mistake. My shoes felt too loud.

I just wanted to disappear.

“Cee!”

Maria’s voice cut through the haze in my mind.

I turned, groaning deep in my throat. The only thing worse than a hangover and jet lag, is a hangover, jetlag and Maria, in the same space and time.

There she was—arms full of iced coffee, hair a wild crown around her head, and the scowl of a best friend on a mission.

“You look like a raccoon who just survived an exorcism.”

“Nice to see you too,” I muttered.

Maria shoved a coffee into my hands. “Drink. Talk. Explain.”

I sighed and took a long, grateful sip.

“You better have a story,” she said, arms crossed as I swallowed deeply.

“I have confusion. And nausea.”

“Close enough. Now, tell me everything,” she said.

“I don’t know anything. I woke up somewhere weird. Made it to the airport somehow. Thought I’d missed my flight. Then a seat just… appeared.”

“Appeared?”

I nodded. “Black suit. I swear, this man shows up. Says there’s a seat. No explanation. No receipt. Just… go. Didn’t even give me a name.”

Maria’s lips pulled to the side. “Okay, that’s either a miracle or a mafia move.”

“I didn’t ask. I just got on the plane.”

“Smart girl. I raised you well.” she said and then giggled.

"Wait. That means, someone pulled strings for you!!"

All I could do was nod, while she jumped up and down like a frog on crack.

"Miss MIA, One Night Only!” she sang, arms crossed, dark brows lifted like knives.

“Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m already in the middle. Start was twenty-four hours ago when you went radio silent after drinking one sip of vodca and texting me ‘I think I’m gonna die lol’ and then disappearing into thin air like a Disney princess with trauma.”

“It wasn’t one sip.”

“Oh, forgive me. Three sips and a full night with a hot stranger from another state.”

“Okay, I did not—wait. I don't even know if he was hot or not”

She blinked at me. “You don’t remember?”

“I remember... dancing. A huge man. A room. Maybe a mouth. Definitely a strong jaw. I swear, I nothing happened!! Don't judge me”

Maria gaped. “You spent the night with a stranger, and then passed out drunk? Girl, I can't wait to tell your future kids!"

“What if he kissed you goodnight before leaving....Oh-hoh-hohhhhh,” Maria said, clapping like she’d just won something. “Well well well, Sleeping Beauty gets a goodnight kiss and forgets to leave a damn shoe behind.”

“I left my book...Claimed by Azaziel” I muttered.

“That’s worse.”

I nodded solemnly. “I know.”

We both laughed then. That kind of sharp, sore laugh you only get after being semi-kidnapped by fate and stress. Her shoulder knocked against mine.

“I swear, you’re lucky you’re cute.”

“I swear, you’re lucky I didn’t call your mom when I couldn’t reach you.”

We dissolved into another round of laughter, this one lighter.

She stood, stretching. “Come on, I need bubble tea and you need electrolytes and possibly a priest.”

We started walking toward the cafeteria with Maria already halfway through a theory involving a secret admirer, an underground student mafia, and my latent supernatural ancestry when I felt it.

Not a sound. Not a sight. Just… a chill.

I looked up.

Across the street.

A car. Black. Sleek. Parked a little too perfectly parallel to us on the other side of the road.

I squinted.

It's windows were tinted darker than legal. Engine off. No movement.

But it was angled directly toward us.

“Hold that thought,” I said.

Maria kept ranting. Something about soulmates and surveillance.

I slowed. Turned my body slightly. Peered again.

Still there. Still watching. Or maybe that was just me losing it.

Maybe.

My fingers curled tighter around my cup.

And though the glass was too dark to see anything inside, I knew—

Someone in that car was watching me.