"Vincent Moretti promised his pregnant wife he would come back for her after their private jet made a terrifying emergency landing. But he took his first love to safety first—and moments later, the aircraft exploded before Anna emerged. For three years, Vincent believed he had buried his wife and unborn child… until one crowded gala changed everything.

The air inside the Gulfstream G650 smelled of burnt ozone and jet fuel. Red emergency lights bathed the cabin in a strobe-like, apocalyptic pulse. Outside, the left engine was screeching—a high-pitched metal-on-metal howl that vibrated through the floorboards and directly into Anna’s teeth.

"Vincent?" Anna’s voice was barely a whisper, swallowed by the blare of the cabin depressurization alarm.

She was seven months pregnant. Her hands were locked over the round swell of her belly, knuckles white, her entire body acting as a shield for the life kicking frantically inside her. Every jolt of the skid on the tarmac sent a jolt of liquid terror through her veins.

Vincent Moretti, Chicago’s most formidable venture capitalist—a man whose calloused hands had built an empire and whose cold gaze had broken billionaires—stood in the aisle. He had already unbuckled. For a fraction of a second, his dark eyes locked onto Anna’s.

Then a hand caught his wrist.

"Vincent! Please, the smoke—I can't breathe!" Sophia Carter whimpered. She was cowering between the plush leather seats, her designer blouse torn at the shoulder, tears streaming through her perfectly contoured makeup.

Sophia. Vincent’s first love. The woman who had suddenly re-entered his life three weeks ago and had somehow ended up on their private baby-moon getaway to Aspen.

Anna’s breath hitched. "Vincent...?"

He turned back to Anna, his expression a tight mask of calculated urgency. "Sophia’s having an asthma attack, Anna. I’m taking her out through the main door first."

"What?" Anna’s voice cracked. She reached out, her fingers brushing the hem of his tailored jacket. "Vincent, no. Look at the left wing—it’s on fire! The cabin is filling with smoke!"

"I know," Vincent snapped, his voice ringing with the absolute authority he used in boardrooms. He grabbed Sophia by the waist, supporting her weight. "I can get Sophia to the slide in ten seconds. Then I am coming right back for you."

"Vincent, don't leave me!" Anna pleaded, tears finally spilling over her lashes. "What if there isn't time? The fuel lines—"

"There will be time!" Vincent stepped toward her, taking her face in his free hand. His palm was hot, his grip intense. "I promise you, Anna. I will come back for you. Stay right here."

"Vincent, please!" Sophia shrieked, pulling him toward the forward exit where the flight attendant was manually inflating the emergency chute. "It's burning!"

Vincent released Anna’s face. He didn't look back as he pulled Sophia down the aisle and thrust her onto the evacuation slide.

In the cabin, the smoke turned thick and black. Anna coughed violently, her throat burning. She tried to unbuckle her seatbelt, but the buckle was scorching hot, jamming under her trembling fingers. Through the haze at the back of the plane, a secondary emergency exit cracked open.

"Ma'am! Over here! Hurry!" a young flight attendant screamed through the smoke near the rear gallery.

Outside on the tarmac, Vincent shoved Sophia into the arms of an emergency responder. He turned back toward the jet, the wind whipping jet fuel fumes into his face. "ANNA!" he roared, sprinting back toward the burning fuselage.

"Sir, stay back! It's going to blow!" a firefighter yelled, lunging to tackle him.

Vincent shoved the man off, his eyes fixed on the forward door. "My wife is inside!"

He took three steps before the world went blindingly white.

A deafening shockwave knocked Vincent off his feet. The central fuel tank exploded in a towering column of orange fire and black debris. The heat scorched his face; the force sent him skidding across the asphalt.