Love symbol

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The private jet soared above the clouds, its interior sleek and luxurious. Zamiel Blake sat in a leather seat, his attention shifting between the cityscape below and his Apple high pad. A message popped up on the screen:

"Sir, this is the information you requested. She is the one in charge of your arrival in the US, and her name is Stephen Hazel."

Attached was a photo of Hazel—poised and professional, yet undeniably familiar. Zamiel's lips curved into a smirk as he studied the image.

"Not bad," he murmured to himself, leaning back in his seat. Memories from high school flickered briefly in his mind, but he quickly dismissed them. The woman in the photo was no longer the shy girl he once knew.

---

Back at the office, Hazel was deep in preparations when her assistant, Mia, entered the room.

"Ma'am," Mia said, her tone urgent yet composed, "Mr. Blake's private jet will land in one hour. You need to pick him up at the airport."

Hazel froze, her pen slipping from her hand. "Pick him up?" she repeated, a wave of nervousness coursing through her.

"Yes, ma'am. It is part of the itinerary. I thought you were aware," Mia said, handing her a printed schedule.

Hazel's heart raced as she glanced at the document. She had reviewed every detail meticulously, yet somehow, the prospect of meeting Zamiel at the airport had not fully sunk in until now.

"Alright," Hazel said, taking a deep breath to steady herself. "Thank you, Mia. Please make sure everything is in place for his arrival at the office."

"Of course, ma'am," Mia said, before leaving the room.

As soon as the door closed, Hazel slumped in her chair, her mind spinning. She quickly straightened her blazer and checked her reflection in the mirror. The familiar mix of excitement and anxiety returned, stronger than ever.

Before she could gather her thoughts, her phone buzzed with a message from Jasmine:

"Good luck, my friend. Go for it and show him how good you have become!"

A small smile broke across Hazel's face as she read the words. Jasmine's unwavering belief in her gave her the confidence she needed.

"Thanks, Jas," Hazel whispered, slipping her phone into her bag and heading out the door.

---

As Hazel drove to the private terminal, her mind was suddenly transported back to another time—a memory she had not thought about in years.

It was a summer afternoon in high school when Zamiel had told her that he would be leaving to study abroad. They had sat together on the old park bench near the school, the air thick with the weight of unsaid words.

"I have to go, Hazel," Zamiel had said, his voice gentle but firm. "My parents want me to study abroad, and I can't say no."

Hazel had been caught off guard, a mixture of sadness and happiness swirling within her. Sadness because she could not bear the thought of him leaving, yet happiness because she knew this was his dream—a chance he had been waiting for.

"I don't want to go," he had added, his gaze softening. "But I have to. You know how it is."

Hazel had nodded, feeling her heart ache. "I understand, Zamiel," she had said, fighting back the tears. "Just promise me you won't forget me."

Zamiel had taken her hand in his, his grip warm and reassuring. "I promise, Hazel. I will never forget you. You're someone I'll always carry with me, no matter where I go."

As the memory faded and the present took hold again, Hazel couldn't help but wonder—did that promise still hold true? Did Zamiel remember her the way she remembered him? Or had time and distance erased any connection between them?

---

An hour later, Hazel stood at the private terminal, her hands clasped tightly around her phone. The roar of an approaching jet drew her attention, and she squared her shoulders, determined to appear composed. The aircraft came to a smooth halt, and a few minutes later, the doors opened.

Zamiel descended the stairs with effortless grace, his sharp suit tailored to perfection. His piercing gaze scanned the area until it landed on Hazel. For a moment, she felt like he was looking straight through her, as if he could read every thought racing through her mind.

"Mr. Blake," she said, stepping forward and extending her hand. "Welcome to the UK. I am Stephen Hazel, the director assigned to oversee your visit."

Zamiel's smirk returned as he took her hand, his grip firm. "Hazel," he said smoothly, his deep voice sending a shiver down her spine. "It is good to finally meet you. I have heard much about your work here."

Hazel swallowed her nerves, forcing a professional smile. "Thank you. I assure you everything is ready for your visit. Let me escort you to the car."

Zamiel nodded, his expression unreadable as he followed her to the waiting vehicle. Hazel could feel his eyes on her as they walked, the weight of his presence making her hyperaware of every step.

---

The drive to Star Hotel was quiet but charged. Hazel focused on the road, while Zamiel occasionally glanced at her, an unreadable expression on his face.

"The Star Hotel," Zamiel said after a moment, breaking the silence.

"Yes, sir," Hazel replied, keeping her voice steady. "It has been booked for your stay. I was informed it is one of the finest in the city."

Zamiel chuckled lightly, the sound rich and deep. "It is indeed. It is my father's hotel, after all."

Hazel's hands tightened on the steering wheel, her stomach flipping. She had not realized the connection. "Oh, I see. That explains the exceptional service and attention to detail."

"It does," Zamiel said, his tone amused. "But I trust you ensured everything was prepared to your standards as well."

"I did," Hazel said firmly, determined to remain composed. "I personally oversaw every detail to ensure your comfort."

Zamiel's smirk returned, but he said nothing further.

---

When they arrived at the hotel, Hazel escorted Zamiel to the presidential suite. The staff greeted him with impeccable professionalism, and Hazel stood back, allowing them to take over as she observed quietly.

Once the manager had shown Zamiel to his room, he turned to Hazel. "Thank you, Hazel. I will be settled here. What is next on the agenda?"

Hazel hesitated for a moment, then said, "Actually, I have canceled all your meetings for today. I thought it might be best for you to rest after your flight."

Zamiel raised an eyebrow in surprise. "You canceled everything?"

"Yes," Hazel replied, her voice calm. "I believe you deserve a break after such a long journey. We can start fresh tomorrow."

Zamiel's expression softened, a pleased smile playing on his lips. "I must admit, I am impressed. Not many would be so considerate. Rest does sound like a good idea."

Hazel nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over her. "I'm glad. If you need anything, please do not hesitate to reach out."

"I will," Zamiel said, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary. "You've earned my trust, Hazel."

With that, they both entered the suite

---

As Hazel escorted Zamiel into the presidential suite, she briefly observed the grandeur of the room—the plush furnishings, the expansive windows with breathtaking views of the city, and the soft lighting that made the space feel warm and inviting. She watched as Zamiel glanced around, his expression unreadable.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Blake?" Hazel asked, standing near the doorway. Her voice was steady, professional, yet her heart was racing. There was an unfamiliar tension in the air, and she wasn't sure how to navigate it.

Zamiel paused for a moment, his gaze settling on her. "No need," he said, his voice smooth but distant. "I'm fine for now. Thank you."

Hazel nodded, though she couldn't help but feel a small pang of disappointment at his lack of engagement. She had been prepared for this—he had always been driven and focused—but something about this felt different. She wondered if the years had created a gap between them that could never be bridged.

As the silence stretched between them, an alarm broke through the stillness. Hazel turned toward the door, where the sound of a delivery echoed through the suite. "I'll check what that is," she said, excusing herself for a moment.

When she returned, a staff member was already bringing in the food they had ordered, placing the dishes on the table. Hazel, her hands instinctively moving to arrange the food, said, "It's ready."

Zamiel nodded and stood from his seat, walking over to the table. "Good," he said simply. "Thank you, Hazel."

As they both sat down to eat, an awkward quietness enveloped the room. The only sounds were the clinking of cutlery and the hum of the city outside the windows. Hazel couldn't help but wonder why Zamiel was so distant. Had he forgotten the promise he made all those years ago? She thought about their farewell, the way he had taken her hand and sworn he would never forget her. Now, he was barely looking at her, his focus entirely on the food before him.

Meanwhile, Zamiel found himself lost in thought as well. The quiet weighed on him, but he couldn't find the right words to break the silence. Should he bring up the past? Could he ask if she still remembered their connection? He wasn't sure. After all these years, it seemed too risky. What if Hazel had moved on? What if she no longer felt the same way?

As they continued to eat, the unspoken questions hung between them, both of them wondering if the bond they once shared still existed—or if it had faded into the background of time and distance.

The meal came to an end, and Hazel, despite the tension in the room, felt a flicker of hope. Perhaps, after all these years, there was still a chance for them to reconnect, to rekindle something they had once shared.

But as Zamiel stood up and excused himself from the table, Hazel couldn't shake the feeling that things had changed. Maybe the promise he made her was nothing more than a memory now.

---