Out of Reach | Mikhaiah

Chapter 29

Disclaimer: This is pure fiction. Any similarities to real people, places, or events are purely coincidental. Read, enjoy, and don't take it too seriously!

— ✦ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 ✦ —

Arisha’s POV:

A sharp ringing shattered the silence of my penthouse. I groaned, blindly reaching for my phone on the nightstand.

"Hello?"

"Ari!"

Malisse’s voice came through, half-exasperated, half-worried.

"You okay?" she asked.

I sighed, rubbing my temple. "Yeah, just tired."

"You sure? You didn’t even remember how you got home kagabi."

I froze for a moment.

Right. I didn’t.

The last thing I remembered was my vision blurring, my body shutting down—then nothing.

I forced a small chuckle. "I’m fine. You worry too much."

"I have every reason to," she shot back. "What if he found you again?"

"Mal," I cut her off, voice firm. "It’s fine."

She sighed but didn’t push. "Okay. Have you packed?"

My eyes widened.

The trip.

"Yeah," I lied.

"Hmm. If you say so. Just take care, okay?"

"I will."

"Good. See you tomorrow!"

"Night."

I tossed my phone aside, letting sleep take over again.

_

9:00 AM.

I blinked.

Then blinked again.

My brain, still sluggish from sleep, struggled to process what was wrong with that time.

Then—

"Putangina!"

I shot up from bed, heart lurching into my throat.

Our flight was at 8:30.

My phone was vibrating aggressively against the nightstand, notifications flooding in. I grabbed it with shaky hands.

— starzelle_: Ate Ariiii, where are you?!
— luckymal_: WAKE UP!!!
— stellarzia_: Ari, we’re boarding soon!!!
— My Secretary: Ma’am, your private jet is not available today.

I groaned, already feeling the migraine creeping in.

Perfect. Just perfect.

No time to dwell on it.

I sprinted through my morning routine, barely managing to look presentable before throwing on an all-black ensemble—sleek, sharp, and intimidating.

Then, with a last glance at the disaster that was my unmade bed, I bolted out of my penthouse.

The drive to the airport was a blur of red lights and curses under my breath.

By the time I skidded into the terminal, dragging my suitcase behind me—

Flight Closed.

I froze.

My grip tightened around the handle of my suitcase.