She stood directly in front of the boarding ramp, small and motionless, as if she had been planted there by fate itself. She was barefoot. Her dress was faded and frayed at the hem. Strands of tangled brown hair framed a face far too serious for a child who could not have been older than nine.
Security guards were already moving toward her.
“Clear the dock,” one of them muttered.
Before they could touch her, she lifted her chin and looked straight at Jonathan.
The intensity of that gaze unsettled him in a way no boardroom rival ever had.
“Sir,” she said, her voice trembling but firm, “please don’t get on. You can’t go today.”
A ripple of laughter came from a few onlookers. Jonathan forced a thin smile.
“And why is that?” he asked, humoring her.
“I saw it,” she whispered. “In my dream. The boat… the water… and you. It was loud and dark and you couldn’t get out.”
Her small hands clenched at her sides, knuckles pale. There was no mischief in her expression. Only fear.
Jonathan almost waved her off. He did not believe in omens or dreams. His world ran on numbers and logic.
Yet something in her eyes—raw, desperate sincerity—tightened unexpectedly in his chest.