Chapter 32: Fever
Four hours into the flight, the initial rush of excitement and fear began to fade, leaving behind a deep, terrible physical toll.
Isabella lay curled sideways on the long leather sofa at the back of the cabin. Her skin had turned pale, small beads of sweat forming along her hairline, her breath coming in quick, shallow rasps.
Aaron sat at a small wood table nearby, a mountain of financial reports and legal documents spread out before him. He was signing a contract when his flight medic stepped out of the small medical bay at the rear of the plane.
The medic, a tall man with short graying hair, walked over and spoke in a low tone. "Mr. Kazarov."
Aaron didn’t look up from his paper. "What is it?"
"She’s running a fever."
Aaron’s pen stopped instantly. He set it down on the table, turning his head to look at the sleeping girl on the sofa.
"How high?"
"High enough to worry me, sir," the medic said quietly. "It’s not an infection. It’s sheer physical exhaustion, severe dehydration, and stress. Her body is shutting down because she hasn’t rested or eaten properly in days. I can give her fluids, but she needs proper medical care on solid ground. I wouldn’t recommend keeping her in the air for another eight or nine hours to reach Russia."
Aaron stared at Isabella for three seconds. Her lips were dry and cracked, her small shoulders shivering under the blanket despite the warm cabin air.
He didn’t weigh the options. He didn’t ask about the delay or the business meetings waiting for him in Moscow.
He stood up, walking toward the cockpit door. He pushed it open, looking at the lead pilot.
"Change the flight plan," Aaron ordered flatly.
The pilot blinked, looking back over his shoulder. "Sir? We’re cleared for Moscow airspace in—"
"We’re stopping in Finland," Aaron said, his voice leaving zero room for argument. "Find the nearest private airfield with medical clearance and set us down."
"Yes, sir," the pilot said instantly, turning back to his instruments to radio air traffic control.
Two hours later, the jet touched down in northern Finland.
Outside, the world was a breathtaking stretch of quiet beauty. Dense pine forests stretched out under a pale afternoon sky.
The air outside was crisp, clean, and warm, carrying the sharp scent of nature. The lakes reflected the dim winter sun like giant silver mirrors, surrounded by small, quiet wooden chalets with glowing amber lights in the windows.
It was silent. Not the heavy, terrifying silence of Kian’s estate, but a peaceful, wide-open quiet that felt endless.
Isabella didn’t see any of it. She was completely unconscious by the time the landing gear hit the tarmac, her fever making her body limp and heavy.
Aaron didn’t bother waiting for a stretcher. He wrapped her tight in his heavy coat, scooped her up into his arms, and carried her down the steps straight into a waiting heated vehicle.
He didn’t just book a hotel room. He bought out the entire top floor of a private luxury chalet resort tucked deep into the quiet pine forests near Helsinki.
He brought in two local physicians, a private nursing team, and had his own security staff post up at every stairwell and entrance on the floor. Nobody entered without his word.
When Isabella finally woke up, the air felt different.
She opened her eyes to total darkness, but her skin didn’t feel cold. She was tucked under a heavy, feather-soft duvet that felt warmer and lighter than anything she had ever slept under.
The air smelled rich and fresh, of sweet pine wood, clean crisp linen, and the faint, comforting smell of burning firewood.
A quiet, continuous ’crack’ filled the room.
She lay still for a long time, listening. There were no heavy boots pacing down the hallway outside. No iron locks turning in heavy doors. No shouting. Just the gentle popping of logs in a fireplace nearby.
Her chest rose and fell in a slow, deep breath. For the first time in weeks, the tight, suffocating knot in her stomach wasn’t there.
"Miss Isabella?" a gentle, soft voice spoke from across the room.
Isabella shifted, sitting up slowly. "Who... who is there?"
A young woman in a quiet uniform walked over, her footsteps soft against the thick rugs.
"I am Heli, one of the resort staff. You’re in Finland, ma’am. Mr. Kazarov brought you here yesterday when you fell ill on the plane."
"Finland?" Isabella repeated, her mind trying to piece the words together.
"Yes, ma’am. You’ve been sleeping for nearly eighteen hours. The doctor checked your fever an hour ago, it has finally dropped. Would you like some water? Or perhaps something to eat?"
"Where is Aaron?" Isabella asked quietly.
"Mr. Kazarov is in the main sitting room down the hall," Heli answered softly. "He has been managing some calls, but he instructed us to let him know the moment you woke up."
"No," Isabella said quickly, shaking her head. "Don’t bother him yet. I... I’d like to wash first."
Heli smiled gently, helping Isabella out of the massive king-sized bed. She guided her to a warm, heated bathroom where a deep tub had already been prepared with warm water and sweet oils.
For the next hour, Isabella washed away the days of dirt, sweat, and fear. She washed her hair with soft-scented shampoo, put on a thick, clean white wool sweater and soft trousers provided by the staff, and ate a small bowl of warm, rich soup that brought life back into her cold fingers.
When she finally stepped out into the main suite, she followed the warmth of the fire.
The suite had massive floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over miles of trees and quiet hills.
Isabella couldn’t see the view, but she could feel the bright, cold sunlight warming her face through the thick glass, and the crackle of the massive stone fireplace beside her.
Near the window sat a wide, soft leather sofa.
Isabella walked slowly over, feeling her way until her hand touched the edge of the seat. She sat down, pulling a soft wool blanket over her knees, her hands wrapped around a warm mug of hot chocolate with sweet marshmallows floating on top.
A quiet step sounded on the floorboards behind her.
Aaron walked into the room, holding a glass of scotch in one hand. He wasn’t wearing his suit jacket, just a dark sweater with the sleeves pushed up his arms. He looked tired around the eyes, but when his gaze landed on her sitting by the window, his expression softened.
He walked over and sat down on the other end of the wide sofa.
Isabella held her mug tight, staring down into the steam rising from the chocolate. "Aaron?"
"How are you feeling?" he asked quietly, taking a small sip from his glass.
"Better," she murmured. Her head dropped slightly, her shoulders pulling in. "I’m sorry."
Aaron paused, turning his head to look at her. "For what?"
"Because of me... we had to stop," she said, her voice small and filled with genuine guilt. "I ruined your flight. You had to change your plans... I just slowed everyone down."
Aaron looked at her as if she had just spoken in a completely foreign language.
"Isabella," he said, his voice flat.
She went quiet, biting her lower lip.
He set his glass down on the small table beside the sofa, turning his body toward her. He leaned back against the cushions, his dark blue eyes fixed on her pale face.
"You are the reason we are flying in the first place," he said simply.
Isabella blinked, her hands tightening on the warm mug.
Aaron let out a slow, dry sigh, a faint smirk touching the corner of his mouth. "I would much rather arrive two days late with you alive and breathing..." He paused, his tone dropping into that dry, teasing edge she knew so well. "...than three hours early with your corpse stretched out across my leather seats."
Isabella let out a tiny, breathless laugh, her cheeks turning a light pink. "You are awful."
"I am practical," Aaron corrected smoothly.
He reached across the space between them, his large, warm hand gently taking hold of her mug, nudging it back up toward her lips. "Drink your cocoa before it gets cold, Princess."