Chapter 141 Jorge Maxwell

Chapter 141 Jorge Maxwell
“Sir, are you alright?” The woman in a gray blazer who had been walking behind him asked, worry written plainly across her face.

The line in front of them moved forward. The man she had spoken to stepped ahead from his spot and answered in a detached tone, “I’m fine.”

Apparently, she was not the only one paying attention to him. Another man, traveling with him on that commercial flight for business purposes, was also watching. He stood farther back in the line, a little distance away.

Though not many people here recognized his face, the man was in fact one of Europe’s most successful figures. Jorge Maxwell. A businessman whose wealth surpassed what more than seventy percent of the world’s population would ever earn in their lifetime. With that kind of money, owning a private jet would have been effortless. Yet for reasons known only to him, Jorge had chosen to fly commercial for this particular trip.

Travel like this was nothing new to him. His life had long been a blur of airports and continents, money pulling him endlessly from one country to another.

“May I please check your boarding pass, Sir?” the airport staff asked when Jorge reached the gate. He handed it over, thanked them, and proceeded onto the plane.

Even though he was flying commercial, Jorge still received the best service available. After showing his seat number, a beautiful flight attendant escorted him to business class.

Once he had ordered a scotch with ice, Jorge settled into his seat, trying to get comfortable. His two bodyguards sat across the aisle near the divider between business and economy class, positioned so they could keep an eye on the cabin with ease.

“This is your seat, Miss.” Another flight attendant gestured toward the empty seat beside Jorge, addressing a young woman. “Let me store your backpack for you,” she added.

Gracefully, the girl slipped the backpack off her shoulders and handed it over, then sat down in the seat right next to Jorge.

“Thank you,” she said softly to both the flight attendant and Jorge.

“Would you like anything to drink?” the attendant asked kindly.

The girl simply smiled and shook her head. With that, the attendant moved on. From the corner of his eye, Jorge noticed the girl lean back immediately, releasing a tired sigh.

As far back as he could remember, Jorge almost never sat next to strangers on planes. He always traveled by private jet. Even on rare occasions when he flew commercial, he bought two seats so he could sit alone. This was different. Unusual.

After switching off his phone, Jorge pulled a magazine from the seat pocket in front of him and began reading as the plane prepared for takeoff. Beside him, the girl had already fallen asleep.

Jorge glanced at his watch. It was a little past eleven. The flight would take roughly seven hours. After finishing his business in Australia, he was scheduled to head straight to Abu Dhabi. Resting now would be the sensible thing to do.

Yet sleep refused to come.

His eyes wandered around the cabin. Most of the passengers were already asleep. Only two reading lights remained on. Jorge let out a slow breath, his gaze eventually settling on the girl beside him.

There was something about her that felt oddly familiar. Maybe it was just his imagination, but he was certain he had seen her at least once in his life. From her features, he guessed she was in her early twenties, roughly the same age as his youngest son, Gaara Maxwell.

Jorge sighed again, his thoughts drifting to the last time he had seen Gaara. He hated to admit it, but he was afraid of his own son. For reasons he could not fully explain, he often found himself avoiding the boy. Gaara resembled his late wife, Yasha, far too much. Looking at him felt like looking straight into the past, into sins that still haunted Jorge.

Yasha Maxwell. His Yasha.

To this day, she remained the most beautiful woman Jorge had ever known. More beautiful even than his first wife. Back then, Jorge had been forty five, attending a business associate’s wedding in Sydney. Yasha had been only twenty.

He had been old enough to be her father, yet the age gap did nothing to stop them from falling in love. It was the first time Jorge had ever felt such feelings for a woman. Even with his first wife, he had never felt anything close to it. That was how he knew he could never simply let Yasha go.

He had no regrets about loving her. None at all. Except for one thing. He had hidden the truth that he was already married. That he already had two children.

For someone with his wealth and social standing, having a mistress was not unusual. Yet, before confessing his love and proposing to Yasha, Jorge had never found the courage to tell her the truth about who he really was.

Ironically, that lie was what took Yasha from this world.

Jorge snapped out of his thoughts when the girl beside him suddenly whimpered. He turned to see her frowning in her sleep, lips moving as if she were trying to say something.

“Ra…”

He considered waking her up, but feared she might panic. In the end, he chose instead to ask for a glass of whiskey for himself.

“Gaara…”

The sound was barely louder than a breath. Jorge almost missed it. But when he caught the name, his body stiffened. He turned his head so fast his neck nearly protested. The girl was still asleep. For a moment, he convinced himself it had been nothing but his imagination. A trick of the mind after reminiscing about Yasha.

Then she said it again.

“Gaara.”

This time, Jorge knew he had heard it clearly.

The next second, the girl jolted awake with a sharp gasp. Despite the cabin temperature being well below twenty degrees, she was drenched in sweat. She scanned her surroundings for a moment, then let out a breath of relief once she realized where she was.

She turned to Jorge and offered a weak smile. “I’m sorry if I startled you or disturbed you.”

Jorge stared at her for a moment before replying, “It’s alright. Bad dream?”

She nodded shyly, her cheeks turning red.

“You should drink something,” Jorge said, signaling for a flight attendant and requesting a glass of water for the young lady beside him.

“Thank you so much,” she said.

When the water arrived, she drank it greedily, then asked for another glass.

Watching her, Jorge felt a strange curiosity stir within him. All because she had whispered that name in her sleep.

Gaara was a common name. Very common. And yet, what were the chances that a stranger sitting next to him knew his son? Jorge believed in God, but he did not believe in coincidence.

And so… “Do you mind talking about it?”