Seducing His Grandfathers Trophy Wife by Darla Tverdohleb

The freezing wind howled into the open cabin of the aircraft, violently whipping Braden's hair across his pale face.

He gripped the metal edge of the door frame so hard his knuckles turned completely white. His chest heaved, pulling in thin, useless breaths of the high-altitude air.

"Are you out of your damn mind?!" Braden screamed.

His voice cracked, swallowed instantly by the deafening roar of the aircraft engines. He tried to mask the violent shaking of his knees by shouting louder, but the terror in his eyes was impossible to hide.

Hazel did not even blink.

She stood two feet away, her face a mask of absolute indifference. Her fingers moved over the buckles of her parachute harness with terrifying precision. It was muscle memory.

She didn't spare him a single glance. She simply walked toward the open hatch, her boots heavy against the metal floor, and stared down at the valley three thousand feet below.

Down on the ground, inside the dark interior of the mobile command center, Chandler Rhodes stared at the live feed on the monitors.

The Chief of Staff's brow furrowed into a deep, harsh line. His stomach tightened. This woman was playing with fire, and she was going to drag the entire Powers Corporation down with her.

Back in the cabin, Hazel turned her head slowly.

"The countdown begins now," she stated.

Her voice was not loud, but the icy tone cut straight through the noise of the wind.

Braden shook his head frantically. The blood drained from his face, leaving his lips a sickly shade of blue. His legs gave out slightly, and he tried to stumble backward into the safety of the plane's belly.

Hazel did not give him the chance.

Without a single shift in her facial expression, she raised her long leg and planted her heavy boot squarely into the center of Braden's chest.

A sickening thud echoed over the wind.

Braden let out a blood-curdling shriek. The force of the kick shattered his balance instantly. His hands slipped from the door frame, and his body tumbled backward into the empty sky.

The sensation of weightlessness swallowed him whole.

Braden flailed his arms and legs wildly, his mouth open in a silent scream as the freezing air rushed down his throat.

A split second later, Hazel stepped out of the aircraft.

She did not fall. She dove. Her body snapped into a flawless, aerodynamic tactical position. She cut through the air like a ruthless falcon hunting its prey.

In the command center, Chandler shot up from his leather chair.

His heart slammed against his ribs. He leaned closer to the screen, his breath catching in his throat. The tactical perfection of her freefall posture was impossible for a woman who spent her days shopping on Fifth Avenue.

Up in the sky, the wind noise was deafening.

Braden's panic was suffocating him. His chest convulsed. Black spots danced at the edges of his vision. He was hyperventilating so fast he was seconds away from passing out.

Hazel tucked her arms in and accelerated her dive.