Kieran Lockhart prided himself on composure. There was no boardroom in the world he hadn't dominated, no crisis he hadn't turned into opportunity. But this… this was a kind of chaos he hadn't trained for.
He had come here to end an engagement.
An engagement he had never taken seriously—some ancient agreement inked before he'd even hit puberty. He hadn't thought about his supposed fiancée in years, not until five days ago when his world tilted on its axis.
That girl.
The one he saw across the street, helping a stranger with such calm expertise and eyes that lingered in his memory like a scar.
And now, the Laurents—his long-time allies in business—were telling him that his fiancée had returned to them after eighteen years of disappearance.
Returned.
Missing.
And her name?
"Aira," Seraphina said gently, reading his expression. "Aira Laurent."
Aira.
He felt the name echo like a click in his chest.
It couldn't be.
But his instincts were screaming it was.
The eyes. The bearing. The quiet, haunting pull he couldn't explain. It hadn't been infatuation—it had been recognition. Something primal. Something inevitable.
"I see," he said finally, voice carefully neutral. "I… wasn't aware she had returned. My apologies for the unscheduled visit."
Alaric smiled. "No apologies needed. We're pleased you're here. Perhaps it's fate that you came just as she's settling in."
Kieran resisted the urge to laugh at the irony. Fate. Yes, perhaps fate was tired of playing games.
"I brought some gifts," he added stiffly. "Just a gesture."
Seraphina's eyes sparkled. "That's very kind of you. She's… difficult to read, but I believe it will mean something."
Before he could answer, soft footsteps echoed down the stairs.
Kieran turned.
And there she was.
Aira Laurent.
The girl from the street.
His fiancée.
His chest tightened in disbelief.
She wore a simple dress—navy, with sleeves that hid the slender strength in her arms. Her hair was pulled back, and her face, while beautiful, was a blank mask.
Except the eyes.
Those same eyes.
Storm-gray. Mysterious. Sharp.
She saw him and paused for half a second.
He saw the flicker of recognition.
She knew.
Aira's POV
The moment she entered the hall, Aira knew something was off.
Her parents stood side-by-side—rare, formal. And in front of them… the man from the street. The one whose gaze had unsettled her days ago.
She hadn't expected to see him again. And now he stood in her house, flanked by gift boxes and secretaries, looking every inch the myth whispered about in global finance forums.
Kieran Lockhart.
She knew of him, of course. Anyone in the upper circles did. But this was the first time she connected the man to the name—her supposed fiancé.
So this was the man she was betrothed to.
She kept her expression neutral, her training holding fast. She was Aira Laurent now. Not Dr. Caelum. Not the street girl. Not the designer behind her family's favorite fashion house. She was simply the daughter meeting her parents' guest.
"Mr. Lockhart," she said with a polite nod.
Kieran blinked. The tension between them was subtle, but real.
He took a breath and extended a hand. "Aira."
Her fingers met his—cool, professional, brief.
For a second, time folded.
Then she stepped back.
"May I ask why you're here?" she said, not unkindly, but distant.
Her parents looked between them with curiosity.
Kieran hesitated. "I came to speak about something important."
"I see," Aira murmured.
She glanced at her mother, then back at him. Her voice was quiet, but firm.
"Then let's speak."