The rain tapped gently against the glass ceiling long after Kieran had left, a soft rhythm that filled the silence around Aira.
She sat alone in the garden room, unmoving, her fingers curled loosely around a cup of untouched tea someone had brought in. It had long gone cold, but she barely noticed.
He had called her by name.
Not "Miss Laurent." Not some formal title. Just Aira—with a quiet conviction that disturbed her more than she wanted to admit.
She had expected arrogance from the world's richest man.
Instead, she got something… complicated.
His words replayed in her mind like an echo she couldn't silence.
"I haven't stopped thinking about her."
"I didn't come to cancel the engagement anymore."
"I want to know her."
She didn't trust easily. She couldn't afford to. Too many names, too many faces—each crafted for a purpose. Dr. Caelum was a myth. Éclat Noire, her fashion alter ego, a legend. But Aira Laurent? That name was new and foreign, like a coat she wasn't sure fit yet.
And yet… he had looked at her like he saw something. Like he recognized her. Not for her legacy or her lineage, but for something else.
That frightened her more than anything.
Because it made her feel something.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the cup. She hadn't even known who he was when she treated that stranger in the alley. She hadn't cared. She had only been trying to save a life.
That moment—raw, human, unmasked—was what Kieran had seen.
What he had fallen for.
Not Aira Laurent, the heiress. Not Dr. Caelum, the healer. Not Éclat Noire, the designer.
Just… Aira.
She exhaled shakily, the first crack in her emotional wall.
It wasn't love. Not yet. She didn't believe in that kind of recklessness.
But it was something.
And that scared her more than anything.