Mira Serrano stepped out of her car with the kind of exhaustion that settled in her bones, the kind that made her limbs feel heavier than they actually were. Morning sunlight spilled across the Serrano Estate's sweeping driveway, sparkling over luxury cars and ornamental fountains as if mocking her misery. The irony wasn't lost on her, her family's empire thrived on spotless appearances, yet here she was, returning home looking like she had barely survived a natural disaster.
Her legs still felt unsteady, and her jaw clenched each time a new pulse of memory flickered in her mind. Cassian Draymond. The warmth of his body. The softness of his breath against her ear. The way she had woken up tangled in his sheets, her lipstick smeared, her hair an absolute tragedy, and his arm draped over her waist like it belonged there.
"Stop thinking about him," she hissed under her breath as she walked, forcing her body into a straighter posture. The more she thought about last night, the harder her lungs worked, and the more her cheeks burned.
She fumbled with her keys, just trying to get inside before anyone caught sight of her. The universe, naturally, refused to cooperate.
"You look… disheveled."
Mira froze mid-step.
Her father, Regis Serrano, appeared at the end of the hallway wearing a silk robe and holding the morning newspaper under his arm. His brows knit together as he scanned her from head to toe. Mira resisted the urge to hide behind the nearest potted plant.
"Dad," she said with a strained smile, "good morning. You scared me."
Regis didn't respond immediately. His gaze traveled from her messy ponytail to her smudged eyeliner to her wrinkled clothes. "Disheveled," he repeated. "And possibly unstable. Are you ill?"
Mira bristled. "No! I'm fine. Perfect. This is just my face."
He stared. "Your face looks like it lost a wrestling match to a hotel pillow."
"I was… out," she muttered, clearing her throat.
"At what hour?" he pressed.
"Late."
"With who?"
"No one!" she blurted, then regretted it instantly.
Her father's eyes narrowed with the precision of a sniper. "Mira, are you lying to me?"
She crossed her arms defensively. "Dad. I'm twenty-four. I can have a life."
"You don't," he said simply, and walked past her.
Mira's mouth fell open. "Wow," she whispered. "Uncalled for."
Before she could fully recover from that insult, Livia practically sprinted into the hallway wearing pink pajama shorts and a villainous grin.
"Oh my god, Mira," she whispered loudly, clutching Mira's arm. "What happened? You look like you committed a crime of passion."
"I hate you," Mira said automatically.
Livia ignored that. "Dad thinks you passed out in a ditch. I covered for you, by the way."
"Covered what?"
"That you went home with someone after the gala."
"LIVIA!"
"What? It's technically true."
"You weren't supposed to say that!"
Livia shrugged. "Relax. He didn't believe me. He thinks you were alone as usual."
Mira groaned.
Then, Livia leaned in, lowering her voice. "So… Cassian texted you yet?"
Mira handed her the phone without even trying to speak. Livia's eyes grew wide.
"He said you left your bracelet? In his bed?" She placed a hand over her chest dramatically. "Mira, how aggressively did you escape? Did you tumble out a window?"
"I don't want to talk about it," Mira whispered into her palms.
Livia patted her back sympathetically. "Well, you have two options. One: pretend last night never happened. Go get your bracelet and leave before he weaponizes his jawline against you. Or two: face him, talk to him, and stop running like you've committed tax fraud."
Mira glared. "I genuinely hate you."
"No, you don't," Livia said sweetly. "I'm the only reason you haven't combusted."
Unfortunately, Livia was painfully right.
By late afternoon, Mira found herself standing in front of her vanity, staring at her reflection with bleak resignation. She brushed her hair for the third time, trying to look composed but not overly polished. She wasn't going there to flirt. She wasn't going to invite anything. She was simply going to retrieve her bracelet and leave.
That was it.
A diplomatic mission, a hostage exchange.
Nothing else.
She slipped into a simple black dress that hugged her subtly, seductive. She left her hair down, applied a light gloss, and told herself multiple times that she was immune to Cassian's absurd good looks.
"This is fine," she said aloud, forcing a smile. "You'll go in, say thank you, grab your bracelet, and leave. No eye contact. No stupid thoughts. No remembering-"
Her phone buzzed sharply.
Cassian Draymond:
Lobby. Now.
Mira froze, the message burning into her retinas. Her stomach twisted.
"This is a trap," she whispered. "This is absolutely a trap."
But she grabbed her purse anyways.
The Draymond Tower was a glass monolith, sleek, arrogant, and unapologetically expensive. Mira immediately felt underdressed and outnumbered by the intimidating architecture alone. She stepped into the lobby, and the cold air hit her like a wall.
She scanned the space until she saw him.
Cassian Draymond stood near the glass wall, sleeves rolled up, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed but unmistakably in control. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, as if he hadn't bothered to tame it, and his gaze was fixed on the skyline, sharp, pensive, unreadable.
He turned at the exact moment she approached. His gaze swept over her, lingering just long enough to make her wish she had worn a turtleneck and sunglasses.
"Mira," he greeted, his voice low and steady.
She lifted her chin. "I'm here for my bracelet."
He started walking toward her, each step deliberate. Mira tried not to shrink back.
Cassian stopped in front of her, close enough that she could smell his cologne, a clean, deep scent that wrapped around her senses far too easily.
"You left more than a bracelet," he said quietly.
Heat crawled up her neck. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You do," he replied.
Her pulse spiked violently. She shifted her weight, suddenly desperate to escape the gravity he carried around him.
"Just give me the bracelet, Cassian."
He studied her for a moment, eyes dark with something she didn't want to name, then reached into his suit jacket. He pulled out the delicate silver bracelet with its small moon charm, brushing his thumb along it thoughtfully before extending it to her.
"Do you think I don't remember?" he asked in a voice so soft she almost missed the tension underneath.
"You were asleep," she managed.
His lips curved, not quite a smile, but something sharper. "I wasn't asleep." His gaze bored into hers. "I was waiting to see if you'd run."
Her breath caught. "Let go of the dramatics, please."
He stepped just a fraction closer. "Then why did you run?"
"Because!" she spluttered. "Because it was a mistake."
"Was it?" he asked.
Her throat went dry. "Cassian, we are not having this conversation."
"Then tell me you don't remember," he challenged quietly. "Tell me there's nothing to remember."
Her heart pounded so violently she wondered if he could hear it.
She snatched the bracelet and spun on her heel. "We're done here."
Cassian caught her wrist, not harshly, possessively, just to stop her.
"Mira," he murmured, his voice brushing over her skin like warm breath, "we're not done."
She jerked her hand free and stormed toward the exit before she could melt into the floor.
The glass doors slid open with a soft hiss, and she stepped into the evening air, chest tight, pulse racing.
Her phone vibrated again.
Cassian Draymond:
Dinner. Tonight. 9 PM. don't run again.
Mira stared at the message, her breath frozen in her lungs.
A cold breeze swept past her, brushing her hair, but all she could feel was the heat beneath her skin.
"Oh… no," she whispered.
This wasn't over, This wasn't close to being over.
This..whatever it was…was only the beginning.