Mira stared at Cassian's message for so long the world around her seemed to blur. Dinner. Tonight. 9 PM. Don't run again. Her heart thrummed uncomfortably in her chest as she stepped into the evening air outside Draymond Tower, but her body moved on instinct, walking toward her car while her mind remained trapped in that lobby, in the lingering echo of his voice, the scent of his cologne, the heat in his eyes when he told her he hadn't been asleep. He remembered everything. And worse, so did she.
She gripped the car handle, trying to stabilize her breath. "No," she whispered.
"I won't go. He can't just expect me to-" Her phone buzzed sharply, slicing through her denial.
This time, the name on the screen made her stomach drop.
Ryan Hale. The man who had knocked on her hotel door. Cassian's aide. The quiet one with unsettlingly sharp eyes.
Ms. Serrano, this is confirmation of your 9 PM dinner meeting with Mr. Draymond. A car will arrive at 8:20. Please be ready.
Mira typed back immediately. I'm not going.
The reply came too quickly. Understood. I will inform Mr. Draymond. She exhaled in relief, until a second message appeared.
"Please note he is already aware you're lying. See you at 8:20." Mira froze, jaw dropping open.
"He did not-" She slammed her forehead against the steering wheel.
"Is everyone in that building trained to psychologically torment people?!"
She tried one last desperate text. "Tell him I'm not coming."
Ryan responded calmly. "With respect, Ms. Serrano, I would prefer not to lose my job today. See you soon."
By the time 8 PM arrived, Mira had tried everything to escape, claiming illness, hiding her keys, threatening to barricade herself in her room. But Livia simply threw a dress at her and said, "You're going."
When Mira refused, Livia threatened to drag her down the stairs herself. Mira had never hated her more.
Now Mira stood before her mirror in a midnight-blue dress that bared her shoulders and clung to her curves.
She looked like someone heading into a trap with lip gloss. "This isn't a date," she muttered to her reflection.
"It's diplomacy. A hostage retrieval." Her phone beeped. A sleek black car waited outside. And leaning against it was Ryan Hale, straight-backed, unreadable, immaculate in a navy suit that somehow made him look even more like a man who filed emotional reactions into alphabetical order.
As Mira approached, Ryan lifted his eyes from his watch. "Ms. Serrano." His tone was polite but cool, like he had already judged her choices and found them lacking. "Mr. Draymond appreciates punctuality." Mira narrowed her eyes.
"Are you always this calm?" "Always," he replied. "Chaos makes people unpredictable. I prefer order."
She climbed into the car with a muttered curse, and Ryan took the front seat. The ride to the restaurant was filled with suffocating silence until he finally spoke. "He doesn't do this." Mira blinked.
"Do what?" "Send for people. Text repeatedly. Rearrange his evening." He paused. "So be prepared." Her stomach twisted. "Prepared for what?"
Ryan didn't look up from his tablet, but his voice was steady. "For Cassian Draymond when he decides he wants something."
The private dining room at Draymond's skyline restaurant was all soft gold, glass, and quiet luxury, with orchids lining the marble table and dim lights creating a halo around the city beyond the windows. Cassian stood when she walked in, his gaze sweeping over her like a warm hand moving down her skin. The simple way he looked at her made her feel suddenly too warm in her dress, too aware of her heartbeat.
"Mira," he said, voice low.
"Cassian," she managed.
Ryan bowed his head. "Your reservation is ready, sir." Cassian gave a small nod. "Thank you. You're dismissed."
Ryan shot her a look she couldn't decipher before slipping out, closing the door and leaving her alone with the man she absolutely should not be alone with.
"You came," Cassian said as he approached her with that slow, deliberate confidence she had come to dread. She lifted her chin. "Don't sound so smug." "I'm not smug," he said. "I'm relieved."
He took another step, and Mira stepped back. "Don't."
His brows lifted. "Don't what?"
"Don't look at me like that."
"How am I looking at you?"
"Like you know something I don't."
His lips tilted in something that wasn't quite a smile. "I do." He reached her in two strides, his hand finding her waist, not pulling, just touching, warm, steady, completely undoing her. "You ran this morning," he murmured near her ear. "But you're here now."
"Don't make this into something it's not," she whispered, breath tight.
"Then tell me it meant nothing."
"Cassian—"
"Tell me you don't remember."
She opened her mouth, but not a single sound came out. His breath brushed the curve of her jaw. "That's what I thought." His thumb grazed her lower lip, enough to steal the air from her lungs. "You don't get to call last night a mistake when you're still shaking."
Mira wanted to argue. She wanted to turn away. Instead, she silently melted beneath a truth she didn't want to admit.
Cassian's hand slid to the small of her back, his voice deepening. "Sit with me. Eat. Talk." His fingers traced her spine lightly. "And if you still want to walk away afterward, I'll let you."
She swallowed hard, torn between fear and a pull she couldn't name.
Finally, she nodded. Cassian's expression softened, barely, but it was enough to make her chest tighten.
He pulled out her chair, and she sat, heart pounding. The room seemed too warm, too intimate, too dangerous.
Cassian took his seat across from her, eyes lingering on her like he could read every conflicted thought inside her.
Dinner had only just begun. But Mira knew, with a sinking certainty, that she wasn't walking away tonight. Not from him. Not from the pull between them. Not from the disaster she was already in too deep to escape.