Mira wasn't sure how long she had been staring at the ceiling. The room was too quiet, too still, too warm, nothing like the cold palace she expected to be thrown into after what happened. She had braced herself for insults, accusations, disappointment, anything that fit the reputation of the man whose child she might be carrying. But instead… she had been placed in a soft bed, under a warm blanket, with a glass of water on the side table and a silent guardian standing outside her door.
It frustrated her. It softened her. It confused her all at the same time.
Why is he being nice?
She turned onto her side, tucking her knees in. The faint glow of the moon spilled through the curtains, brushing her face in silver. She blinked at it, her thoughts spiraling deeper.
He's my family's rival. Everyone says he's cold. Ruthless. Unreachable. So why… why does he look at me like I'm not a mistake he wants to erase? Why didn't he just let me go after that night?
Her fingers unconsciously grazed her stomach. Too early. Too mysterious. Too terrifying to think about.
Even if I'm carrying his child… he could've ignored me. He could've told me to leave. But instead he's being gentle? Responsible? Since when does someone like him care?
Her throat tightened for reasons she couldn't explain.
For reasons she didn't want to explain.
She curled deeper into the blanket, as if hiding from her own thoughts.
Outside, the house was quiet, the type of quiet only a man like him could manufacture: controlled, intentional, guarded. Every footstep was measured. Every whisper muted. Mira could feel the tension of his world pressing around her, yet he hadn't let any of it reach her room.
Was it real concern? Guilt? Obligation?
Or something she didn't have the courage to name?
Her eyes closed slowly… heavy with exhaustion but too anxious for sleep.
Somewhere far in the mansion, a phone rang.
And the night broke.
He had been sitting in his office, shoulders stiff, tie already loosened, when Ryan burst in with a tight expression. Midnight had a way of sharpening everything, the air, the shadows, the truth.
"Sir," Ryan said. "You need to hear this."
He lifted his gaze, already knowing it wasn't good news.
"It's about the rumor."
His jaw clenched. "Spit it out."
Ryan hesitated, then placed a phone on the table. A recorded clip played, a low voice, whispering to someone, laughing in that cruel, familiar way.
"Spread it. The story about him and that girl. Make it big. Make it messy."
Not a leak, not an accident.
A deliberate strike.
A muscle jumped in his jaw. "Who is it?"
"A small-time runner. Name's Nalen. But… he's not the mastermind. He's just the one who carried it. The real person… they stayed hidden."
He pushed back his chair slowly, too slowly. Ryan knew he was restraining himself.
"Where is Nalen now?"
"An abandoned warehouse… the old one. We cornered him already."
He stood. His voice dropped, low and sharp.
"Prepare the car."
Ryan nodded once and followed him out.
The night wind slapped against his face as he reached the warehouse. His men surrounded the building like shadows, silent, efficient, obedient. The moment they saw him, they bowed their heads.
Inside, Nalen was tied to a chair, trembling. Sweat dripped down his forehead despite the cold. He tried to smirk, but it collapsed halfway.
"Boss," he croaked, "I-It was just a rumor. People were already talking.."
"You spread it," he cut in, stepping into the dim light. "And you enjoyed doing it."
Nalen swallowed hard. "I..I didn't mean.."
He grabbed the man's collar and yanked him forward before the sentence could finish. His fist connected with Nalen's jaw, sending the chair skidding across the floor.
The man choked, coughing blood.
Ryan didn't even blink.
He walked toward him again, each step echoing in the empty warehouse.
"You thought it was funny?" he asked quietly. Too quietly. "Dragging her name around like that?"
Nalen stuttered, "I.. I was told.. they said I'd get paid-"
"By who?" Cassian asked.
No answer.
Just trembling.
He crouched, grabbed Nalen's chin, and forced him to meet his eyes.
"Look at me," he said.
Nalen's eyes squeezed shut.
He backhanded him hard enough that the man cried out.
"I said look at me."
This time Nalen obeyed, wide-eyed, terrified.
He leaned closer. His voice was nothing but steel.
"You can play with my reputation. You can play with my enemies. But you will never, ever, touch her name again. And if you did, I'll break every single bone in your body, mess with her and see if you can walk again."
Nalen whimpered.
"And whoever you're protecting…" His jaw tightened. "Tell them I'm coming."
He stood, wiped the blood from his knuckles with a handkerchief Ryan handed him, and exhaled slowly, the kind of breath that carried more danger than relief.
Then, almost absentmindedly, he murmured:
"She's already been through enough."
His men froze hearing how soft his voice had turned.
He wasn't talking about the rumor anymore.
Ryan stepped forward. "What now, sir?"
"Clean this mess." He turned away. "And find out who the real mastermind is."
"And you?" Ryan asked.
He paused at the doorway, the cold night behind him.
"I'm going back."
"To her."
Mira woke to the sound of the door opening. Not loudly. Not abruptly. Just a soft click that made her heart leap.
He stepped inside, jacket gone, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly disheveled from the wind. And there was blood, faint, drying, around his knuckles.
Her breath caught.
"You're hurt."
"It's nothing," he said, sliding his hands behind his back as if that would hide it.
She sat up, blanket falling slightly. "Where were you?"
His eyes softened at the sight of her awake. He walked toward her slowly, like someone approaching something delicate.
"Handling something."
A beat.
"No need for you to worry."
But she did, She didn't know why, But she did.
He stopped beside her bed, watching her with the same unreadable expression he always wore… except now there was something different. Something rawer. Something protective.
"You should be asleep," he murmured.
"I couldn't."
Her voice cracked a little. "My mind… it kept thinking."
"About today?"
She nodded.
He sighed softly, then sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to get too close , but close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him.
"Mira," he said quietly. "You're safe here. Nothing you heard outside this room matters. And nothing they're saying out there… that's not going to touch you. Not while I'm here."
Her stomach fluttered in a way she hated and liked at the same time.
She looked at his knuckles again. "You fought because of me?"
He didn't deny it.
Didn't look away.
Didn't pretend.
"I won't let anyone use your name to play their dirty games," he said. "Not now. Not ever."
Her heart thudded against her ribs.
"Why?" she whispered before she could stop herself. "Why do you care?"
For a second he didn't speak.
He just looked at her, really looked at her , as if deciding how much truth she could handle.
Then he reached toward her slowly… gently… and brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek.
"You still don't get it," he murmured.
His fingers lingered a second too long.
And Mira's chest tightened in an unfamiliar, terrifying way.
Before she could ask more, he withdrew his hand and stood.
"Rest," he said softly. "I'll be right outside."
He reached the door, then paused, as if holding back a thousand unsaid things.
"And Mira…?"
His voice dropped.
"If anyone tries to hurt you again, rumor or truth, they'll answer to me first."
The door closed.
And Mira pressed her fingers against her racing heart, trying, and failing, to calm it down.
What was he doing to her?
What was she doing to him?
And why did the idea of him standing guard outside her door make her feel safer than she had in years?