Mia's POV
The sun crept too early into Mia's room, sharp light cutting across the pale curtains and dragging her awake. She shifted beneath the heavy duvet, her mind fogged with fragments of the night before—the gardens lit with lanterns, her grandfather's commanding voice, and the one person she didn't want to think about but couldn't seem to erase.
Ace Laurent.
Mia exhaled slowly, pressing a hand against her forehead. It was infuriating. Of all the people in her world—the endless carousel of wealthy heirs, polished daughters, and families who only smiled for what they could gain—he was the one to linger. His smirk, his voice that carried both arrogance and something deeper, had carved itself into her memory.
She had hated the way he looked at her. Not with worship like others, not with empty admiration. No—Ace had looked as though he saw something hidden. As though he were cataloguing every defense she had carefully built, searching for cracks.
And worst of all… he had been right.
You thought of me last night. Didn't you?
Mia turned her face into the pillow, wishing she could smother the memory of those words. The nerve, the audacity—yet the truth burned hotter than the insult. She had thought of him. And she hated herself for it.
The grandfather clock in the hall struck eight. With a groan, Mia pushed herself up, slipping from bed and letting her bare feet touch the cold marble floor. Her reflection in the mirror showed disheveled hair and shadows under her eyes. She looked as tired as she felt, but there was no escaping today.
Her grandfather had summoned her to breakfast.
Charles Harrington ruled his household the way he had ruled his empire—firmly, decisively, with little tolerance for rebellion. The dining room reflected him: polished oak table, portraits of ancestors, and the weight of legacy pressing down with every tick of the clock.
Mia entered quietly, her silk dressing gown trailing behind her. Her grandfather already sat at the head of the table, reading the morning paper, spectacles perched low on his nose.
"You're late," he said without looking up.
"It's eight-oh-five," she replied, slipping into her chair.
"Five minutes late is still late." He folded the paper, finally meeting her gaze. "You look pale. Were the gardens too much for you last night?"
Mia reached for her tea, her movements graceful, controlled. "It was a gathering. Nothing more."
"Nothing more?" Charles's brows rose. "From what I hear, you spent quite some time with Ace Laurent."
The cup stilled in her hands. "We spoke briefly."
Her grandfather studied her, eyes sharp despite his age. "The Laurents are powerful allies. Alaric sees the value in uniting with us. And I—" he paused, his voice softening just slightly, "—I want to see you secure, Mia. Surrounded by people who can't leave you."
The words struck deeper than Mia expected. People who can't leave.
She swallowed hard, setting her cup down with deliberate calm. "I don't need Ace Laurent for security."
"No," Charles agreed. "But you may need him for war."
The weight of his statement lingered as the rest of breakfast passed in silence.
By midday, Lila swept into Mia's room like a burst of sunlight, arms full of fabrics and her voice bubbling with excitement.
"You looked incredible last night," she declared, tossing silk onto the bed. "And don't even pretend you didn't notice Ace staring at you like you were the only person alive."
Mia groaned. "Not you too."
"Yes, me too," Lila sang, plopping down beside her. "Come on, Mia. I know you. I've known you since we were five. And I haven't seen a man get under your skin like this… ever."
"He hasn't gotten under my skin," Mia snapped, a little too quickly.
Lila grinned knowingly. "Denial looks cute on you."
Mia turned away, focusing on the gowns instead. "He's arrogant. Cold. Calculating. And I have no interest in him."
"Uh-huh," Lila said, utterly unconvinced. "Well, lucky you, because your grandfather just informed me that the Laurents are hosting a private luncheon tomorrow. Families only. Guess who's expected to attend?"
Mia froze. "No."
"Yes."
Her pulse quickened. Another encounter with Ace, so soon. Too soon. She could already imagine his smirk, his taunting words, the way he leaned in just close enough to rattle her composure.
Lila squeezed her hand gently. "Maybe it's not the worst thing. Maybe you need someone who challenges you, Mia. Someone who doesn't worship you, but sees you."
Mia's throat tightened. "The last time I let someone close, they left."
"Not everyone leaves." Lila's voice was soft but firm. "I didn't. Your grandfather didn't. And maybe…" She hesitated. "Maybe Ace won't."
Mia pulled her hand back. "You don't know him."
"Neither do you."
The next day dawned crisp and bright, but Mia's mood was anything but. She dressed with precision, choosing a gown of deep emerald that hugged her frame and gave her armor in fabric form. Her hair was pinned into an elegant knot, her jewelry minimal but striking.
She would face Ace Laurent not as a trembling girl haunted by abandonment, but as the heir to the Harrington empire.
The Laurent estate was sprawling, every inch screaming wealth and dominance. As Mia entered the dining hall, she felt the gaze of Alaric Laurent sweep over her, assessing, calculating. Beside him, Ace lounged in his chair, all dark suit and dangerous ease.
Their eyes met.
For a heartbeat, neither looked away.
"Mia," Alaric greeted smoothly. "Welcome. Please, sit."
She took her place across from Ace, every muscle taut. The meal began, courses of delicate dishes served with impeccable timing, conversation flowing about markets, alliances, the shifting balance of power.
Mia contributed where necessary, her voice calm, her knowledge sharp. But she felt Ace's gaze on her throughout, burning, dissecting.
Finally, as the plates cleared and the table emptied slightly, he leaned closer, his voice low enough for only her to hear.
"You wear armor well."
She stiffened. "I don't know what you mean."
"Yes, you do." His eyes glinted. "Every word you spoke today was perfect. Polished. But not you."
Her breath caught. "You don't know me."
"Don't I?" His smile was faint, almost cruel. "You build walls so high no one dares climb them. But tell me, Mia—who are you protecting? Yourself? Or the people who dare to try?"
The words cut sharper than she expected. Too sharp. For a second, her mask slipped—just a flicker, but enough.
Ace saw it. She knew he did.
Mia's hands curled in her lap. "You assume too much, Mr. Laurent."
He leaned back, satisfied. "Perhaps."
The rest of the luncheon passed in a blur. When it ended, Mia excused herself quickly, retreating to the gardens outside. The air was cool, the silence a balm, but her chest felt tight, her thoughts colliding.
How dare he? How dare he look at her and see what others had missed for years? How dare he make her feel exposed, vulnerable, as if her carefully constructed world could unravel with a single question?
And yet… beneath the anger, something else simmered.
A pull she couldn't name. A danger she couldn't resist.
That evening, back at the Harrington estate, her grandfather summoned her once more.
"Mia," Victor said, his tone grave. "Alaric and I have spoken. The future is uncertain. Our families are strongest together. Which is why we've agreed…"
Her heart pounded.
"…that you and Ace will spend more time together. Publicly. Privately. It is time the world begins to see the bond between Harrington and Laurent."
Mia's blood turned to ice.
A bond. With Ace Laurent.
She bowed her head, her mask firmly in place once more. "As you wish, Grandfather."
But inside, her thoughts churned.
Because if Ace had already begun to see through her defenses, being forced into his orbit would only hasten the unraveling.
And Mia Harrington had sworn long ago never to let anyone close enough to leave her again.
Yet now, fate had delivered her to the one man most likely to do exactly that