The house didn’t exhale when dinner ended. It held its breath.
The air in the dining room stayed tight even as plates were cleared and conversation pretended to restart. Theo’s kiss had landed like a gavel—final, public, impossible to ignore. Mira could still feel the imprint of it on her mouth, more heat than pressure, more message than affection.
Across the table, Ethan’s smile had hardened into something brittle. He sipped his wine like a man swallowing rage. Mrs. Reyes watched the tableau with a look that could have been satisfaction if Mira didn’t know better—like a chess player enjoying the middle game.
Theo kept his hand on Mira’s thigh beneath the table, thumb moving in slow, grounding strokes that made it hard to think and easier to breathe. He wasn’t squeezing. He wasn’t clinging.
He was anchoring.
Mira forced herself to keep her posture steady, to answer Celeste’s questions with calm, to not glance at Ethan every two seconds like he was a lit fuse. But her skin knew he was there. It knew the shape of his attention and the way it tried to crawl back into her life.
When dessert arrived, Ethan leaned toward Mrs. Reyes, speaking in a low voice meant to be private but not truly hidden.
Mira caught only a few words.
“…misunderstanding… sensitive… I care about her…”
Theo’s thumb stopped.
The calm around him sharpened.
Mira’s stomach turned.
Theo looked up, eyes cool, and said to his mother with deliberate clarity, “We’re leaving.”
Mrs. Reyes’s brows lifted. “Already?”
Theo didn’t blink. “Yes.”
Mira’s heart kicked. She hadn’t realized how much she needed out until he said it.
Mrs. Reyes’s gaze slid to Mira. “Mira, dear, I hope you’ll join us again soon.”
The “dear” was a blade wrapped in lace.
Mira smiled anyway. “Thank you for having me.”
Ethan stood as they did. “Mira—”
Theo’s hand moved from her thigh to her waist, firm. “Don’t.”
It wasn’t loud.
It was worse than loud.
Ethan’s face flushed. His gaze flicked to the room—at the watchers, the listeners, the people who would later decide which version of this story would be true. He forced another smile.
“Of course,” he said, and his eyes promised consequences.
Mira didn’t respond. She let Theo guide her away.
They passed through the living room, past curated art and curated laughter, and out into the night air that felt like freedom and threat at once. The driver was already there, door open, the car waiting as if it understood urgency.
Inside, silence fell over them like a blanket.
The car rolled down the drive, through the gates, away from the house that had felt less like a home and more like a tribunal.
Mira stared out the window at the dark sweep of trees and expensive privacy.
Theo’s hand found hers.
Interlaced.
Mira’s throat tightened. She hated that the smallest touch could make her want to cry again—hated it and needed it.
“Talk to me,” Theo said quietly.
Mira swallowed. “He’s going to do something.”
Theo’s gaze stayed on the road ahead, but his grip tightened. “Yes.”
Mira turned to him. “You’re not surprised.”
“I’m not,” Theo said. “Men like him don’t lose gracefully. They try to turn losing into a wound you carry.”
Mira’s mouth went dry. “Your mother invited him.”
Theo’s jaw flexed once. “Yes.”
Mira waited.
Theo’s voice remained controlled, but there was a darker edge underneath. “She wanted to see how serious this was. She wanted to test you. She wanted to test me.”
Mira’s chest constricted. “And Ethan was a convenient tool.”
Theo’s eyes met hers. “She doesn’t think of people as tools. That would imply she sees them as objects she has to pick up.”
He looked away again. “She thinks of people as pieces that belong on the board.”
Mira pressed her lips together. “Do I belong on her board now?”
Theo’s hand lifted to her cheek, gentle. “You belong where you decide to stand.”
Mira’s breath caught at that. It sounded like something she’d been starving for without knowing.
Her phone buzzed in her clutch.
She flinched.
Theo’s gaze snapped to it. “Is it him?”
Mira pulled it out, pulse racing.
Unknown number.
She stared for a beat, then unlocked the screen and opened the message.
A photo loaded.
Mira’s stomach dropped hard.
It was her. In the coatroom.
Theo’s hand at her waist. Her head tilted up. His mouth on hers.
Not explicit—thank God, not that—but intimate enough to make her cheeks burn and her chest go cold.
Beneath it: *Cute. How long until he gets bored?*
Another message followed immediately.
*You’ll always be the girl who cries in closets.*
Mira’s fingers went numb around the phone.
Theo saw her face change and took the phone from her hand with quiet decisiveness. He didn’t yank it—just removed it like he was taking a sharp object away from someone who didn’t deserve to be cut.
His eyes scanned the screen.
Something in him went very still.
“Ethan,” he said, voice flat.
Mira’s mouth felt full of sand. “He must’ve had someone follow me. Or—someone at the gala took it. Someone sent it to him.”
Theo’s gaze lifted. “Did anyone else receive this?”
Mira shook her head quickly. “I don’t know.”
Theo’s thumb moved over the screen. He took a screenshot, then forwarded it to a contact without speaking.
Then he deleted the message thread and blocked the number.
He handed the phone back.
Mira stared down at it like it was dangerous.
Theo’s hand slid to the back of her neck, steady. “He’s testing you.”
Mira’s voice came out small. “It worked.”
Theo’s eyes held hers. “No. It startled you. That’s not the same as winning.”
Mira swallowed hard. She wanted to believe that. She wanted to feel strong.
But humiliation had a muscle memory. It resurfaced fast. It made you doubt your footing.
Theo shifted closer in the seat, bringing his voice lower. “Listen to me. If he sends you anything—anything—you tell me. You don’t reply. You don’t negotiate. You don’t try to prove you’re fine.”
Mira’s throat tightened again. “I hate that he can still get to me.”
Theo’s thumb brushed her cheekbone. “He can’t get to you. He can get your attention. Those are different.”
Mira looked at him. “How do you know that?”
Theo’s expression flickered with something that wasn’t quite pain, but lived near it. “Because I’ve watched people try.”
Mira stared for a second, then nodded once. “Okay.”
The car turned, city lights unfolding ahead like a jeweled grid.
Theo’s voice softened. “When we get home—my home—I want to go over security. Social, digital, physical. I want you to feel protected.”
Mira’s lungs finally drew a clean breath. “Okay.”
Theo’s gaze stayed on her, intent. “And I want to remind you of something else.”
Mira’s pulse stumbled. “What?”
Theo’s hand slid down from her neck to her collarbone, not crossing lines—just making contact. “That you’re not alone in this.”
Mira’s eyes stung. She blinked hard.
Theo leaned in, pressed his mouth to her temple again—brief, controlled, but intimate enough to make her whole body loosen by degrees.
The car continued through the night.
Mira let herself lean into Theo’s shoulder for the first time, just slightly, like she was testing whether the support would vanish.
It didn’t.
Theo’s arm came around her, steady and warm.
Outside, the city gleamed like it was watching.
Inside, Mira tried not to admit how safe she felt in a place that was supposed to be fake.
***
Theo’s penthouse greeted them with quiet and light—soft, warm, designed to soothe rather than impress. The moment the door shut behind them, Mira’s body released a tremor she’d been holding in since Ethan appeared at the table.
Theo caught it.
He turned to her, hands settling on her shoulders, eyes searching her face. “Tell me what you need.”
Mira’s voice was raw. “To stop feeling like I’m about to be embarrassed again.”
Theo’s jaw tightened, then softened. “Then we control the narrative.”
Mira blinked. “We what?”
Theo pulled his phone from his pocket and typed a short message. “I have a PR team. I also have lawyers.”
Mira’s stomach flipped. “I don’t want to become a headline.”
Theo’s gaze sharpened. “You won’t. Not without consent.”
Mira exhaled shakily. “Okay.”
Theo guided her to the sofa, then crouched in front of her, taking her hands. He looked calmer than anyone had a right to look after that dinner, but she could feel tension in him—contained, controlled.
“I’m going to ask you something,” he said.
Mira nodded.
His eyes didn’t waver. “Do you still want this arrangement?”
Mira’s chest tightened. She thought of Ethan’s message. Of Mrs. Reyes’s smile. Of the way the room had watched her like a spectacle.
Then she thought of Theo’s hand on her thigh under the table. Of the way he’d said *don’t* to Ethan like it was law. Of how his presence made her spine straighten instead of fold.
“Yes,” Mira said, surprising herself with the firmness of it. “I do.”
Theo’s exhale was slow. “Good.”
Mira’s fingers curled around his. “But I need to know something.”
Theo lifted his brows slightly. “Ask.”
Mira swallowed. “If your mother keeps using me—if she keeps throwing people at you to provoke you—are you going to let her?”
Theo’s gaze held hers. “No.”
Mira waited.
Theo’s voice went quieter. “I’ve let her control too much of my life because it was easier than fighting her. That’s not going to happen with you.”
“With me,” Mira echoed, and the words felt dangerously like something else.
Theo’s eyes flicked to her mouth.
Then he stood, offering his hand.
Mira took it.
Theo pulled her up and didn’t let go. He drew her closer—slow, giving her time to step back if she wanted.
She didn’t.
Theo’s hands settled at her waist. “There’s something I want to practice.”
Mira’s pulse picked up. “Kissing.”
Theo’s mouth curved slightly. “Among other things.”
Mira’s cheeks warmed, but she didn’t look away. “Okay.”
Theo leaned in and kissed her.
Not a statement kiss like at dinner.
This was private. Slower. More deliberate.
Mira’s hands slid up his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. Theo’s mouth moved with controlled patience, as if he was teaching her how to stay in the moment instead of bracing for impact.
He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers. “Breathe.”
Mira did.
Theo kissed her again, then trailed his mouth along her jawline with a softness that made her throat tighten for an entirely different reason.
“You’re safe here,” he murmured.
Mira’s fingers fisted in his shirt. “I don’t know how to be safe.”
Theo’s hands tightened slightly on her waist. “Then I’ll show you.”
He guided her backward toward the bedroom.
Mira followed, heart hammering—not with dread, but with the dizzy pull of wanting. Wanting closeness. Wanting to be touched without it being a negotiation. Wanting to feel something that wasn’t humiliation.
In the bedroom, the city glowed beyond the glass like a distant audience.
Theo turned them so her back faced the windows.
“Do you want the curtains closed?” he asked.
Mira swallowed. “Yes.”
Theo closed them, then returned to her with the same steady calm.
He touched her cheek again. “I’m going to go slow.”
Mira nodded, breath uneven. “Okay.”
Theo kissed her, then eased her down onto the bed.
He undressed her with careful hands—unhurried, attentive—pausing whenever her breath hitched, watching for tension. Mira let herself be guided, letting the dress slide away, letting her body be seen without flinching.
Theo’s gaze moved over her with a reverence that made her cheeks burn.
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
Mira swallowed. “Don’t.”
Theo’s brows drew together. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t say it like you mean it,” Mira whispered, because meaning was dangerous.
Theo’s voice lowered. “I do mean it.”
Mira’s chest tightened. She didn’t have an answer for that.
Theo kissed her again, deeper, and Mira let the sensation pull her out of her head—out of Ethan’s messages, out of Mrs. Reyes’s smile. Theo’s touch was a steady insistence on the present.
The world narrowed to warmth and breath and the soft rustle of sheets.
When Theo finally pulled back, Mira’s eyes were glassy.
He brushed his thumb beneath her eye. “No more tears tonight.”
Mira’s laugh came out shaky. “Bossy.”
Theo’s mouth curved. “Efficient.”
Mira pulled him closer by the collar, kissing him with more urgency this time—needing the distraction, the claim, the reminder that she had choices.
Theo responded immediately, the calm in him shifting into hunger—still controlled, but unmistakable. He kissed her until her body loosened, until she stopped bracing.
Afterward, when the room went quiet again and Mira lay tucked against his side, Theo’s hand moved in slow circles at her back.
Mira stared at the ceiling, chest rising and falling.
“I hate him,” she whispered.
Theo’s voice was low. “I know.”
Mira swallowed. “And I’m scared he’s going to make me look foolish.”
Theo’s arm tightened. “If he tries to make you look foolish, I’ll make him look small.”
Mira’s throat tightened. “You can do that?”
Theo’s answer was simple. “Yes.”
Mira turned her face into his shoulder and let herself believe him for one breath.
Then another.
Outside, the city kept glittering.
And somewhere out there, Ethan was planning.
***