The next morning, Theo’s penthouse became a command center.
Not in an obvious way—no shouting, no dramatic phone calls echoing through marble halls. It was quiet efficiency: a secure laptop opened on the kitchen island, a screen filled with messages from people who sounded calm while moving mountains.
Mira sat at the counter with a mug of coffee she didn’t taste, watching Theo work.
His hair was still damp from the shower. He wore a fitted T-shirt and dark pants, and somehow that made him look more dangerous than the suit.
Theo glanced up. “You’re thinking.”
Mira huffed. “Is it that obvious?”
Theo’s mouth curved faintly. “To me.”
Mira set the mug down carefully. “I’m worried he’s already sent that photo to people.”
Theo’s fingers paused on the keyboard. “We’re going to assume he has.”
Mira’s stomach clenched.
Theo’s gaze stayed steady. “That’s why we’re moving first.”
“Moving first,” Mira echoed.
Theo pushed the laptop slightly away and leaned his forearms on the counter. “If Ethan leaks something, he wants you reacting—denying, explaining, looking frantic. He wants you to look like you’re spiraling.”
Mira’s mouth went dry. “And what do we do instead?”
Theo’s eyes held hers. “We tell a better story.”
Mira’s throat tightened. “Theo—this is my life.”
Theo’s voice softened. “I know. That’s why you’re in control of what we release.”
He slid his phone across the counter toward her.
On the screen was a draft post—simple text, no drama:
**Last night I brought someone important to me to meet my family. Mira Chen. Be kind.**
Below it, a photo: not the coatroom. Not stolen.
A clean, clear shot of Mira and Theo at the gala, stepping out of the building together—Theo’s hand at Mira’s back, Mira’s chin lifted, both of them composed. It looked intentional. It looked powerful.
Mira stared. “That’s… public.”
Theo nodded. “It’s a hard launch.”
Mira’s pulse thudded. “Your mother is going to hate it.”
Theo’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Good.”
Mira looked up. “This makes me a target.”
Theo’s voice went low. “You already are. This makes you defended.”
Mira swallowed, gaze returning to the photo. She didn’t look like the girl crying in a coatroom.
She looked like someone who’d walked out with a man who chose her.
Mira’s chest tightened. “If we do this, it can’t be fake. Not publicly. People will tear it apart.”
Theo’s eyes didn’t waver. “Then we won’t give them seams to pull.”
Heat skated down Mira’s spine at the implication.
She forced herself to breathe. “Okay. Post it.”
Theo studied her for a long beat, then nodded. “Say the word.”
Mira’s fingers brushed the phone screen. Her voice came out steadier than she felt. “Do it.”
Theo hit post.
Just like that, the story changed shape.
Mira’s phone began buzzing almost immediately—notifications, messages, unknown numbers, coworkers who’d seen it and suddenly cared.
Mira’s stomach twisted. “Oh God.”
Theo stepped closer, hand settling at her waist. “Breathe.”
Mira looked at him. “Do you ever get used to this?”
Theo’s mouth tightened. “No. You learn to ignore it.”
Mira exhaled shakily. “Ethan won’t.”
Theo’s gaze went cold. “Let him try.”
***
By afternoon, the internet had done what it always did: it had chosen a narrative.
Some people congratulated. Some questioned. Some speculated about timelines and motives. A few accounts posted side-by-side images of Mira at the Vantage gala with Ethan and then with Theo, implying scandal.
Mira sat with Theo’s security head—Imani, calm-eyed and intimidating in a way Mira immediately respected—while Theo took a call in another room.
Imani slid a tablet across the table. “We’ve identified the originating account that posted the coatroom photo as a teaser. It’s new, low following, likely a burner.”
Mira’s hands clenched. “So Ethan.”
Imani’s expression stayed neutral. “We can’t prove it yet. But we can document patterns. Harassment. Contact attempts. Stalking.”
Mira’s throat tightened. “Stalking?”
Imani’s gaze was steady. “If he’s sending you photos taken without your consent, that’s a red flag. We treat it seriously.”
Mira swallowed. “Okay.”
Imani nodded. “We’ve also locked down your social accounts. Privacy settings, two-factor authentication, monitoring for impersonation.”
Mira stared at the screen. “This feels… unreal.”
Imani’s voice softened slightly. “It feels unreal until it happens. Then it feels inevitable.”
Mira looked down at her hands. “I don’t want Theo dragged into my mess.”
Imani’s eyes flicked up, sharp. “This isn’t your mess. This is a man refusing to accept your no.”
Mira’s throat tightened.
Imani stood. “I’ll brief Mr. Reyes. In the meantime—don’t engage. Don’t respond. Save everything.”
Mira nodded. “Okay.”
Imani paused at the door. “And Mira? You did the right thing leaving him.”
After she left, Mira sat alone in the quiet and tried not to shake.
Theo came back in a few minutes later, phone in hand, face composed.
“How bad?” Mira asked.
Theo’s expression was flat. “Manageable.”
Mira scoffed. “That’s not an answer.”
Theo walked to her, kneeling in front of the chair like he’d done the night before. He took her hands. “Ethan is making noise. We’re going to make it cost him.”
Mira swallowed. “How?”
Theo’s gaze held hers. “Professionally. Legally. Socially.”
Mira’s chest tightened. “That sounds… ruthless.”
Theo’s mouth tipped faintly. “It is.”
Mira searched his face. “And personally?”
Theo’s gaze dropped to her mouth for a beat, then returned. “Personally, I’m going to keep you close.”
Mira’s pulse jumped.
Theo stood and pulled her up with him. “Come here.”
Mira let him guide her to the window, the city spread below. Theo stood behind her, arms around her waist, chin near her shoulder.
“This part,” Theo murmured, “the world watching—this is what my mother uses to control me. Image. Perception.”
Mira’s voice was small. “And what do you use?”
Theo’s hands tightened slightly. “Truth.”
Mira’s breath hitched.
Theo turned her gently until she faced him. “Tell me what you need right now.”
Mira’s throat worked. “I need to feel like I’m not… powerless.”
Theo’s eyes darkened, intent. “Then take what you want.”
Mira swallowed, heat spreading low in her belly. “Theo…”
Theo’s voice lowered. “Mira. You’ve been reacting to him since last night. Let me give you something else to react to.”
Mira’s breath caught hard.
Theo kissed her—slow at first, then deeper, the kind of kiss that made her thoughts blur at the edges. His hands held her like he wasn’t afraid of her breaking.
Mira’s fingers slid into his hair, tugging.
Theo made a low sound and pressed her back against the glass, careful, protective.
His mouth moved to her neck, then her jaw, then back to her lips. Everything about him said: *stay here, not there.*
Mira clung to that.
Theo lifted her, setting her on the wide ledge by the window with practiced ease, as if her weight was nothing. Mira’s breath hitched at the sudden height, at the city beyond, at Theo between her knees.
“Too much?” Theo asked, voice rough.
Mira shook her head, eyes wide. “No.”
Theo’s gaze pinned her. “Good.”
He kissed her again—thorough, unhurried—and Mira felt herself come undone in small increments, letting her body take over where her mind kept trying to brace.
After, when she lay against him on the sofa, her head on his chest, Theo’s hand moved in slow strokes through her hair.
Mira stared at the ceiling. “This is starting to feel less like practice.”
Theo’s fingers paused for half a beat, then resumed.
His voice was quiet. “I know.”
Mira’s throat tightened. “Is that a problem?”
Theo’s answer came after a long moment. “It might be.”
Mira’s chest ached. “Because of the contract?”
Theo’s hand tightened gently. “Because of what happens when the contract ends.”
Mira swallowed, heart heavy. “Three months.”
Theo’s voice was low. “And we’re already acting like it’s not pretend.”
Mira didn’t know what to say.
Theo kissed the top of her head. “We’ll deal with it later.”
Later.
Mira closed her eyes and tried not to fear the word.
***