The guest wing of the estate was quiet—almost too quiet for Mira. She stood inside the spacious room Cassian had chosen for her, the soft cream drapes pulled aside just enough to let evening sunlight spill across the polished floor. The room felt luxurious, far more than she needed, yet none of it eased the nervous pressure in her chest.
Cassian stepped in behind her, expression composed as always, though Mira noticed how he kept his hands tucked behind his back, as if he wasn't sure where to put them around her anymore.
"I had the staff prepare this for you," he said gently. "If anything feels too big, too cold, or… too much, tell me. I'll have it changed."
Mira turned, fingers brushing the edge of the duvet. "Cassian… I didn't expect all this."
"You shouldn't have to worry about comfort right now," he replied, voice low and steady. "I asked Luisa to prepare specific meals for you—nothing heavy, foods that'll settle well. She'll check in before dinner."
Mira blinked, genuinely surprised. "That's… thoughtful."
He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm trying."
For a moment, neither spoke. The silence wasn't cold—just full. Full of things neither of them had figured out how to say.
Cassian finally walked toward the window, looking out at the estate grounds as if gathering courage.
"Mira," he started, "about that night…"
Her heart stuttered. Each beat felt heavy in her throat. She waited.
He didn't turn around yet. "It was unexpected. For both of us. A moment neither planned." His fingers tightened slightly on the window edge. "And a mistake… maybe. But a mistake we both made."
Mira's breath hitched—not in anger, but in the strange sting of honesty.
He turned to face her, expression softer than his words. "But don't misunderstand. I don't mean you were a mistake. Or that this—" he gestured loosely, meaning her pregnancy and everything surrounding it "—is something I intend to walk away from."
She looked down at her hands. "So what do you mean?"
Cassian stepped closer, slow and deliberate, stopping only when he was close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him. "I mean," he said quietly, "you take care of the life inside you… and I'll take care of you both."
Mira's eyes lifted to his, startled. "Cassian…"
"I won't pretend things aren't complicated," he admitted, tension pulling at his jaw. "My family is dealing with the scandal. I'm trying to keep the press out of your name as much as possible. There's pressure, meetings, damage control—but none of that is your burden."
"And you?" she whispered. "It is yours."
"It won't touch you."
His certainty made her chest warm in a way she wasn't ready to name.
He let out a slow breath. "You don't have to trust me completely… not yet. But trust that I'll try. And trust that what happened, however messy, isn't something I'll shove onto your shoulders alone."
Mira nodded slowly. "I don't want to do this alone."
"You won't," he said, voice softer. "Not for a single day."
Her throat tightened. Tears threatened but didn't fall. "Thank you. For the room. For the food… for everything."
Cassian hesitated, then reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear with a tenderness that surprised even him.
"You don't need to thank me," he said, hand lingering a second before pulling back. "Rest. If you need anything, I'm in the study across the hall."
She watched him leave. The door closed softly behind him.
For the first time since the pregnancy test, Mira allowed herself to sit on the bed and breathe—really breathe—knowing she wasn't facing this alone.
When the door clicked shut, she sat still for a long moment, letting the quiet settle around her. The room felt too large, too elegant—almost unreal. A soft sigh escaped her as she rose and walked slowly around her new space.
Her fingertips trailed across the polished dresser, the carved edges of the bedside table, the expensive vase filled with fresh lilies. Everything here looked like it belonged in a luxury magazine—carefully chosen, impeccably arranged.
It was so unlike her own room back home, warm and full and alive, not curated like this.
She wandered to the wardrobe and hesitated before opening it. Inside hung a few pieces—comfortable clothes in neutral colors, soft nightwear, even a new robe. All in her size. He must have had someone prepare it within hours.
That alone made her swallow tightly.
Why would he go this far?
She walked toward the bathroom. The marble counters gleamed, a set of new skincare bottles lined neatly at the sink, and folded towels were stacked with crisp precision. A small note sat beside the mirror, written in Cassian's neat handwriting.
If anything irritates your skin, tell me.
Mira stared at the note longer than necessary.
"He shouldn't be this…" she whispered to herself. "This gentle."
She leaned against the cool marble and closed her eyes. Cassian Draymond was the last person who should be fussing over her. The Serrano and Draymond families weren't open enemies all the times, but rivals—always competing, always comparing, always opposite in business.
She'd grown up hearing his name with caution.
So why was he the one placing her comfort above his peace?
Why was he setting boundaries with one hand but building a shelter around her with the other?
Even if she was carrying his child… he could've handled this differently. Coldly. Formally. Legally. Like a man trying to avoid complications.
Instead he was… careful.
Protective.
Responsibility wasn't rare among powerful men, but kindness—genuine, intentional kindness—was.
She pressed a hand to her stomach, still flat, still unchanged on the outside but carrying a truth that had rearranged everything inside her.
"Why won't you let me be on my own?" she whispered into the empty room. "Why try so hard when you could just walk away like everyone expects you to?"
The question echoed in her mind as she returned to the bed and lay back against the pillows. The ceiling above her was painted in soft tones, and yet her chest felt heavy with confusion.
Cassian Draymond—who had every reason to keep his distance—was the same man making sure her meals were tailored, her room perfect, her every need anticipated.
She turned onto her side, hugging a pillow close.
"What are you doing, Cassian?" she murmured. "Why are you being so… good?"
There was no answer except the steady hum of the large, quiet room.
Her thoughts softened, drifting between uncertainty and a strange warmth she didn't want to admit.
She wasn't sure she trusted him, not fully.
But she couldn't deny there was comfort in knowing he was right across the hall—awake, caring, trying.