The days leading up to the wedding passed in a blur Mira never fully registered. Time folded in on itself, hours dissolving into each other until she could no longer tell one day from the next. Designers arrived with fabric swatches and quiet authority, fittings were adjusted with practiced hands, and schedules tightened until there was no empty space left to breathe. Everything moved fast, too fast, as if slowing down might invite doubt.
Mira followed instructions without resistance. She nodded when spoken to, lifted her arms when asked, turned when guided. She smiled when required, the expression settling on her face easily enough to convince anyone watching that she was calm, composed, ready. From the outside, it looked like acceptance. Cooperation. Grace under pressure.
Inside, her thoughts never rested long enough to settle.
They circled endlessly, brushing against memories she didn't want to examine too closely. Cassian's voice—measured, deliberate. Her father's expression when he'd agreed, not as a parent but as a man protecting a name. The quiet understanding that this marriage wasn't something she had chosen freely, yet wasn't something she was being dragged into either. It existed in the space between obligation and survival.
By the time the night before the wedding arrived, exhaustion weighed heavily on her body.
Sleep, however, refused to come.
Mira lay awake in the unfamiliar hotel room, the ceiling dimly lit by soft ambient lights, shadows shifting faintly as cars passed far below. The bed felt too large, too empty, the silence too loud. Her mind replayed fragments of the past week without order or mercy. Cassian's controlled presence during every decision. The way he never raised his voice, never hesitated, never offered reassurance he couldn't guarantee. Her father's cold approval, delivered without affection, as if signing off on a merger rather than a marriage.
The way her life had been rearranged without asking whether she was ready to live inside it.
This wasn't fear of marriage itself. That truth had already settled within her. She had accepted the reality of it the moment Cassian said her name in front of the world. What unsettled her was the role she was stepping into—the expectations layered over her existence, the image she would have to maintain, the name she would carry by morning.
Cassian Draymond's wife.
The thought echoed long after the city outside went quiet, pressing itself into the stillness until it felt impossible to escape.
When morning arrived, it came too quickly.
The suite filled with movement before she was fully awake. Stylists, assistants, coordinators—voices murmuring plans and timelines with calm efficiency. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, bright and unforgiving, illuminating every corner of the room. Mira sat still in the chair placed near the window while hands worked around her, curling her hair, preparing her skin, discussing tones and textures as though this were any ordinary wedding day.
As though the world hadn't rearranged itself around this moment.
By midmorning, both families had arrived at the hotel. Security tightened in layers, quiet but unmistakable. Reporters gathered beyond controlled boundaries, their presence felt even from behind closed doors. The atmosphere shifted, growing heavier, denser with attention. Mira could feel it pressing closer, tightening around her chest, even as she remained physically untouched by it.
By afternoon, the suite quieted again.
Most of the movement faded, leaving behind a strange stillness that felt more oppressive than the noise had been. Mira stood alone near the window, dressed halfway, the gown hanging loosely from her shoulders as final adjustments waited. The fabric felt soft against her skin, unfamiliar yet intimate. Outside, the city stretched endlessly, unaware of the weight resting inside her chest.
She lowered her gaze, her hand moving instinctively to her stomach, fingers resting there with careful gentleness.
Trouble had always found its way back to her. No matter how far she walked from it. No matter how carefully she tried to step around it.
She exhaled slowly, steadying herself.
"Whatever happens," she whispered, voice barely audible even to herself, "I'll protect you."
There was no movement, no sign yet, only the quiet knowledge that something fragile existed because of her choices. Because of that night. Because of a future she hadn't planned or prepared for. Still, the promise felt necessary. Real. Something she could anchor herself to when everything else felt uncertain.
A soft knock broke the quiet.
Livia stepped in first, her expression bright in a way Mira hadn't seen in a long time. "If you keep staring like that," she said lightly, "people are going to think you're being forced into this."
Mira gave a small smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Aren't I?"
Livia laughed softly as she moved closer. "Maybe. But you clean up well under pressure."
She helped adjust the gown, making light comments, teasing Mira about how strange it felt to see her in white. Her voice filled the room with warmth, easing some of the tension Mira hadn't realized she was holding. Their mother joined them soon after, quieter, more reserved, her presence heavy with emotions she didn't voice. She straightened a fold of fabric, smoothed Mira's hair, her touch lingering just a second longer than necessary.
"You look beautiful," she said finally, her voice steady despite the weight behind it.
Mira nodded. She didn't trust herself to speak.
Once the final touches were done, the room fell silent again.
Then the door opened.
Cassian stepped inside.
For a moment, he didn't move.
He had seen Mira before—composed, defiant, vulnerable—but this was different. The way the gown framed her. The way she stood, steady yet fragile, carrying far more than anyone else in the room could see. The contrast struck him unexpectedly, sharp enough to steal a breath before he could control it.
His heart skipped once.
Just once.
He recovered quickly, as he always did.
"You're ready," he said quietly.
Mira turned to face him, searching his expression for something she wasn't sure she wanted to find. He looked the same as ever—immaculate, controlled, the kind of man who made decisions without hesitation. Yet there was something unsettled in his eyes now, something that hadn't been there before.
She nodded.
Together, they left the suite.
The walk toward the ceremony felt unreal. Hallways lined with people. Security holding back flashes and voices. The air thick with anticipation and judgment. As they reached the entrance, noise erupted—reporters calling out questions, names, speculation shouted without restraint.
Cassian leaned closer, his voice low, meant only for her.
"Smile, Mira."
She hesitated for half a second. Then she lifted her chin and smiled.
Not a practiced smile. Not one born of obligation. A soft one. One that suggested certainty. Willingness. As though this marriage was exactly what she wanted.
Cameras caught everything.
They walked down the aisle together, surrounded by controlled chaos. Familiar faces, unfamiliar ones. Power sitting beside pride, rivalry masked as celebration. Mira kept her expression steady, even as her pulse raced.
The officiant's voice filled the space, steady and rehearsed. Words about union, commitment, responsibility flowed smoothly, professionally. Mira listened without truly hearing them, her awareness fixed on the man beside her, on the weight of the ring waiting to be placed on her finger.
When the vows were spoken, they were simple. Formal. There was no mention of love. No promises beyond what was required.
And when it ended, there was no cue to kiss.
A pause followed.
Long enough for the crowd to notice.
Whispers spread quickly. Cameras adjusted. Reporters leaned forward, curiosity sharpening.
"Is there no kiss?"
"Was it intentional?"
"Is this a business arrangement?"
Cassian turned his head slightly, meeting Mira's gaze.
She arched a brow, a flicker of mischief breaking through the tension. "Scared to kiss me?" she murmured. "I might bite."
Something shifted.
Cassian didn't answer.
He stepped closer and kissed her.
It wasn't hesitant. It wasn't careful. It was decisive—controlled passion cutting through restraint. Mira's breath caught, her fingers curling instinctively into his jacket as the world blurred for a moment. The noise faded. The questions disappeared.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested briefly against hers.
"Smile for the cameras," he said quietly. "Mrs. Draymond."
Her heart skipped.
Then she kissed him again.
It wasn't planned. It wasn't scripted. It was her choice.
"You think you always get to take the lead?" she murmured, just loud enough for him to hear.
His lips curved slightly.
Cameras flashed wildly.
And in that moment, with the world watching and assumptions already written, Mira Serrano became Mira Draymond—caught between a role she agreed to play and a reality neither of them could fully control.