The presidential suite closed around them with a muted click, sealing out the noise of the world they had just smiled for. Laughter, applause, congratulations—everything dissolved the instant the door shut, leaving behind a silence that felt almost sacred. The room was expansive, elegant, carefully curated to impress, yet it carried none of the warmth one might expect on a wedding night. Fresh flowers lined the walls, their fragrance subtle, restrained, as if even they had been instructed not to overwhelm.
Mira stood near the door, fingers still curled into the fabric of her gown, unsure where to place herself now that there was no audience left to perform for. The weight of the day settled slowly, not crashing down but sinking in layer by layer. Her feet ached. Her shoulders felt tight. Her thoughts refused to slow.
Cassian moved first.
He loosened his cufflinks with methodical precision, setting them aside on the polished surface of the dresser. His jacket followed, then his tie, each movement unhurried and controlled, as though this were simply the end of another long business day. Watching him made Mira acutely aware of how different they processed endings—he compartmentalized, she absorbed.
She shifted her weight, the silence stretching just long enough to be noticeable, but not uncomfortable. It was cautious, observant, as if both of them were waiting for the other to define what came next.
Mira cleared her throat, the sound quieter than she intended.
"So… do we need to—" She hesitated, then gestured vaguely toward the bed.
Cassian looked at her, his expression calm, unreadable but not cold.
"Yes," he said evenly. "We should."
Her brows knit together.
"Someone's watching?" she asked, disbelief threading through her voice.
"Not literally," he replied. "But places like this remember patterns."
She exhaled slowly, rubbing her temple. The logic made sense, which somehow made it worse. She had prepared herself for public appearances, shared dinners, controlled proximity. What she hadn't prepared for was the quiet reality of being alone with him, without scripts or spectators.
"Fine," she said after a moment. "Then I'll sleep on the bed."
Cassian paused, just briefly, then nodded.
"I'll take the couch."
She blinked.
"That was fast."
"I'm not arguing with my wife on the first night," he said mildly.
The word wife landed softly, yet it echoed louder than anything else that day. Mira felt it settle somewhere unfamiliar, not painful, not comforting—just real. She watched him move toward the couch, already loosening his collar, already accepting distance as default.
The sight made something twist in her chest.
"Cassian," she said quietly.
He turned.
"Yes?"
She hesitated, then sighed.
"Don't be ridiculous. You don't need to exile yourself because of me."
A faint smirk touched his lips.
"I'm not exiling myself," he said. "I'm being considerate."
She crossed her arms.
"You look very comfortable being considerate."
"I've had practice," he replied.
She studied him for a moment, then shook her head.
"Come back to the bed."
For the first time that evening, Cassian froze.
It lasted only a second, but she noticed. Then he straightened and walked toward her, unhurried, deliberate, clearly enjoying the shift in power more than he should have. The way he moved—confident, relaxed—made Mira suddenly aware of the space between them shrinking.
She lifted a finger quickly.
"Wait. Conditions."
He stopped an arm's length away.
"I'm listening."
"I sleep on the left side," she said firmly. "That's not negotiable."
His lips curved into something warmer than amusement, genuine this time.
"As my wife commands," he said lightly.
The sound of his laughter—soft, unguarded—caught Mira off balance. It wasn't the controlled smirk he wore for the world. It was real, easy, and it made her chest tighten in a way she didn't have a name for.
They moved around the bed carefully, like two people learning shared territory. Mira climbed in first, smoothing the sheets with unnecessary precision, trying to anchor herself in something practical. Cassian leaned against the headboard, arms folded loosely, watching her with an expression that was curious but not invasive.
She adjusted the pillow, then another, then stilled.
"This feels strange," she said quietly.
"Yes," he agreed. "It does."
She glanced at him.
"You're not uncomfortable?"
"No," he replied. "Just aware."
That made sense. Cassian Draymond was always aware.
Just as Mira settled against the mattress, he spoke again.
"There's something you should know."
Her shoulders tensed.
"What?"
"I sleep naked," he said casually.
Her head snapped toward him.
"You're joking."
"I'm not," he replied. "Do you mind?"
Her face heated instantly.
"Yes. I mind."
He tilted his head.
"Strong objection."
"Very strong," she said flatly.
A slow grin spread across his face, unmistakably teasing.
"Relax. I won't," he said. "I prefer surviving the night."
She narrowed her eyes.
"You're enjoying this."
"Immensely," he admitted.
She turned onto her side, back facing him, pulling the blanket closer.
"Good night, Cassian."
He lay back beside her, careful to maintain distance.
"Good night, Mira."
The lights dimmed automatically, casting the room into a soft glow that blurred sharp edges and quieted thoughts. Mira stared at the wall, listening to the even rhythm of his breathing, acutely aware of how present he was without touching her.
Her hand drifted instinctively to her stomach, hidden beneath the sheets. The gesture was small, unconscious, but loaded with meaning. Cassian noticed it, though he said nothing, respecting a boundary she hadn't voiced.
Minutes passed. Maybe more. Time loosened its grip.
"This is… not what I imagined," Mira murmured.
"What did you imagine?" Cassian asked.
She considered it.
"Something louder. Or colder."
"And instead?"
"It's quiet," she said. "Almost normal."
"That won't last," he replied. "But we can enjoy it while it does."
She smiled faintly at that, the truth of it settling comfortably. For the first time since the contract, since the announcement, since her life had been rewritten, she didn't feel like she needed to brace herself.
"Cassian," she said softly.
"Yes?"
"You don't regret this?" she asked.
He didn't answer immediately. When he did, his voice was steady, certain.
"No. I don't regret choosing you."
The words stunned her more than any dramatic declaration could have. They weren't romantic. They weren't performative. They were deliberate.
"Good," she whispered.
Silence returned, heavier now but not oppressive. Somewhere between exhaustion and acceptance, Mira felt her body relax. The day had taken everything she had to give, and the quiet pulled her under gently.
Just before sleep claimed her, she felt the mattress dip slightly as Cassian shifted closer—not touching, but present.
"Left side," she mumbled.
"I remember," he said.
And for the first time in a long while, Mira slept without feeling the urge to run.