The silence in Cassian's private residence pressed in thick and heavy.
Draymond Tower was anything but quiet.
Mira was curled sideways on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes. Livia was sprawled dramatically across the armrest, fanning herself with a magazine she'd found purely for the theatrics.
"I swear," Livia declared, breathless, "if I ever marry a man with this much money, I will emotionally terrorize him on purpose."
Mira wiped her eyes. "Why would you do that? And you say that as if you're starving to death at the Serranos."
"I know I'm eating quite a lot at Serranos, but this is called character development," Livia said solemnly. "For both of us."
Mira laughed again, softer this time, warmth still buzzing in her chest. The earlier tightness—the ache she'd woken up with—had loosened under Livia's nonstop chaos. The penthouse felt lived in now. Loud. Warm. Real.
Livia tilted her head, studying her.
"You're better," she said suddenly.
Mira blinked. "I am?"
"Yeah. Still sad," Livia added quickly. "But functional sad. That's progress."
Mira huffed. "You diagnose emotions now?"
"I've been dealing with you since we were kids. I'm licensed."
Livia shot up from the couch abruptly. "Okay. New plan."
Mira stiffened. "I don't like how you said that."
"I need to go out."
"No."
"Yes."
"Absolutely not."
Livia gasped, offended. "Wow. You didn't even let me finish."
"I know your plans. They're illegal, loud, or involve strangers named Leo."
"This one only involves one stranger," Livia said cheerfully. "And he's technically an admirer."
Mira groaned. "Livia—"
"—Relax. It's just a bar. Music. Dancing. I need to see him. He needs to see me thriving."
Mira crossed her arms. "I'm not going."
"I'm not asking you to drink," Livia said quickly. "You won't. You'll sip something boring. You'll dance. That's it."
Mira hesitated.
"And," Livia added, lowering her voice dramatically, "when life is out of control… you dance anyway."
Mira stared at her.
"…That was bad," Livia admitted. "But heartfelt."
"Where is this bar?" Mira asked suspiciously.
Livia waved a hand. "Near… places."
"Near what places?"
"Rich people places," Livia said vaguely.
Mira narrowed her eyes. "Define near."
Livia grinned. "Walking distance from Cassian's private residence."
Mira stood up. "Absolutely not."
"Okay, okay," Livia said quickly. "Hear me out. Coincidence. Fate. Dramatic irony."
"No."
"You don't even have to see him!"
"No."
"You might not even run into him!"
"No."
"You look really hot when you say no."
Mira paused.
"…That's not fair."
Twenty minutes later, Mira was in front of the mirror.
She stared at her reflection—simple dress, comfortable heels, hair softly styled. Nothing dramatic. Nothing reckless.
"You're just dancing," she muttered. "That's all."
Livia beamed from the doorway. "Exactly. Responsible fun."
The bar was alive—music pulsing, laughter spilling, lights warm and dim. Mira was pulled into the rhythm before she could overthink it. Livia danced like she had no bones. Mira followed, laughing, moving, letting herself be carried.
For a while, she forgot.
Forgot the quiet bed. The unanswered texts. The way Cassian's presence lingered even when he wasn't there.
She became the life of the party without meaning to—smiling, spinning, laughing when strangers hyped her up.
And then it hit her.
Hard.
She slipped away to a corner booth, breath slowing, chest tightening. Her smile faded as her gaze drifted—toward the windows, toward the direction she knew his residence sat.
Livia appeared instantly.
"Hey," she said softly. "What happened?"
"Nothing," Mira replied too fast.
Livia sighed. "You're missing him."
Mira didn't deny it.
Livia's eyes lit up. "Do you have his assistant's number?"
Mira blinked. "Ryan?"
"Yes."
"…Yes."
Before Mira could react, Livia snatched her phone.
"LIVIA—" she screamed.
Too late.
The call rang.
"Ryan," a cautious voice answered. "Who is this?"
"This is Mira's sister," Livia said sweetly. "She misses her husband."
Silence.
"I can't disclose—"
"Relax, Secret Service," Livia cut in. "We're family."
"I don't give addresses to nobodies."
Mira laughed, reaching for the phone. "Ryan, it's me."
Immediate shift. "Mrs. Draymond."
"Sorry. That was my sister."
"…I assumed."
Mira smiled. "Where is he?"
Ryan hesitated. "He's at the privateresidence."
Mira blinked. "Can you send me the address and the passcode? I need to get in."
There was a pause, as if he was weighing whether he should.
Then he sighed. "Fine. I'll send you the address and passcode but please don't do anything reckless."
Mira thanked him, and Livia was overjoyed—though a little annoyed by how his assistant called her a nobody. She rolled her eyes at the thought of him.
"Let's take you to 'The one and only Cassian's private residence'," Livia said dramatically, pulling Mira toward her car. Mira was slightly nervous at the thought of surprising him.
….
A few kilometers away
Cassian couldn't take it anymore.
He walked toward his bedroom and locked the door, the click echoing through the empty room. The silence felt heavy, like the room itself was holding its breath.
He unbuckled his belt with shaky hands, pushing his pants down his legs and kicking them off.
His boxers followed shortly after.
He sat on the edge of the bed, his cock hard, trying to fight the heat that was building in his body.
He started to stroke himself, his hand moved slowly up and down on his cock, as if he was trying to slow down time. His mind filled with Mira—her smile, her voice, her body. The need surged in.
Ah.. mira uh.. angh.. huh.. nngh..
he couldn't stop himself from moaning her name.
He was too far gone. He started hstroking himself vigorously his eyes dazed and filled with desire, face flushed.
He closed his eyes, swallowed hard, and let himself feel it.
…
Minutes later, Mira stood in the doorway.
Her face flushed. Heart racing.
The main door had been locked, but she had the code.
She had entered quietly, pushing the door open just enough to slip inside without making a sound, then went to the bedroom opening the door softly. As she opened it,
Cassian's gaze raked over her body possessively, lingering on the way her clothes hugged her curves. He didn't release himself, instead tightening his grip as if daring her to watch.
"You should have called," he said roughly. "I'm… busy."
Then softer.
"But now that you're here…"