Mia
Mia learned quickly that avoiding Ace Laurent was impossible.
He was everywhere—meetings she didn't ask to attend, charity planning sessions her grandfather insisted were "essential," rooms she entered only to find him already there, leaning casually like he owned the air itself.
And worse?
He watched her.
Not openly. Not in a way she could call out. But in glances stolen when he thought she wasn't looking, in the way his attention sharpened whenever she spoke, as if he were cataloging her strengths like weapons.
She hated it.
"You're scowling," Lila whispered beside her during the committee meeting. "Again."
"I'm thinking," Mia muttered.
"About Ace."
Mia shot her a glare sharp enough to kill. "I would rather think about taxes."
Lila grinned. "You're thinking about him."
Mia turned her attention back to the table, jaw tight. Across from her, Ace sat relaxed, one arm draped over the chair beside him, expression maddeningly calm.
As if he felt none of this.
As if he hadn't invaded her carefully constructed peace.
Ace
Ace had never been good at pretending indifference.
He'd tried—God, he'd tried—with women, with expectations, with the hollow ache that followed him everywhere. But Mia Harrington was different. She didn't seek him out. She didn't soften when he spoke. She didn't care who he was.
And that infuriated him.
"You're quiet," James murmured as they stepped out onto the terrace during a break. "That's new."
Ace scoffed. "I'm always quiet."
James snorted. "You've been staring at Mia like she personally offended your ancestors."
Ace's jaw tightened. "She thinks she's better than everyone."
James raised an eyebrow. "Or maybe she's just… guarded?"
That word hit too close.
Ace didn't respond.
The Storm
It started suddenly.
One moment the sky was heavy but calm, the next thunder cracked overhead, sharp and unforgiving. Rain followed in sheets, forcing the committee indoors. Chaos erupted—raised voices, hurried footsteps, staff scrambling.
Mia moved instinctively toward the exit. She needed air. Space.
She didn't realize Ace had followed her until the doors slammed shut behind them, locking them in the covered corridor overlooking the gardens.
Lightning illuminated the space briefly.
Too close.
"You always run when things get uncomfortable?" Ace asked, voice low, almost challenging.
Mia turned on him, rain pounding around them like applause for a fight. "I don't run. I remove myself from situations that waste my time."
His lips curved, but his eyes were serious. "Funny. That's exactly what my mother used to say."
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Mia froze.
The storm roared louder.
"I didn't mean—" Ace started, then stopped. He hated how exposed he suddenly felt. Hated that she'd noticed.
Mia's voice softened despite herself. "You don't trust women."
It wasn't a question.
Ace's jaw flexed. "And you don't trust anyone."
Silence stretched between them, heavy and electric.
"You think I'm cold," Mia said quietly. "But you don't know what it's like to be left behind. By your parents. By people who were supposed to stay."
Ace's chest tightened. "You think betrayal only comes from leaving?"
Their eyes locked.
For one terrifying moment, the walls trembled.
Mia broke eye contact first. "We're not the same."
"No," Ace agreed softly. "But we're close enough to be dangerous."
Thunder cracked again, closer this time.
When the doors finally opened and voices flooded the corridor, they stepped apart like nothing had happened.
But something had.
And neither of them could undo it.