Mira's POV
The press lights were already blazing before I even stepped out of the car.
Of course they were.
The "Women of Vision" summit was one of those events my parents loved to shove me into because it made the Ross empire look modern, progressive, future-facing — never mind that I'd barely slept after the party, never mind that my nerves were pulled tight as violin strings, never mind that my stalker had decided to resurrect himself like some unfunny ghost.
I inhaled once, twice, then stepped out.
The cameras popped like fireworks —
Mira Ross, heir.
Mira Ross, empire princess.
Mira Ross, picture-perfect while internally screaming.
Exactly the brand my parents wanted.
Inside, the summit venue was all marble and glass, the kind of place that screamed prestige and cold air conditioning. Women in tailored suits mingled with journalists and CEOs, the air crisp with perfume, ambition, and the anxiety of people pretending not to compete.
Jake had bailed because of a "situation" at his studio, leaving me to face this alone.
Well… not alone.
Kia and Liam insisted on coming, but they were off greeting someone important, leaving me standing with a glass of mineral water and zero emotional support.
I checked my phone.
Another message from him.
Of course.
Unknown Number:
You look stunning today.
I don't like him looking at you.
I locked the screen instantly.
Nope. Not today. Not here.
I refused — refused — to let the universe ruin this morning.
I was adjusting my blazer when the atmosphere shifted.
Not physically.
Not visually.
No — it was the kind of shift that made the hairs on the back of your neck rise for no logical reason.
Like the air pressure changed.
Like a presence pressed into the room.
I didn't know why, but my stomach tightened, my thoughts stumbled, and suddenly all the background noise dimmed, like a spotlight narrowed onto one point behind me.
I turned.
And there he was.
Damion King.
In person.
And God… TV didn't do him justice.
Tall, sculpted, tailored suit black enough to swallow light, posture carved from stone. His presence wasn't loud — it was still, too still, the kind of stillness that felt like an animal watching from the dark. His eyes swept the room like they were cataloguing weaknesses, vulnerabilities, exits.
And then they landed on me.
And everything inside me pulled tight.
His gaze was unreadable — dark, bottomless, steady. The kind of eyes you either drown in or run from.
I swallowed.
He walked toward me.
He didn't weave through the crowd.
The crowd… parted for him.
Like he was gravity and everyone else were loose fragments orbiting a planet.
My heart did something traitorous.
A jump.
A skip.
A wrong note.
I hated it.
He stopped an arm's-length away, gaze resting on me like he'd been waiting for me to look up.
"Mira Ross," he said, voice low velvet, smooth, deep, the kind of voice that seemed to know secrets.
"Damion King," I answered, trying not to sound breathless.
The corner of his mouth lifted — not a smile, not exactly, but a small, knowing curve that made heat crawl up my neck.
"I heard you'd be attending this morning," he said. "I didn't expect you to look quite this… distracted."
"I'm not distracted," I said quickly.
He tilted his head slightly. "Then why did your pulse jump when you saw me?"
My breath caught.
Excuse me?
"What— I— that's not—"
His eyes darkened, almost amused. "Relax. I notice things. That's all."
"That's not normal," I muttered.
"You're right," he said. "It's not."
Something in the way he said it made my chest tighten.
I forced myself to straighten. "Well, I'm glad you're here. My father mentioned we'd be collaborating soon… something about a joint overseas division?"
"Mmh." Damion's gaze flicked over my shoulder, scanning the crowd as though checking for threats before returning to me. "Your father and I will discuss the details later. But it's you I'm more interested in speaking with."
I blinked. "Me?"
"You," he confirmed.
Heat shot up my spine — irritation and something dangerously close to anticipation.
I hated both.
"About what?" I asked warily.
His voice dropped, threaded with something quiet and heavy. "About your vision for the empire you're about to inherit."
"I don't inherit it," I said sharply. "I run it."
That earned a real reaction — a slow, genuine, molten-lipped smile.
Small.
But devastating.
"So you're not your parents' puppet," he said.
"Never was."
"Good."
The word rippled over me like a warm breath.
I stepped back, because I had to. "Why does that matter to you?"
Damion didn't follow, but his gaze did — tracking every micromovement like it meant something.
"I prefer to know the kind of person I'll be working with," he said. "People who lead with their own mind interest me."
"And people who don't?" I challenged.
His expression sharpened. "I have no use for them."
Cold.
Cutting.
Unapologetic.
I shivered.
Not out of fear.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
Before I could recover, someone called my name — a journalist waving, requesting a soundbite. I nodded at them, then looked at Damion.
"I should—"
"I'll wait," he said quietly.
Something about his tone made my breath stutter.
I handled the reporter quickly — or tried to — but even as I spoke about leadership and innovation, I felt him.
His presence wrapped around the edges of the room like smoke.
Like shadow.
Like gravity pulling at something deep in me.
When I finished and turned back, he was exactly where I left him, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on me with a focus so intense I felt heat low in my stomach.
"You didn't have to wait," I said, trying for casual.
"I wanted to," he answered.
That did nothing good for my self-control.
"Why?" I pressed, because I wanted to know, needed to know.
Damion stepped closer — not enough to touch, but enough that his temperature washed over me.
Enough to feel his breath ghost the space between us.
"Because, Mira…" he murmured, "I'm not finished with you yet."
My heartbeat thudded hard enough to echo in my ears.
Before I could form a sentence, Kia appeared, expression stiff, protective, already disliking Damion on instinct. Liam flanked my other side, eyes narrowing.
Damion's posture didn't change.
But something in his gaze sharpened — ownership? Warning? Ice?
"Gentlemen," he greeted.
Kia's jaw ticked. "King."
Liam crossed his arms. "We weren't expecting you here."
Damion's smile was polite. Unfriendly polite. "Your sister and I were talking business."
Liam looked between us. "You sure that's all you were talking?"
Damion's eyes slid to me.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Dangerous.
And then he answered Liam without looking away from me:
"For now."
My knees almost buckled.
I made an excuse, dragged my brothers away, and inhaled sharply once the crowd swallowed him from view.
"What the hell was that?" Kia demanded.
"A conversation," I lied.
"About what? Because it looked like—"
"I said it was nothing."
Liam raised a brow. "Mi… your face is red."
I shoved past them. "Shut up."
But my heart wouldn't calm.
Damion's presence still clung to me like invisible fingerprints.
And then my phone buzzed.
I didn't want to look.
I looked.
Unknown Number:
Stay away from him.
Before he ruins you.
My stomach dropped.
But it wasn't fear that hit me this time.
It was anger.
Hot and sudden.
I locked the phone, jaw tight.
Damion King ruined people.
Everyone said so.
Media. Rivals. Former partners.
I believed it.
So why…
why did it feel like he was the only person in that entire room who actually saw me?
Damion's POV
She shouldn't have worn that blazer.
Or maybe she should have.
It hugged her form in a way that tested every inch of control I'd spent centuries perfecting.
But it wasn't the blazer that undid me.
It was the moment she looked up.
Wide, fierce eyes.
Fire and fearlessness braided together.
And something else…
Recognition.
No reason for her to recognize me.
And yet she did.
Like her soul remembered what her mind did not.
I approached her slowly — not because I feared scaring her, but because I feared what would happen if I didn't.
Her scent hit me first.
Warm.
Electric.
Alive.
A mix of expensive perfume and something uniquely hers — something I'd memorized years ago from a distance I had no right to keep.
The moment she met my gaze, her pulse jumped.
She tried to hide it.
Failed.
And something ancient inside me smiled.
She spoke with challenge, with spine, with sharp edges, and it made something in me clench painfully — a feeling I'd buried, drowned, killed a thousand times over.
Desire.
And not just the physical kind.
The kind that wanted pieces of her.
Voice.
Mind.
Defiance.
Everything.
Then her brothers came.
Kia — protective, territorial.
Liam — suspicious, perceptive.
I allowed them their hostility.
For now.
But when they accused, when they stood too close, when their presence blocked her from me, my temper snapped like a blade almost drawn.
I watched her walk away with them.
I watched her hair move, watched her shoulders stiffen, watched her fight the same pull I felt.
She didn't win.
She felt me.
I knew she did.
Humans were terrible liars when it came to instinct.
Then her phone buzzed.
Her scent shifted — fear, faint but real.
Someone had contacted her.
Someone who didn't deserve access to her in any way.
Someone threatening what was mine.
I felt the old hunger rise — the violent one, the one I'd spent lifetimes suppressing. The one that would end whoever dared touch her world.
I forced myself to inhale, exhale, calm.
Not here.
Not now.
But soon.
Very soon.
Mira's POV
The summit continued, but I wasn't really present anymore.
Every time I blinked, I felt the phantom heat of Damion's voice in my ear.
Every time I turned a corner, I half expected to see him standing there again, hands in pockets, eyes like storms.
And I hated that I wanted to see him again.
I shouldn't.
He was wrong.
Dangerous.
Something inhuman in the way he moved, watched, reacted.
But when my anxiety spiked at the stalker message…
it wasn't Kia I thought of.
Wasn't Liam.
Wasn't even Jake.
It was him.
Damion King.
A man I'd just met.
A man I shouldn't trust.
A man who made my heart beat in ways I didn't understand and my thoughts twist into dark shapes.
And when I stepped outside the summit doors for air — just air — and felt the warm slip of breath across my neck, like someone watching from the shadows…
I whispered his name without thinking.
"Damion…"
A whisper.
A confession.
A mistake.
But the world seemed to listen.
The air thickened, heated, darkened.
I wasn't sure if he was truly there…
or if my body simply wanted him enough to imagine it.
Either way, the feeling didn't fade.
It wrapped around me.
Holding.
Waiting.
Pulling.
And I let it.
For just one dangerous moment…
I let it.