Mira's POV
The morning after the summit was hell.
It wasn't the emails.
It wasn't the endless messages from clients or journalists asking the same questions about the Ross empire.
It wasn't even the hangover of social performance, pretending to be polished, poised, perfect.
No.
It was him.
Damion Hale.
Every detail clawed at her mind: the way he moved, the calm yet magnetic presence, the heat behind his gaze, the faint smirk that made her pulse misfire.
She shook her head at her reflection in the hotel mirror.
"Get it together, Mira," she muttered.
Her hair was flat, her blazer slightly wrinkled. Nothing about this day felt right. But she didn't care about appearances.
She just wanted him gone from her thoughts—and failing miserably.
Her phone buzzed. Of course, it buzzed.
Unknown Number:
Don't forget what you saw yesterday.
Or who's watching.
She slammed the phone down.
The chill that had started creeping through her veins wasn't fear this time.
It was anger.
Anger at whoever thought they could play games with her.
Because it wasn't just some random stalker message anymore—it was personal.
And she knew, somewhere deep, that he had noticed it too.
Her office overlooked the city skyline, and for a moment she let herself stare.
The height, the glass, the endless possibilities… and somehow, impossibly, she imagined him there. Watching. Waiting. That black suit. That silent power.
Her pulse jumped at the memory of his words:
"I'm not finished with you yet."
Mira swallowed.
She wasn't sure if she hated him or… wanted him.
God, she hated that thought.
Damion's POV
Damion Hale had never been unsettled before.
And yet here he was, standing in the center of his private office overlooking the city, watching her image plastered on his screen from yesterday's summit coverage, unable to focus on anything else.
It wasn't lust—not entirely.
It was need.
The kind of need that was dangerous, sharpened, ancient. The kind that made him consider the unthinkable, just to feel closer to her.
He'd seen her in person for all of fifteen minutes.
Fifteen minutes, and yet every reflex of his body betrayed him.
Her scent lingered in his memory—the subtle warmth, the faint sweetness under all the sophistication.
Her movements, small gestures, every microexpression—they were burned into him like fire.
He was a predator.
He was supposed to be cold, calculated, untouchable.
Yet her mere presence had thrown him off centuries of control.
He frowned at the phone on his desk, untouched, buzzing again with the report of a minor incident at one of her Ross subsidiaries.
He didn't care about the incident. He cared that she was affected by it. He needed to know.
And he would.
The slow-burn ache inside him had begun, and he wouldn't stop it.
Not for reason.
Not for caution.
Not for centuries of careful restraint.
Mira's POV — Later That Day
By the time the workday ended, Mira's head was spinning.
Everything felt heavier—her thoughts, her tasks, her heartbeat.
Her brothers noticed, of course.
Kia, sharp-eyed and unyielding as always, raised a brow.
"You're… distracted," he said.
"You're not usually distracted," Liam added, narrowing his gaze.
She waved them off.
"Fine. I'm tired. Can we leave it at that?"
But leaving the office didn't help.
Even in her car, even with the city sprawled beneath her, Damion's words replayed in her mind:
"I only noticed you."
And she hated herself for shivering at the memory.
Damion's POV — Evening
He followed her from a distance.
Not stalking. Observing. Protecting. A mix he couldn't yet sort.
He noticed her at the hotel valet, her car, the slight weariness in her shoulders.
He would have approached. He would have warned her. He wanted to. But not here—not publicly.
Instead, he lingered at the edge of the street, hidden among the shadows, letting his presence bend the atmosphere.
The city lights reflected off his eyes, and a faint smirk touched his lips.
She didn't know yet how close he was.
She didn't know yet how deeply she had imprinted on him.
And she wouldn't.
Not yet.
Mira's POV — Night
Dinner with her parents was more like a war briefing than a meal.
Plans, schedules, proposals, media appearances, political contacts.
Her father and mother spoke in polished tones, unaware—or perhaps ignoring—the state she was in.
Her mind, however, couldn't stop returning to him.
The way he'd studied her, the way he'd reacted to her brothers, the way he'd made her feel… seen.
And yet unsafe.
Exciting.
Terrifying.
And then, the buzz.
Unknown Number:
He's closer than you think.
Trust no one.
She slammed the phone down, frustration bubbling into something darker.
She wanted to scream. She wanted to fight.
She wanted… him.
And she hated herself for admitting that even silently.
Damion's POV — Same Night
From a distance, he watched her apartment building.
The glow of her living room lit the windows faintly.
She moved inside, unaware of him, unaware of the pull he felt toward her, unaware of the subtle, magnetic tug that had begun to coil between them.
He was older than Magnus. More disciplined. More dangerous.
And yet, Magnus's curiosity about her irritated him.
She was his. In ways Magnus couldn't understand. In ways even Damion himself didn't fully allow.
A shiver of possessiveness coiled through him.
Protective. Territorial.
Unseen. Undeniable.
And he let himself smile.
She had no idea what was coming.
Closing Beat — Mira Alone
She stood at her balcony, city lights dancing below her like shards of broken glass.
Her phone buzzed again, but she didn't check it.
Instead, she pressed a hand to her chest and whispered, almost inaudibly:
"Why can't I stop thinking about him?"
The wind caught her hair, her pulse, the strange fluttering in her chest.
Somewhere in the city, unseen, unannounced, a figure lingered. Watching. Waiting.
The slow burn had begun.
And neither of them would ever be the same.
Chapter 12 ends with:
Emotional tension escalating
Mira questioning her feelings for Damion
Damion's dangerous obsession subtly slipping through
The stalker reminding both of them that danger is close
Magnus lurking in the background, intrigued