Mira's POV
I didn't sleep.
How could I? Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that photo. Ryder at my art show five years ago. Looking at me like... like he knew me.
But I didn't know him. Had never seen him before yesterday.
At 5:47 AM, I gave up trying. Grabbed my phone to search for more information about Ryder Kingsley.
That's when I saw the notifications.
847 new messages.
My stomach lurched. I opened the first one.
Dad: Call me immediately. We need to talk about your behaviour last night.
My behaviour? I wasn't the one who cheated. I wasn't the one who announced it at my own engagement party.
The next message was worse.
Dad: Vanessa is very upset. You embarrassed her in front of everyone. The least you can do is apologize.
Apologize. To Vanessa. For getting my life destroyed.
I wanted to throw up.
The smell of coffee drifted under my door.
Coffee. And something else. Toast? Butter?
My stomach growled despite everything. I hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday. Before the party. Before the world ended.
A soft knock.
Mira? Ryder's voice. Quiet. Careful. I made breakfast. You should eat.
I looked at the door. At the man on the other side who'd been watching me for five years without saying a word.
Every instinct screamed: Don't open it. Don't trust him. Get out.
But I was so tired. And hungry. And broken.
And I had nowhere else to go.
I unlocked the door.
Ryder stood there holding a tray. Coffee in a blue mug. Toast with butter and jam. Scrambled eggs. Orange juice.
How do you know how I like my coffee? I asked. My voice came out harsh.
He didn't flinch. Your grandmother mentioned it once.
Liar. Grandmother never knew I took my coffee with two sugars and a splash of cream. I only started drinking it that way in law school, years after she got sick.
But I took the tray anyway. Because I was starving and he was offering and I was too exhausted to fight.
Thank you, I muttered.
You're welcome. He turned to leave.
Wait.
He stopped. Looked back.
Why are you being nice to me? The words tumbled out. You don't know me. This whole thing is weird. You're weird. So why?
Ryder's grey eyes met mine. Steady. Unblinking.
Because you need help, he said simply. And I can give it.
Nobody helps for free. What do you want?
Thirty days, he said. That's all. After that, you can decide if you want me gone.
He walked away before I could respond.
I sat on the bed and ate. The eggs were perfect. The toast was exactly the right amount of crispy. Even the coffee was exactly how I liked it.
Which should have been comforting.
Instead, it was terrifying.
I grabbed my phone and started scrolling through messages. Most were from numbers I didn't recognize. Reporters. Gossip bloggers. People who'd been at the party.
One made me stop cold.
Marcus: We need to talk. This doesn't have to be ugly. Call me.
Doesn't have to be ugly? It was already ugly. He made sure of that.
Delete.
Next message.
Sloane: Everyone at work is talking. The partners are concerned about your mental state. Maybe take a few days off? Just until this blows over.
My mental state. Like I was the problem.
Delete.
Dad: I mean it, Mira. Call me back. This is unacceptable.
What was unacceptable? Him choosing Vanessa over me? Him not defending me?
I threw the phone.
It hit the wall and fell to the floor with a crack.
Good. I hoped it was broken.
The door opened. Ryder stood there, looking at the phone, then at me.
Feel better? he asked.
No.
He picked up the phone. The screen was shattered but still working. He looked at it for a long moment.
Then he started tapping.
What are you doing? I demanded.
Fixing a problem. Tap. Tap. Tap.
That's my phone!
And these are toxic people making your life worse. He kept tapping. Your father. Your ex. That Sloane person. The reporters. All blocked.
You can't just
I already did. He handed the phone back.
I stared at the screen. He'd blocked twenty-three numbers. Including my father.
You had no right, I said. But my voice shook.
You're right. I didn't. Ryder's face was calm. Too calm. You can unblock them anytime. But maybe wait until you're ready to deal with them. Until you're stronger.
Stronger. Like he thought I was weak right now.
He was right. I hated that he was right.
Why do you care? I asked quietly. You don't even know me.
Something shifted in his expression. I know more than you think.
Because of my grandmother.
Yes.
Liar. I saw the photo. You knew me before you knew her.
But I didn't say it out loud. Not yet. I wanted to see how far he'd take this lie.
I need to go to work, I said instead.
Today? After everything?
I have cases. Deadlines. I can't just
You can. He crossed his arms. Take the day. Take the week. The world will keep spinning.
Easy for you to say. You're a billionaire. The words came out bitter. You don't need to work. Some of us have real jobs.
I work, Ryder said quietly. Just not today. Today, I'm making sure you don't fall apart.
I'm not your responsibility!
Maybe not. But I'm making you mine anyway.
The certainty in his voice sent chills down my spine.
Who said things like that? Who took responsibility for a complete stranger?
Unless I wasn't a stranger to him.
My phone buzzed. A new number. I almost didn't look.
But I did.
Unknown: He owns the building. Did you know that? Your grandmother's apartment. The whole building. He bought it two years ago. Right after he met her. Ask yourself why.
The room tilted.
What? Ryder was watching my face. What's wrong?
I looked up at him. Do you own this building?
He went very still.
Answer me, I said. Do you own this building?
A pause that lasted forever.
Yes.
The word hit me like a slap.
You... you own it. The whole building.
Yes.
And you have a lease to this specific apartment. My grandmother's apartment.
Yes.
Why? My voice was rising. Why would a billionaire need a lease to a rent-controlled apartment in a building he owns?
Ryder didn't answer.
ANSWER ME!
Because she asked me to. His voice was low. Intense. Your grandmother asked me to live here. To be here when you needed it. And I said yes.
When? When did she ask you?
Two years ago. Right after we met.
Two years. My grandmother had been sick two years ago. Dying. Making plans for after she was gone.
Plans that included putting this stranger in her apartment.
What did she tell you? I whispered. About me?
Ryder's jaw tightened. Everything.
What does that mean?
It means she told me about your mother leaving. About your father remarrying. About art school and law school and Marcus and how you buried yourself to make everyone else happy. It means she knew you'd need a safe place to fall when everything collapsed. And she made sure you'd have one.
Tears burned my eyes. She knew? About Marcus?
She suspected. She was good at reading people.
And she just... what? Set this up? Set YOU up to be here?
Yes.
Why you? I was shaking now. Why not Jade? Why not someone I actually knew?
Ryder looked at me for a long moment.
Because, he said quietly, I'm the only one who understood what she was really asking.
Which was?
To give you what she couldn't anymore. A home. Safety. Someone who sees you.
The way he said it. The weight in those words.
This wasn't just about an apartment.
My phone buzzed again.
Unknown: He's lying. There's more. The gallery wasn't random. He bought your painting. The one from your senior show. It's hanging in his office right now. He's been obsessed with you for FIVE YEARS. This isn't kindness. This is stalking.
My blood turned to ice.
I looked at Ryder. Really looked at him.
Did you buy my painting? My voice was barely a whisper. From my senior art show. Five years ago.
His face went pale.
That was answer enough.
Oh my God. I backed away. You've been... what? Following me? For five years?
No. It's not like that
Then what is it like? Explain to me how this isn't completely insane!
I can't. His voice cracked. Not yet. Not until
Until what? Until I'm trapped here for thirty days? Until you finish whatever sick plan this is?
Mira
Get out. I pointed at the door. Get out of this room. Now.
He left without another word.
I locked the door behind him. Slid down to the floor.
My grandmother set this up. This man who'd been watching me for five years. Who owned this building. Who had my painting.
Who knew everything about me while I knew nothing about him.
And I had nowhere to run.
My phone buzzed one final time.
Unknown: Want to know the real secret? Ask him what your grandmother promised him if he succeeded. Ask him what he gets at the end of thirty days. Because it's not just the apartment.
It's you.