Chapter One

Mira's P.O.V

"You need to get married."

Those five words dropped like a bomb across the dinner table.

I looked up from my plate, fork frozen mid-air. "Excuse me?"

My mother didn’t blink. "We’ve already chosen someone. He’s from a good family. Stable. Wealthy."

Beside her, my father nodded silently. He had that tight lipped look he always wore when he didn’t want to fight, but agreed anyway.

I swallowed hard. "I’m twenty four. That doesn’t mean I have to marry a stranger."

"You’re not getting any younger," my mother said. "And our company… we’re not in a good place."

Ah. There it was. The real reason.

It wasn’t about love. It wasn’t about me.

It was about the company. The image. The money.

I pushed back from the table. "I’m not a bargaining chip."

"No," my mother said, setting down her wine glass, "you’re our daughter. And sometimes, daughters have to make sacrifices."

I felt my hands clench under the table. All these years of being obedient, of being quiet, of following their rules and this was where it led me. A loveless, arranged marriage to save a company I didn’t even want to inherit.

I left the house without a plan.

Denise, my best friend, picked me up in less than twenty minutes. She didn’t ask questions, didn’t judge, just drove.

"Where are we going?" I asked, still in my dress from dinner.

"Somewhere with music and drinks," she said. "You need to stop thinking. Just for tonight."

I wanted to argue, but she was right.

"You’re too tense," she added, glancing at me from the driver’s seat. "You haven’t had fun in years. Let loose, Mira. Just this once."

Let loose.

The words echoed in my head.

I stared out the window as the city lights blurred past us. My heart was still pounding from the confrontation at dinner, but there was something freeing about not knowing where I was headed.

We ended up at a rooftop bar in the middle of the city. The place was buzzing dim lights, soft jazz playing, and the quiet clink of expensive glasses. The air smelled of perfume, cologne, and something I couldn’t name freedom, maybe.

It wasn’t loud or wild. Just enough to feel like we had escaped our lives.

Denise handed me a cocktail. "Drink."

"I don’t usually..."

"Tonight, you do."

I took a sip. Then another.

By the time I finished the first glass, the tightness in my chest had loosened. By the second, I was laughing again.

"That’s the Mira I know," Denise said, nudging me. "The one who used to sneak into the music room and play piano at midnight. Not the miserable heiress they’re trying to turn into a trophy wife."

I smiled weakly. "She’s still somewhere in here. Just a little lost."

Denise raised her glass. "Then tonight, let’s find her."

That’s when I saw a man.

He was sitting at the far end of the bar. Alone. Dressed in a black button down shirt, sleeves rolled up, one hand wrapped around a glass of something dark.

There was something about him. Not just his looks though he was painfully handsome. No, it was the way he carried himself. Calm. Still. Like the world around him didn’t matter.

Our eyes met.

He didn’t look away.

I blinked first, turning back to Denise. My heart was racing.

A few minutes later, I felt someone beside me.

"You don’t look like you belong here," he said.

His voice was low. Steady.

I turned, surprised. It was him.

Up close, he was even more dangerous. His jaw was sharp, his eyes dark, and there was a quiet confidence about him that made me nervous.

"Is that a bad thing?" I asked.

He studied me for a moment. "Not at all."

We talked. Not about anything deep. Nothing personal. Just light conversations about the view, the drinks, the city.

He didn’t ask for my name. I didn’t ask for his.

When he reached for my hand, I let him.

When he offered to leave, I didn’t say no.

The hotel was beautiful. The kind of place I’d only seen in magazines.

We walked through the lobby without speaking. My heart was pounding so hard, I could hear it.

In the elevator, he didn’t touch me.

Not yet.

But when we entered the room, he turned to face me.

"Last chance to walk away," he said.

My throat was dry. "I don’t want to."

And then he kissed me.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was slow. Deep. Like he was learning the shape of my mouth, the rhythm of my breath.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of heat and skin and quiet gasps.

He was careful, yet intense. Gentle, yet firm.

Every time he touched me, it felt like he was pulling me further away from everything I’d ever known.

I didn’t want it to end.

But it did.

I woke up alone.

The bed was still warm, but he was gone.

No name. No number. No note.

Just silence.

For a while, I lay there, trying to make sense of everything.

What had I done?

But even as shame crept in, there was something else too.

Freedom.

For one night, I hadn’t been Mira the obedient daughter. Mira the pawn.

I had just been… me.

I showered slowly, trying to wash away the guilt, but part of me didn’t want to forget. Part of me wanted to remember every detail... the way he touched my face, the way he whispered in the dark, the way I felt seen.

I checked out of the hotel without looking back.

Three weeks passed.

I went back to work. I smiled at my parents. I pretended everything was fine.

Until the morning I threw up in the office restroom.

Denise handed me a test.

I laughed it off.

Then I cried when it came out positive.

Two pink lines.

No mistake.

I was pregnant.

With a man whose name I didn’t even know.

What was I going to do?

I couldn’t tell my family. They’d never forgive me.

I couldn’t find him. I didn’t even know where to start.

I was alone.

But I wasn’t ready to give up the baby.

Not yet.

I decided I would raise the child. On my own.

Even if it meant losing everything.

I started researching clinics. I changed my diet. I stopped drinking coffee, even though I missed it every single morning. I began journaling, writing down my thoughts and fears, like talking to someone who wasn’t here yet.

Denise was my only support. She came with me to my first ultrasound. Held my hand when I heard the tiny heartbeat. Cried with me.

"You’re going to be a great mom," she whispered.

I didn’t feel like it.

I felt lost.

But I kept going.

Then one afternoon, he appeared.

Right outside my office building.

Same face. Same eyes.

He looked just as shocked as I felt.

"Mira?"

I froze. "How do you know my name?"

"I asked around."

"What are you doing here?"

"We need to talk."

I backed away. "You shouldn’t be here."

"Too late," he said quietly. "We need to talk about the baby."

My blood ran cold. "How did you...?"

"I always use protection," he interrupted, voice low. "But that night… I didn’t."

Silence.

My mouth went dry. "You remember?"

He nodded. "Every second."

I hated how calm he was. Like this was just another business meeting.

I swallowed hard. "What do you want?"

He stepped closer. "To be involved. I’m not the kind of man who runs away."

I looked at him. "I don’t even know your name."

"Luca," he said. "Luca De Silva."

The name hit me like a punch.

He wasn’t just anyone.

He was the Luca De Silva CEO of De Silva Enterprises. Billionaire. Investor. And known for being ruthless in both business and relationships.

"What do you really want from me?" I asked, trying to stay strong.

He looked me straight in the eye. "I want my child. And I want you to come with me."