Chapter Three

Mira's P.O.V

"Marry me."

Those words echoed louder in my head than the paparazzi outside. I stared at Luca, blinking fast, hoping I had misheard him.

But his eyes those sharp, unreadable eyes were focused solely on me.

He meant it.

“Is this your solution for everything?” I asked, voice shaking. “Marriage?”

“It’s not a solution,” he said, tone low and firm. “It’s protection.”

I folded my arms tightly against my chest. “I didn’t ask for your protection.”

“No,” he said, stepping closer. “But our child needs it.”

I hated how those words hit me.

Our child.

He wasn’t wrong. Now that the media had found us, things were going to spiral fast. I had seen enough headlines in my life to know what kind of chaos could come next.

“She doesn’t even have a ring,” someone shouted from beyond the door. “Is it true, Luca?”

I flinched.

He turned toward the window and pulled the curtains tight. “We’ll need security. This won’t die down on its own.”

“Why not just issue a statement? Say it’s not true. Let them think I’m just someone you’re helping.”

He shook his head. “They’ll dig. And if they find out about the baby on their own, it’ll be worse. You’ll be hunted, Mira.”

I sat down, overwhelmed.

“I can’t just marry you like that,” I said. “You’re a stranger. You don’t even know how I take my coffee.”

“You don’t drink coffee anymore,” he said simply.

I glanced up.

“I’ve watched you,” he added. “I may not know everything yet, but I’m willing to learn. Are you?”

That answer should have scared me. Instead, it made my throat ache.

Still, I said nothing.

Not yes. Not no.

By the next morning, every tabloid had my face on it.

“De Silva’s Secret Woman: Who Is She?”

“Pregnant and Hidden Luca De Silva’s Lover Revealed”

My phone had over a hundred messages. Half from people I hadn’t spoken to in years. The other half from my parents.

Dad: What is this?

Mom: Tell me you’re not stupid enough to get involved with him.

Denise showed up without knocking, holding coffee and a glare.

“I saw the headlines,” she said. “Are you okay?”

I looked at her blankly. “No.”

She placed the drinks down and sat beside me. “Tell me everything.”

So I did.

I told her about the proposal, the media frenzy, the way Luca said our child like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re not actually going to say yes, right?” she asked slowly.

“I don’t know.”

“Come on, Mira. This is insane.”

“Is it?” I whispered. “Because right now, I’m being torn apart by people who don’t even know me. At least with Luca, there’s some control. Some… safety.”

Her lips pressed together.

“That’s not love.”

“No. But maybe it’s survival.”

Later that evening, I asked Luca to meet me.

We stood by the lake behind the house. It was quiet. The air smelled like earth and rain.

“You really want to do this?” I asked.

He didn’t answer right away.

“I’m not good at saying what I feel,” he said. “I’ve always been better at doing what needs to be done. But I’m not doing this out of convenience.”

“Then why?”

“Because I care,” he said. “And because I won’t let anyone else write our story.”

I stared at the water.

“You’re not in love with me,” I said.

“No,” he agreed. “But love can grow. Respect, trust they can come first.”

I bit my lip. “And if I say yes, what happens then?”

“We announce it. We get married. Privately, if you want. You keep your life. I keep mine. But we raise this child together.”

I nodded slowly. “And if I say no?”

He hesitated. “Then I’ll still protect you. But it’ll be harder. For both of us.”

The wind blew through the trees. My heart was too full, too heavy.

I closed my eyes.

And I said the words I never thought I’d say.

“Okay.”

His breath caught. “You’re sure?”

“No,” I whispered. “But I’m saying yes anyway.”

We married the following week.

A quiet ceremony at a villa overlooking the lake.

No guests. Just an officiant, two witnesses, and us.

I wore a simple cream dress. Luca wore a black suit.

He didn’t try to kiss me when it ended. Just held my hand tightly, like a promise.

Later that night, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. The gold band on my finger felt heavy. Like a chain. Like armor.

I didn’t feel like a bride.

I felt like a soldier.

The days that followed were surreal.

Luca arranged everything, media statements, legal protection, even a press photo of us walking hand in hand. All choreographed, all perfectly curated.

We shared a house now, though separate rooms.

We shared responsibilities doctor visits, grocery runs, morning walks. He was always there, but never too close.

Polite. Controlled. Distant.

Until one night.

I had a nightmare. Woke up gasping.

He was there in seconds.

“Mira?”

“I-I’m fine,” I lied, trembling.

“You’re not.”

He sat beside me on the bed, not touching, just watching.

“It was stupid,” I murmured. “I dreamt I lost the baby.”

Silence.

Then he reached over and placed his hand gently on my stomach.

“You didn’t,” he said. “You’re okay. Both of you.”

I blinked fast, trying not to cry. But one tear slipped anyway.

He caught it with his thumb.

“I’m here, Mira,” he whispered. “Even if it doesn’t feel real yet. I’m not leaving.”

And maybe that was the first time I believed him.

Not because of his money.

Not because of the ring.

But because for the first time in a long time… someone stayed.