Mira's POV
The champagne glass was halfway to my lips when I knew.
I didn't know what yet. But something was wrong. Very, very wrong.
Marcus's hand was sweating against mine. In two years together, I'd never felt his palm sweat. Not during his biggest court case. Not when he proposed. Not ever.
Smile, darling, he whispered, his grip tightening until it hurt. They're watching.
Two hundred people filled the Plaza Hotel ballroom. My engagement party. The party that cost more than most people's weddings. White flowers everywhere. A string quartet playing soft music. Waiters carrying golden trays of fancy food. Everyone who mattered in New York City was here.
And I was about to throw up.
Marcus, what's going on? I tried to pull my hand away. He held on tighter.
Just trust me. His smile looked painted on. Fake. Like a mask.
That's when I saw her.
Vanessa. My stepsister. Standing near the chocolate fountain, whispering with Marcus's best man. Her hand was on her stomach. A weird, protective gesture I'd seen pregnant women make a thousand times.
No. No, no, no.
My brain started connecting dots I didn't want to connect. Marcus checking his phone all week. Coming home late. The whispered phone calls. Vanessa suddenly being too sick to help plan the party, then showing up anyway looking perfectly fine.
I need to make a speech, Marcus said. He dropped my hand and walked toward the stage before I could stop him.
My heart pounded so hard I heard it in my ears. Around me, people laughed and talked. My father stood with his wife near the windows, looking proud. My work friends clustered by the bar. Everything looked normal.
But nothing was normal.
Marcus tapped the microphone. The room went quiet.
Thank you all for coming, he started. His voice was steady. Confident. The voice he used in courtrooms when he was destroying someone's case. I have an important announcement.
I couldn't breathe.
This isn't easy to say. He looked right at me. His eyes were cold. Like a stranger's eyes. But I believe in honesty. I believe in following your heart.
The room was so quiet I heard someone's phone buzz three tables away.
I can't marry Mira.
The words hit me like a punch to the stomach.
Gasps. Whispers. Someone dropped a glass. It shattered on the marble floor.
I'm in love with someone else, Marcus continued. Someone who truly understands me. Someone who's carrying my child.
The room exploded. People talking, shouting, pulling out phones. Camera flashes going off like lightning.
I stood frozen. This wasn't real. This was a nightmare. Any second, I'd wake up.
Vanessa, Marcus said, holding out his hand. Come here, sweetheart.
No.
But she did. Vanessa walked through the crowd like a queen. Her hand still on her stomach. That small, satisfied smile on her face. The smile that said: I won.
She took Marcus's hand. He pulled her close and kissed her. Right there. In front of everyone. At my engagement party.
I couldn't move. Couldn't think. Couldn't do anything but stand there like an idiot while two hundred people stared at me.
Mira, my father's voice cut through the noise. I turned to him, desperate. Dad would fix this. Dad would make this stop.
But he wasn't looking at me. He was hugging Vanessa.
Congratulations, he told her. His eyes were wet. Happy tears. For her. I'm going to be a grandfather.
Something inside me broke.
The whispers got louder. Phones pointed at me from every direction. Someone was definitely recording. This would be on social media in five minutes. Everyone would see. Everyone would know.
Well, a voice said behind me. Sloane. My work friend. Except her voice didn't sound friendly anymore. I guess we know why he strayed. Mira was always so cold.
Laughter. Actual laughter.
I ran.
Pushed through the crowd. People tried to grab me, to ask questions, to take pictures. I shoved past them all. My white dress the dress I'd spent three months picking out, the dress that cost five thousand dollars caught on something. I heard it rip. Didn't care.
The rain hit me the second I got outside. Cold, heavy rain that soaked through my dress in seconds.
I stood on the sidewalk in the rain, mascara running down my face, and finally let myself feel it.
Marcus didn't love me. Probably never loved me.
Vanessa my own stepsister had been sleeping with my fiancé. Was having his baby.
My father chose her. Hugged her. Congratulated her while I fell apart.
And everyone saw. Everyone knew. In the morning, I'd be the sad, pathetic girl who got dumped at her own engagement party. The lawyers at work would whisper. The partners would judge. My whole life, destroyed in five minutes.
I had no home. Marcus's penthouse was his. I couldn't go to my father's house. Not after what just happened.
Where was I supposed to go?
My phone buzzed. Text messages. Dozens of them. I didn't look. Couldn't look.
Then I remembered.
Grandmother Chen's apartment. The lawyer had given me keys last week. Your grandmother left this for you, he'd said. It's yours now.
I'd planned to check it out next month. After the wedding. After the honeymoon. When I had time.
I pulled out my phone with shaking hands. Found the address in my emails. It wasn't far. Just ten blocks.
I started walking. In my soaked white dress. In my ruined heels. In the rain.
People stared. A woman asked if I was okay. I didn't answer. Just kept walking.
The building was old. Pre-war, the lawyer had said. Rent-controlled. Not fancy, but solid. Real.
I found apartment 3B and unlocked the door.
The lights were on.
Music was playing. Something soft and jazzy.
And a man stepped out of the kitchen, holding a coffee mug, looking completely at home in my grandmother's apartment. In MY apartment.
He was tall. Dark hair. Grey eyes that seemed to see right through me. Handsome in a way that would usually make me nervous.
He looked at me soaking wet, mascara-streaked, dress torn, life in pieces and he didn't look surprised.
He looked like he'd been expecting me.
Hello, Mira, he said, his voice calm and deep. I'm Ryder.
He knew my name.
How did he know my name?
I think, he continued, setting down his coffee mug, we need to talk about the lease agreement.
Through my shock, through my pain, through everything I felt it. That tiny spark of something.
Anger.
This stranger was in my apartment. The one thing my grandmother left me. The one safe place I had left in the entire world.
Get out, I said. My voice shook but stayed strong. This is my apartment. Get. Out.
Ryder smiled. Not mean. Not mocking. Just... knowing.
I have a lease, he said. Legal and binding. Signed by your grandmother six months ago.
He pulled out a paper from the counter and handed it to me.
I grabbed it, water dripping from my fingers onto the page. The words swam in front of my eyes but I caught the important part:
30-day compatibility clause: If both parties cannot live together peacefully for thirty consecutive days, the lease is void.
I looked up at him. What is this?
It's simple, Ryder said. His grey eyes held mine. We have thirty days to prove we can't live together. If we can't, I leave. If we can...
He didn't finish. Just kept looking at me like he could see every broken piece inside.
Fine, I said. My hands were fists at my sides. Thirty days. I'll make you so miserable you'll be begging to leave.
Something flickered in his eyes. Amusement? Sadness? I couldn't tell.
We'll see, was all he said.
And that's when I noticed it. On the kitchen counter. Behind his coffee mug.
Yellow tulips.
My favorite flowers. The ones only my grandmother knew I loved.
How did this stranger know that?
Who was Ryder Kingsley? And why did it feel like he knew everything about me while I knew nothing about him?
The worst night of my life had just gotten stranger.
And somehow, I had a feeling it was only the beginning.