Ryan's POV
The morning sunlight cut sharply through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office. I usually liked the brightness—reminded me to stay awake, focused. Today? It only exposed how ragged I looked.
I hadn't slept.
Mia's image haunted me.
It wasn't the gown, or the makeup—or even the way she'd looked at me. It was the fact that she didn't need me to notice her… and that made it impossible not to.
"Sir?" Ezra poked his head in. "You asked for the quarterly files."
I blinked, realizing my laptop had been open for twenty minutes and I'd typed nothing.
"Leave them," I said flatly.
Ezra hesitated, then walked in and dropped them gently on the desk. "You didn't sleep last night."
He wasn't asking. Just observing.
I shot him a look.
He smirked. "For the record, she did look amazing in that dress."
My jaw clenched. "Get out."
He chuckled as he shut the door behind him.
I cursed under my breath and leaned back in the chair.
Mia.
Why did her smile make my chest tighten? Why did I care who touched her hand or made her laugh? Why did I suddenly feel like everything I thought I had control over was slipping?
Because she's in your space. In your head.
And you're starting to wonder what it would feel like… if it were real.
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Mia's POV
I padded out of my bedroom in a soft robe, rubbing sleep from my eyes and heading toward the kitchen. The apartment was quiet, sunlight bleeding softly across the marble floors.
Then I froze.
A delicate white box with a velvet ribbon sat neatly on the kitchen island.
I approached it slowly, confused. There was no card. No note.
Curious, I opened it—and gasped.
Inside was a silk dress in a shade of pale lavender… elegant, soft, expensive. The kind of thing you'd wear to a gallery opening, not your average Saturday stroll.
At the bottom of the box, tucked beneath the folds of silk, was a small envelope.
"For the next time you dress up. I don't want to be the only one staring." —R."
My fingers trembled slightly.
What was this?
A gesture? A warning? A tease?
My stomach twisted. He'd left so early that morning. Not a word. But this… it felt too intimate to be meaningless.
I closed the box gently, fingers still tingling.
Was this just Ryan being possessive?
Or… was it something more?