Chapter 54

Mira’s POV

If there was ever a night that felt like it was designed to make you forget every bad thing that had ever happened to you, it was this one.

The Montenegro gala was the kind of event that existed in a different atmosphere entirely. Not just wealthy, not just beautiful, but the sort of grand that made you feel like you’d stepped into something that wasn’t quite real.

Chandeliers that probably cost more than my entire life hung above a room full of people who wore their money so naturally it had become a second skin.

And I was standing in the middle of it in a wine red dress that Alejandro had picked out himself.

He’d slid the box across the bed that morning without a word, just watched me open it with that insufferable expression he wore when he already knew you were going to love something. The dress was floor length, fitted, with a low back that had made me turn around twice in the mirror before I accepted that yes, I actually looked like that.

“Close your mouth,” he’d chuckled from the doorway.

“I wasn’t,” I’d replied.

“You were.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Now he stood beside me, one hand resting lightly at the small of my back like it belonged there, and honestly at this point I was starting to think it did.

He was wearing black, because of course he was, and he looked like something that should come with a warning label. Dark eyes scanning the room, jaw sharp, the kind of quietly commanding presence that made people part ways before he even reached them.

I was in trouble and I had been for a while.

“Stop staring,” he murmured close to my ear.

“I’m observing,” I said.

“Same thing when it’s you.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.

“You’re very full of yourself.”

“You’re very obvious.”

“Alejandro.”

“Mira.”

I looked up at him and he was already looking down at me and for a second the entire room disappeared. Just him. Just that quiet almost smile he reserved for moments when he thought no one was paying attention.

Tell him tonight, I reminded myself. Everything. You promised.

My chest tightened slightly and I wasn’t sure if it was my condition or my nerves or just the catastrophic reality of being in love with this man while carrying a secret heavy enough to sink us both.

“You look nervous,” he said quietly.

“I’m fine.”

“You’ve been fine three times tonight. That means you’re not.”

I exhaled. “I just have things on my mind.”

“Tell me.”

I will, I thought. Later. When I’ve had enough champagne and enough courage and when this night is over and it’s just us.

“Later,” I said out loud.

He studied me for a moment, that careful look that meant he was filing something away for reference. Then he pressed a brief kiss to my temple, so quiet and natural that I almost didn’t catch it, and turned to greet someone approaching us.

I pressed my fingers briefly to where his lips had been.

I am so completely done for.

The night moved the way these things did. Introductions and champagne and conversations that floated on the surface of things. Alejandro never fully left my side, which I noticed, which I refused to read too much into while simultaneously reading everything into it.

At some point Zara appeared beside me while Alejandro was pulled into a conversation with someone his father needed him to speak to.

“You look obscenely happy for someone who almost died four days ago,” she said.

“Keep your voice down,” I hissed.

“I’m just saying.”

“I’m fine.”

“You said that already.” She handed me a fresh glass of champagne and studied me. “Have you told him yet?”

“Tonight,” I said. “Later.”

“Mira.”

“Zara. Tonight. I promise.”

She looked at me the way she did when she wanted to argue but had made a strategic decision not to. I appreciated that about her more than I’d ever actually said.

“You look beautiful by the way,” she said instead.

“He picked the dress.”

Her expression did something smug. “Obviously.”

Alejandro reappeared at my side a few minutes later, his hand finding the small of my back again like muscle memory, and I felt Zara clock it from three feet away. I didn’t look at her because I knew exactly what face she was making.

“My father wants to say something,” he murmured.

I followed his gaze to where James Montenegro had taken his position near the front of the room, a glass raised, commanding attention the way powerful men did, effortlessly and fully expecting it.

The room quieted.

“Thank you all for being here tonight,” James began, smooth and measured, the voice of a man who had never once doubted that people would listen. “These gatherings have always meant something to our family. A chance to celebrate the people and partnerships that matter most.”

Alejandro’s hand was still at my back as I watched James smile at the room.

“And tonight,” he continued, “I’m especially pleased to share some wonderful news.”

Something in my stomach shifted. I didn’t know why.

“As many of you know, the Montenegro and Reeves families have shared a business relationship spanning over a decade. Built on trust. On mutual vision.” He paused for effect because of course he did. “Tonight I’m thrilled to announce that relationship is becoming something far more personal.”

I felt Alejandro’s hand still against my back.

“My son Alejandro will be marrying Reeves’ daughter, Candy.”

The room erupted gently into applause, completely unbothered by the fact that my entire chest had just caved in.

I didn’t move.

I didn’t breathe.

I stood perfectly still in a wine red dress that Alejandro had chosen for me this morning while people around us smiled and clinked glasses and James Montenegro shook hands like he hadn’t just detonated something in the middle of this beautiful, terrible night.

Alejandro’s hand dropped from my back.

I finally made myself look at him.

His face was unreadable in the specific way it got when something had genuinely caught him off guard and he was furious about it. Jaw tight. Eyes on his father across the room. A muscle working in his cheek.

He hadn’t known.

Some pathetic small part of me had hoped he hadn’t known.

But it didn’t matter, did it.

It didn’t matter if he knew or not because the result was the same. James Montenegro had just announced his son’s future to a room full of people and somewhere nearby Candy Reeves probably existed and had a smile and a family and a future that came without a body that was failing and a past that lived in the dark.

I set my champagne glass down carefully on a passing tray.

“I need some air,” I said.

My voice came out steady. I was proud of that.

“Mira.” Alejandro turned immediately.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Stay. Talk to your father.”

I didn’t wait for his response.

I walked toward the exit with my spine straight, my chin up and my heart absolutely shattering in my chest, and I made it all the way to the cold night air outside before I let myself feel it.

I wasn’t supposed to fall in love.

I knew that from the beginning.

Classic Mira Martinez.