Mira's POV
I stared at the text message until the words blurred.
Ask him about the gallery.
What gallery? What was this friend talking about?
My finger hovered over the reply button. Then I stopped.
Whoever sent this was anonymous. They could be anyone. Someone from the engagement party trying to mess with me. A reporter digging for gossip. Maybe even Vanessa, twisting the knife deeper.
I deleted the message.
But I couldn't delete the questions it left behind.
I looked at Grandmother's letter again. Give Ryder a chance. Trust him.
Trust a complete stranger? In what universe did that make sense?
I put the letter in the dresser drawer and grabbed the art supplies from the corner. My hands knew what to do even when my brain didn't. Sketching always helped me think.
I opened the pad to the first page.
It wasn't blank.
There was a drawing. A beautiful, detailed sketch of the apartment's living room. Professional quality. Every line perfect. Every shadow exactly right.
At the bottom, in neat handwriting: Welcome home.
Ryder.
He'd drawn this. Left it for me. Like he knew I'd find the art supplies. Like he knew I used to draw.
How could he possibly know that?
I hadn't touched a sketchpad in five years. Not since I quit art school. Not since my father said, Art doesn't pay bills, Mira. Law is practical. Law is real.
I'd buried that part of myself so deep I almost forgot it existed.
But Grandmother remembered. And somehow, Ryder knew too.
My phone buzzed again. Different number this time.
The apartment is just the beginning. He's been planning this for months. Maybe years. You're not safe. Another Friend
My heart hammered against my ribs.
I shot up from the bed and yanked open the door.
Ryder was still on the couch. Still reading. He looked up, raising an eyebrow.
Who are you really? I demanded. And don't give me that roommate nonsense.
He closed his book. Set it down carefully. I told you. I'm
I got texts. I held up my phone. Someone says you've been planning this. That you know things about me. That I should ask you about some gallery.
Something flickered across his face. Too fast to read.
What gallery? I pressed. What aren't you telling me?
Ryder stood up. He was tall. Really tall. I hadn't noticed before because I'd been too upset. Now, with him walking toward me, I had to tilt my head back to keep eye contact.
Someone's messing with you, he said calmly. Probably someone from tonight. They saw what happened and they're trying to make it worse.
Or they're trying to warn me.
About what? Me? He almost smiled. I'm the one giving you a place to sleep. Doesn't seem very dangerous.
He had a point. But still.
Why did my grandmother give you a lease to her apartment? I asked. Why would she do that?
She had her reasons.
That's not an answer!
It's the only one I can give you right now.
I wanted to shake him. To make him tell me everything. But he just stood there, calm as a lake, while I was a storm.
Fine, I said through gritted teeth. Keep your secrets. But I'm watching you. And the second those thirty days are up, you're gone.
Fair enough. He moved back to the couch. Get some sleep, Mira. Tomorrow's going to be hard.
What do you mean?
The videos, he said simply. They've already gone viral. By morning, everyone in New York will know what happened.
My stomach dropped. Videos?
Ryder picked up a tablet from the coffee table and handed it to me.
The screen showed me. At the engagement party. The moment Marcus announced he was leaving me for Vanessa. My face frozen in shock. The crowd's gasps. Vanessa's smug smile. My father hugging her.
Me running.
The video had two million views. Posted one hour ago.
The comments were brutal.
She totally deserved it.
Look at her face lol
The sister is way prettier anyway
Ice queen finally got what was coming
I shoved the tablet back at Ryder. I can't... I need to...
What? What did I need? To disappear? To go back in time? To wake up from this nightmare?
Sleep, Ryder said gently. Everything else can wait until morning.
He was right. I was so tired I could barely stand.
I went back to the bedroom. Changed into one of Grandmother's old nightgownssoft, worn, smelling faintly of lavender. Crawled under the covers.
The bed was comfortable. More comfortable than Marcus's expensive mattress ever was.
I closed my eyes.
But sleep didn't come.
My brain wouldn't shut off. It kept replaying everything. Marcus's cold eyes. Vanessa's hand on her stomach. My father choosing her. The crowd's whispers. The rain. The texts. Ryder's grey eyes seeing too much.
I was almost asleep when I heard it.
Ryder's voice. Low. Talking to someone.
I sat up, straining to hear through the door.
...yes, she's here.
Pause.
No, she doesn't know yet.
My heart started racing.
I'll tell her when the time is right... I know what we agreed... Thirty days. That's all I need.
Ice flooded my veins.
Who was he talking to? What didn't I know?
She's exactly like you described, Ryder continued. Smart. Strong. Broken but fighting. She'll figure it out eventually. They always do.
Silence.
Then: Don't worry. Everything's going according to plan. The thirty days start now.
Click.
He hung up.
I pressed my hand over my mouth to keep from making a noise.
According to plan.
This was a plan. Ryder being here. The lease. The thirty-day clause. All of it.
But what plan? And who was he working with?
She'll figure it out eventually. They always do.
They. Who were they?
I grabbed my phone and opened the texts from the unknown numbers.
Ask him about the gallery.
He's been planning this for months.
They weren't trying to scare me. They were trying to warn me.
I pulled up my browser and typed: Ryder Kingsley
The search results made my blood run cold.
Billionaire. CEO of Kingsley Properties. One of the richest men in New York.
And there was a photo from five years ago. A charity event at an art gallery.
In the background, barely visible, was me. Twenty-three years old. At my senior art show. The last time I displayed my work before quitting.
And in the foreground, looking right at me, was Ryder.
Five years ago.
He'd seen me before. Known who I was.
And he never said a word.
I dropped the phone like it was on fire.
This wasn't random. This wasn't my grandmother being kind to a neighbour.
Ryder Kingsley billionaire, stranger, whatever he was had been watching me for five years.
He knew about my art. My favorite flowers. Everything.
And now he had me exactly where he wanted me. Alone. Vulnerable. Trapped in an apartment with a thirty-day clause that suddenly felt less like an agreement and more like a cage.
I looked at the door. Listened hard.
No sound. He must have gone to sleep.
I could leave. Pack up. Walk out. Find a hotel. Call Jade. Something.
But where would I go? Everyone had seen the videos. My face was everywhere. And I had no money of my own everything was in joint accounts with Marcus.
I was trapped.
By my circumstances. By my choices. By whatever plan Ryder had been setting up for five years.
Give him a chance, Grandmother's letter said. Trust him.
But how could I trust someone who'd been lying from the moment we met?
My phone buzzed one final time.
Another unknown number: Day 1 of 30. The real question isn't what he wants. It's what your grandmother promised him. And what you'll lose if you figure it out too late.
The screen went dark.
I sat in the darkness, my heart pounding, knowing one thing for certain:
The next thirty days weren't about proving we couldn't live together.
They were about whatever game Ryder was playing.
And I had just become his main piece.