CHAPTER NINE
1052 Words
The day before the grand event arrived quietly, but the mansion did not rest. Some guests had already begun to arrive, including Mrs. Aurora.
From early morning, the house moved with sharp purpose. Flowers arrived in wooden crates, their scent drifting through open corridors. Linen carts rolled endlessly across marble floors. Voices stayed low—careful and disciplined. No one needed reminding that tomorrow mattered.
Miranda worked without pause.
She polished silver trays until they reflected her face, helped arrange centerpieces under Mrs. Reese’s strict supervision, and carried folded tablecloths from storage to the formal hall. Her feet ached and her shoulders burned, but she kept going. There was no room for mistakes today.
By late afternoon, she was asked to transport decorative vases from the west corridor to the formal hall that would be used for the grand ceremony. The box was heavy—too heavy—but she didn’t complain. Holding it tight against her chest, she walked carefully, eyes fixed on the floor as she turned a corner near the main hallway.
She didn’t see him.
The collision happened suddenly.
The box tilted. A vase slid.
Miranda gasped and stumbled backward—
Strong hands caught her.
The box hit the floor, but she didn’t.
Her breath stalled as firm hands closed around her arms, steadying her with surprising care. For a second, she forgot how to move. How to think. Her world narrowed to warmth, strength, and the loud beat of her heart.
“I’ve got you.”
The voice was deep. Calm and authoritative. The kind that never needed to rise.
She looked up.
Jayden Negasi stood before her.
Up close, he was overwhelming in a way she hadn’t prepared for. Tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark suit that fit him like armor. His tie was loosened, collar open, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal strong forearms and faint traces of ink near his wrist.
He smelled clean and restrained—cedar, cool amber, something crisp beneath it. Powerful.
His face stole the breath from her lungs. Sharp features softened by full lips. Dark eyes, steady and assessing. And then she noticed it, the brief curve of a dimple on his left cheek, gone almost as soon as it appeared.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
His gaze held hers, focused, as if the hallway had emptied and only she remained.
“N-no, sir,” she managed. “I’m fine. I wasn’t looking.”
He glanced at the fallen box, then back at her. “Nothing broke.”
Only then did she realize he was still holding her.
Heat rushed to her cheeks. He seemed to notice at the same moment, releasing her slowly, deliberately, as if aware of every second his hands had remained on her.
“Be careful,” he said. Not sharp. Not cold. Just steady.
“Yes, sir,” she replied quickly, lowering her gaze.
For a brief moment, his eyes stayed on her—dark, unreadable, saying far more than his voice ever would. Then he stepped past her, his footsteps unhurried, his presence lingering like a shadow.
Miranda stood frozen long after he was gone.
What just happened? she thought, her face flushed. Shaking it off, she returned to her task, though the memory of the encounter followed her through the halls.
The rest of the evening unfolded in controlled chaos. Mrs. Reese inspected everything twice. Crystal glasses aligned perfectly. Silverware gleamed. Flowers were placed with near-military precision. The kitchen worked without pause.
Miranda helped until her body ached, but her thoughts stayed in that hallway.
His voice—so deep. His dark, penetrating gaze. The restraint in the way he had held her.
By nightfall, the mansion was ready and appeared exquisitely beautiful.
Sleep, however, refused to come.
Miranda lay awake, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts restless. Her throat felt dry. After a moment’s hesitation, she slipped from bed, careful not to wake Sofia, and padded into the hallway in her flimsy nightgown.
The mansion at night felt different. Larger, quieter.
The main kitchen lights were dim. Relief washed over her as she opened the refrigerator and reached for a chilled bottle of water. She lifted it and took a quick sip—
And choked.
He was there.
Jayden leaned against the far wall, half-hidden in shadow. Shirtless. Dark pajama trousers sat low on his hips, the firm planes of his chest and shoulders clear in the soft light. The deep V of his waist disappeared into the fabric. A tattoo curled down his left arm, dark against his skin.
He held a bottle of water loosely, posture relaxed and unguarded.
His gaze lifted slowly.
This time, it did not leave her.
It moved deliberately—from her bare feet, up the thin, transparent fabric of her nightgown, lingering for a brief moment, then finally to her face flushed with shock. His eyes darkened, intent, fixed on her in a way that made her pulse stumble.
The air felt heavier and darker here.
His scent reached her—nothing like the day. This was deeper. Private. Warm oud, musk, and a faint trace of smoked vanilla. Intimate. Dangerous.
She felt seen.
“Careful,” he said quietly, his eyes still on her. After a pause, almost amused, he added, “Clumsy little thing.”
Her breath hitched.
It wasn’t mocking. There was something dangerously gentle beneath it, something that made her chest tighten.
“I—I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t think anyone would be here.”
He tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving her. “Neither did I.”
Silence stretched between them—thick, charged. His eyes lingered a second longer than necessary, as if committing her to memory.
“You okay?” he asked, voice low and even.
She nodded too fast. “Yes. I should go.”
“I think that would be wise,” he said calmly.
She didn’t wait.
Miranda turned and fled, bare feet silent against the floor as she hurried back to her room. She closed the door softly and pressed her back against it, her chest rising and falling fast.
Her heart refused to slow.
Tomorrow was the grand event.
But tonight, something had shifted.
And deep down, she knew something dangerous had begun.
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