His Duty, Her Heartbreak

Chapter 3

MIRANDA

The coffee shop smelled like roasted beans and burnt hope.

I stood behind the counter in an apron two sizes too big, trying to remember the difference between a latte and a cappuccino while silently praying no one would order anything complicated.

Sloane had left me with a wink and a “Don’t burn the place down,” before disappearing to her tech job. I was alone. Terrified. Pretending I belonged here.

I wiped down the counter for the fifth time, mostly to keep my hands from shaking.

You’re a normal girl now, I reminded myself.

Normal girls work. Normal girls struggle. Normal girls don’t have arranged marriages waiting for them back home.

The bell above the door chimed.

I looked up.

And the world… shifted.

A man walked in — tall, broad‑shouldered, wearing a charcoal suit that fit him like it was tailored by someone who understood sin. His dark hair was slightly tousled, like he’d run his hands through it on the way here. His jaw was sharp, his expression tired but focused, and his eyes—

God.

His eyes were the kind you didn’t forget.

Deep. Intense.

The kind that made you feel seen even if he wasn’t looking at you.

He stepped toward the counter, and I forgot how to breathe.

“Good morning,” he said, voice low and warm.

My brain short‑circuited. “Hi. Yes. I mean—hello. Coffee?”

He smiled — a small, amused curve of his lips that made my stomach flip.

“Yes,” he said. “Coffee would be great.”

I grabbed a cup, nearly dropping it. “What kind?”

He tilted his head, studying me. “What do you recommend?”

Panic.

Pure panic.

“I—uh—I recommend… coffee.”

He laughed. Actually laughed. A deep, rich sound that made heat crawl up my neck.

“Coffee it is,” he said. “Surprise me.”

I turned to the machine, praying I didn’t accidentally poison him. My hands shook as I poured, and I could feel his gaze on me — not judging, not impatient, just… curious.

When I handed him the cup, our fingers brushed.

A spark shot up my arm.

He felt it too — his eyes flicked to mine, sharp and startled, like he hadn’t expected it.

“Thank you…” he paused, waiting for my name.

My heart thudded.

Miranda Ashford was dead.

Miranda Dane was all I had now.

“Miranda,” I said softly. “Miranda Dane.”

His gaze warmed. “I’m Jasper.”

Jasper.

It suited him — strong, clean, a name that carried weight.

“Well, Miranda Dane,” he said, lifting the cup, “if this coffee is terrible, I’ll pretend it’s not.”

I laughed, surprised by how easy it felt. “It might be.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

He took a sip.

His eyebrows lifted. “This is actually good.”

Relief flooded me. “Beginner’s luck.”

“Or talent,” he said.

I shook my head. “Definitely luck.”

He leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice. “Then I hope you’re here tomorrow. I’d like to test your luck again.”

My breath caught.

Was he… flirting?

With me?

Before I could respond, the door opened and a woman rushed in, calling his name.

“Jasper! There you are. We’re late.”

She was beautiful — polished, confident, the kind of woman who belonged in his world.

He straightened, the warmth in his eyes dimming just a little. “Right. Sorry.”

He turned back to me.

“See you tomorrow, Miranda.”

It wasn’t a question.

It was a promise.

He walked out with the woman, and I watched them disappear down the street.

My heart was still racing.

I didn’t know who he was.

Or why he looked at me like that.

I didn’t know why my chest felt tight and light at the same time.

But I knew one thing:

I wanted to see him again.

I was still staring at the door when Sloane burst into the shop an hour later, sunglasses on, hair wild, holding two bagels and a smoothie.

“Okay, tell me everything,” she said, sliding onto a stool. “Did you burn the place down? Did you cry? Did someone yell at you? Did—”

She stopped.

Her eyes narrowed.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “You’re blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. You’re blushing like you just saw a shirtless firefighter.”

I rolled my eyes. “It was nothing.”

“Nothing doesn’t make your face turn pink.”

I sighed. “A guy came in.”

Sloane gasped dramatically. “A guy? A guy guy? Or a ‘Miranda, I’m about to ruin your life’ guy?”

I hesitated.

Her eyes widened. “Oh my God. It’s the second one.”

I groaned. “Sloane—”

“Describe him.”

“No.”

“Describe. Him.”

I gave in. “Tall. Dark hair. Suit. Very… intense.”

Sloane’s grin was feral. “Miranda Ash—Dane, you’re in danger.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. I can smell it. That’s a man who will make you forget your own name.”

I didn’t tell her that I already had.

She leaned closer. “Is he coming back?”

I swallowed. “He said he would.”

Sloane squealed so loudly the barista in the back dropped something.

“Miranda, this is it. This is your New York moment. This is your—”

The bell above the door chimed again.

I froze.

Sloane turned.

Her jaw dropped.

“Oh,” she whispered. “Oh, he’s trouble.”

I didn’t have to look to know who it was.

I felt him before I saw him.

Jasper Hale walked back into the coffee shop — alone this time — and his eyes went straight to me.

Not the menu.

Not the tables.

Not the other customers.

Me.

He walked toward the counter with purpose, like he’d been thinking about this moment since he left.

“Morning,” he said, voice low.

My pulse jumped. “You’re back.”

“I said I would be.”

Sloane mouthed holy s**t behind him.

Jasper leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.

“Surprise me again?”

I nodded, unable to speak.

He smiled — slow, warm, devastating.

And then he said the words that changed everything:

“Maybe after this… you’ll let me take you out for real.”

My breath caught.

Sloane choked on her smoothie.

And I—

I felt the ground shift beneath me.

Before I could answer, the woman from earlier walked in again — this time with a little boy holding her hand. He looked like he was about three years old.

The boy ran to Jasper, shouting, “Uncle Jasper!”

Uncle.

My heart dropped.

The woman looked at me.

Then at Jasper.

Then at me again.

And she smiled. It wasn’t friendly. But a smile that said:

You don’t belong in his world.