A NIGHT WITH THE BILLIONAIRE PLAYBOY

Chapter three

Mira sat in her apartment, staring at the mirror. Her reflection was that of a woman she barely recognized—a face painted to perfection, dressed in a designer outfit Miguel had sent over. The elegant attire, the red lips, the perfectly styled hair, none of it felt like her. But tonight, she’d need to play the part and convince one of the most powerful men in Snowfall that she belonged at Miguel's side.

The doorbell rang sharply. She knew it was Miguel without even looking through the peephole. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door to find him standing there, dressed in a sleek, dark suit that exuded authority and arrogance.

“Ready?” he asked, his eyes sweeping over her with approval.

“As I’ll ever be,” she replied, keeping her voice steady. She grabbed her purse, stepping out into the cool evening air, and he led her to a luxurious black car idling by the curb.

The drive was silent, the tension thick between them. She could feel Miguel’s gaze flicking toward her every so often, but he said nothing. He had a way of filling the silence with his mere presence, and it made her uneasy. She knew this was no ordinary dinner; tonight was her debut into his world, and any misstep would have consequences.

They arrived at the Ramos estate—a sprawling mansion with tall iron gates and manicured gardens that looked like something out of a movie. As they approached the door, Miguel paused, his hand on the small of her back.

“Remember,” he murmured, his voice low, “you’re here to impress. My father’s a hard man to please, so don’t let him see any weakness. Just follow my lead.”

She nodded, forcing herself to take a steadying breath. “Understood.”

The doors opened to reveal an opulent hall, with crystal chandeliers, marble floors, and servants who glanced at her with quiet curiosity. At the center of the room stood a man who looked like an older version of Miguel, his features hard, his gaze cold and calculating. Damon Ramos—the patriarch of the Ramos empire.

Miguel led her forward, and she steeled herself as Damon’s piercing gaze settled on her.

“Father, this is Mira,” Miguel said, his tone formal. “My fiancée.”

Damon studied her, his eyes narrowing as though assessing every detail. Mira felt the weight of his scrutiny, and she forced herself to maintain eye contact, offering a polite smile.

“Mira,” Damon said finally, his voice cold. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I hope it was all good,” Mira replied with a slight, careful smile.

Damon’s gaze didn’t soften. “We shall see.”

Miguel stepped in smoothly, his hand resting on Mira’s back as if to shield her from his father’s coldness. “Shall we head to the dining room? I believe dinner is ready.”

The three of them moved to the massive dining hall, where a table was set with an extravagant spread. They took their seats, and an uncomfortable silence settled over the room. Damon’s attention never left her, his gaze cutting through her like a knife.

“So, Mira,” Damon began after a long pause, “tell me about your family. How did you meet Miguel?”

Mira’s mind raced, trying to remember the story Miguel had drilled into her. She took a sip of water to steady her nerves. “I come from a small town, nothing fancy. We met at a fundraiser he was hosting. I was working there, and we… just connected.”

Damon’s expression was unreadable, but she could feel the disbelief simmering beneath. “And you believe yourself suited for this life? It’s a world of high expectations and no room for error. Are you prepared for that?”

Mira could feel herself shrinking under his scrutiny, but Miguel’s fingers brushed her wrist lightly—a subtle reminder to stay strong. She straightened, meeting Damon’s gaze with newfound determination.

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t prepared,” she replied firmly.

Damon studied her for another long moment, then inclined his head slightly, though his approval felt reluctant. “Very well. Let’s see if you can prove yourself.”

As dinner continued, Mira was careful to answer Damon’s questions with poise, masking her nerves. But every so often, his gaze would sharpen, as though he were looking for any crack in her façade. Miguel stayed silent for the most part, observing the interaction, occasionally stepping in with a smooth comment when Damon’s questions became too pointed.

The evening seemed endless, but finally, dessert was served, and Mira allowed herself a small sigh of relief. She’d managed to hold her own, but just as she thought she’d survived the worst of it, Damon’s phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at the screen, his brow furrowing.

“Miguel,” he said, his voice edged with displeasure, “it seems you’re not as discreet as you think.”

Miguel stiffened. “What do you mean?”

Damon turned the phone toward him, and Mira caught a glimpse of the screen—a blurry photo of her and Miguel leaving the club that night weeks ago, the same image Alyssa had tried to use against him.

“You call this an engagement, Miguel?” Damon’s voice was low, threatening. “This looks more like scandal waiting to happen. Is that really what you intend to bring into our family?”

Miguel’s jaw clenched, but he met his father’s glare without flinching. “Father, I already told you—we’re getting engaged tomorrow. Whatever scandal you think exists ends here.”

Damon shook his head, clearly unconvinced. “You’re a fool, Miguel. Do you really think this… arrangement will hold up under scrutiny? And what about Alyssa’s father? I received a call from him earlier, demanding an explanation.”

Mira’s heart raced. She hadn’t realized how deep Miguel’s conflicts ran, and she suddenly felt like a pawn in a game far bigger than she’d imagined.

“I don’t answer to Alyssa’s father,” Miguel said icily. “And if he has a problem, he can take it up with me directly.”

Damon’s gaze shifted to Mira, his expression one of barely concealed disdain. “And you, Mira. Are you prepared for the consequences of being involved with my son? This world… it will devour you if you’re not careful.”

Mira swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his warning. But before she could answer, Miguel rose from his seat, his gaze steely.

“We’re done here, Father,” he said, his tone final. “You’ll see us tomorrow, and this engagement will be official. Let’s go, Mira.”

Without waiting for a response, Miguel took her hand and led her out of the dining room. She could feel Damon’s gaze boring into her back, but she refused to look back, forcing herself to keep her head high as they exited the mansion.

As they reached the car, Mira turned to Miguel, her heart still pounding. “What… what was all that about?”

Miguel exhaled, his jaw clenched. “My father’s used to controlling everything. He thinks he can intimidate you, make you second-guess your decision to be with me. But don’t let him get to you.”

Mira shook her head, frustration bubbling up. “I didn’t realize I’d be dragged into all this… all this mess. Miguel, are you sure this engagement is a good idea?”

He looked at her, his gaze softening just slightly. “I understand if you’re having doubts. But I’ll handle my father. You focus on what we agreed upon—our arrangement, and the future we’re securing for both of us.”

She nodded, but the sense of unease lingered. She had the feeling there was far more going on beneath the surface, and that Damon’s disapproval was only the beginning.

As they drove back to her apartment, Mira’s phone buzzed. She glanced down and saw an unknown number flashing on the screen. Hesitating for a moment, she answered, her voice cautious.

“Hello?”

A woman’s voice came through, low and menacing. “Mira, I suggest you stay far away from Miguel. You don’t know the trouble you’re getting into.”

Mira’s breath caught in her throat. “Who is this?”

The line went silent, and then a mocking laugh filled her ear before the call disconnected.

She stared at her phone, her pulse racing. She didn’t know who that was, but the threat was clear—and it left her with an icy feeling that something dark was lurking just beneath the surface.

Beside her, Miguel noticed her expression and frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Mira opened her mouth, ready to tell him about the call, but something held her back. She could feel that whoever was behind it was someone Miguel didn’t want her to know about.

“Nothing,” she said softly, her mind whirling with questions as they pulled up to her apartment.

But as she climbed out of the car, she felt a chill run down her spine, a premonition that whatever she’d gotten herself into was about to become far more dangerous than she’d ever expected.