Chapter 113: 113 ~ Mira
The smell of coffee was the first thing that coaxed me awake. It wafted into my nostrils so easily.
For a moment, I thought I was back in Lisbon, in my little apartment above the bakery where mornings always smelled like roasted beans and fresh bread. But then my eyes cracked open, and reality crashed in.
This wasn’t Lisbon. It was Jace’s penthouse that was absurdly perfect with floor-to-ceiling windows, marble floors, and a view of Los Angeles that reminded you just how small you really were.
I groaned, dragging a pillow over my face. Maybe if I hid under it long enough, the world would forget I was here.
"Mira."
The pillow was pulled away, and I squinted against the light only to find Jace standing over me, looking infuriatingly composed for this early hour. He had the nerve to look casual in a white shirt, sleeves rolled, collar undone. Like he hadn’t just dragged me halfway across the city in the middle of the night and vowed to burn the world down in my name.
I wouldn’t lie, that was hot.
"I made breakfast."
I blinked at him. "You?"
A slow smirk curved his mouth. "Yes, me. Is that so hard to believe?"
I sat up, hair tumbling around my face, and gave him my best unimpressed look. "You don’t strike me as the kind of man who knows where the kitchen is in his own house."
He chuckled low in his chest. "Maybe I like surprising you."
I muttered something under my breath about men who thought they were mysterious and dragged myself out of bed. The silk robe I’d thrown on last night after I felt uncomfortable in my clothes and his jacket, slid over my skin as I walked barefoot after him.
The kitchen was spotless. Not a single dish out of place. Which meant either he’d been meticulous or someone else had already cleaned up. Still, there was food on the table—pancakes, eggs, fruit, and two mugs of steaming coffee.
There was no way he could convince me that he made any of this.
"Okay," I said slowly, sliding into a chair. "I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting this."
He set a plate in front of me like it was the most normal thing in the world. "Eat."
I arched a brow, ready to be mad at him. "You don’t get to kidnap me, hover outside my hotel, and then act like you’re my husband serving me breakfast."
One corner of his mouth tugged upward. "I am your husband."
I rolled my eyes and stabbed a piece of pancake with my fork. "Not for long."
The smirk didn’t leave his face, his eyes flickered. I ignored it, shoving the bite into my mouth. To my surprise, it was good. Really good.
I froze mid-chew, glaring at him. "Don’t tell me you actually cooked this."
He leaned back in his chair, sipping his coffee like some smug magazine model. "What do you think?"
"I think you brought your chef in at six in the morning and took credit for it."
He laughed, a deep, genuine sound that warmed places inside me I didn’t want warmed. "You wound me, Mira. Just eat."
We fell into silence for a few minutes, the clink of cutlery filling the air. And for the first time in days, the world didn’t feel like it was spinning out of control. It was normal. Almost painfully so.
"You know," I said, cutting into my pancakes, "you’re not nearly as terrifying when you’re pouring syrup."
Jace’s lips curved again. "Don’t spread that around. It’ll ruin my reputation."
I snorted into my coffee.
For a moment, we were just two people at breakfast. Not a Don and his runaway wife. Not a woman caught between revenge and desire. Just Mira and Jace. And I hated how easy it was to slip into that, how natural it felt to sit here with him like this was our routine.
When I set my fork down, I realized he was watching me. Not in his usual calculated, predatory way, but softer. Thoughtful.
"What?" I asked, heat creeping up my neck.
"Nothing," he said smoothly, though his gaze lingered. "It’s just...you look like you belong here."
I scoffed, standing and pushing my chair back a little too forcefully. "Don’t start."
But his smile didn’t fade, and as I walked away with my coffee in hand, I hated that a small, treacherous part of me almost agreed.
The silence after breakfast lingered in the air, soft and almost delicate, as though even the walls of the penthouse didn’t want to disturb it. I had settled into the arm of the couch with my coffee, trying to pretend like this wasn’t strange, that it was just another morning in another life where things hadn’t gone so catastrophically wrong.
Jace stood at the window, coffee mug in hand, his broad shoulders outlined against the sunlight pouring through the glass. For a moment, he didn’t look like a Don or a man who terrified half of Los Angeles. He just looked... normal. Too normal. And maybe that was why my chest felt tight, because I couldn’t decide if I hated him more when he was ruthless or when he was this calm, steady and dangerously human.
When he turned back, his gaze found me instantly, like it always did, as though the room could be filled with hundreds of people and I would still be the only one he saw. He set his cup down on the coffee table and came closer, his steps unhurried, his expression unreadable.
"I have something for you," he finally said quietly.
I frowned. "What now? Another dress? Shoes? Diamonds to keep me quiet?"
A faint smile tugged at his lips, but it wasn’t smug. It wasn’t mocking. It was almost nostalgic. Without answering, he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. His fingers curled around something small before he brought it out and slowly opened his palm.
My breath caught.
The necklace.
A delicate chain with a small pink pendant that glittered faintly in the light. My necklace. The one I had left behind in that hospital room all those years ago, when I walked away from him and didn’t look back.
I stared at it like it might burn me. My throat tightened, and I hated the sting in my eyes. "You kept it?"
His jaw flexed, and he stepped closer until he was standing right in front of me. "Of course, I kept it. You think I’d let go of the only piece of you I had left?"
I swallowed hard, my chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. "Jace..."
"Turn around," he murmured. His voice was low, gentle in a way I wasn’t used to from him. It was the kind of voice that slipped past my defenses before I could stop it.
I hesitated, every instinct telling me to push him away, to tell him I didn’t want it, that the past should stay buried. But my body betrayed me, and I found myself slowly turning so my back was to him.
His fingers brushed against my neck as he swept my hair aside, and I couldn’t stop the shiver that ran down my spine. He clasped the necklace around me with a precision that spoke of practice, of memory. And when his hands lingered just a second longer against my skin, I felt the years between us collapse into nothing.
"This belonged here," he whispered, his breath warm against the shell of my ear. "Always did."
I closed my eyes, fighting the war raging inside me. Memories surged in that moment. The way he used to trace this very chain while kissing me, the way it used to tangle in his fingers when he pulled me closer. It was unbearable, the way something so small could unravel me so completely.
When I turned back to face him, he was already too close. His gray eyes were locked on mine, unyielding but softened in a way that made me want to scream. His gaze dipped, settling on my mouth, and my heart lurched into my throat.
The air between us grew heavy, charged with everything unsaid. His hand lifted, his knuckles grazing my jaw, tilting my face ever so slightly. My lips parted without permission, my body traitorous in anticipation.
He leaned in, and for a split second, I let myself believe it. Believe in the possibility that we could kiss and it would erase the bitterness, the years, the bad blood between us.
Just then, the sharp vibration of his phone shattered the moment.
Jace froze, his forehead pressing against mine for a heartbeat before he pulled back with a muttered curse. His jaw tightened as he pulled the device from his pocket, the spell broken, reality snapping back into place like a whip.
I stepped away quickly, putting distance between us, clutching the pendant at my throat as if it might anchor me. My heart pounded, my lips tingled, and I hated myself for almost letting it happen. Again.
He glanced at the screen, his expression darkening. Whoever was on the other end wasn’t just anyone. I could tell by the way his grip tightened around the phone.
"Mira," he said, his voice taut, controlled. "We’ll talk later."
But my chest still heaved, my pulse still raced, and I wasn’t sure if later would come without destroying us both.