CHAPTER 254: CHAPTER 254 MIRA: SO MUCH FOR PERFECT

‘Her name’s Lea Marchand—Lea Lopez, once she’s divorced. Her husband’s a drunk, violent arsehole. He turned up at her hotel and wouldn’t leave her alone. I had to get her out. She’s coming back to Skyline with me. He can’t touch her there. His family’s powerful and old-school. The divorce makes them look bad, so they’ll try everything to make her back down...’

Ashton’s voice was calm, unemotional. Like he was reading out a weather report.

I caught some of the words, but most of it blurred into a low, distant hum.

I was preoccupied with the feeling settling heavily in my chest.

What I felt was panic.

But not the usual kind.

I was terrified by how calm I was. And how... relieved.

I liked Ashton. That much was still true.

But for the first time, I was certain—I didn’t love him.

Or maybe I just didn’t deserve to.

He was too good to be true.

If your boyfriend came home late, reeking of perfume and wine, after dinner with another woman, wouldn’t you be at least a little angry?

You would. If you cared.

So why wasn’t I?

When Rowan Hale had tried to stir up gossip about her and Ashton, I hadn’t felt jealous then either.

I’d told myself it was because he’d shut it down quickly and made it clear he wasn’t interested.

I believed him. He wasn’t the cheating type.

But this? This was different.

This woman, a head-turner in a red dress, wasn’t just some singer looking to boost her profile. She was someone from his past. Someone with history. Someone he hadn’t exactly rushed to tell me about.

He’d had dinner with her, come home late. Now he was cancelling our dress fitting to fly her back to Skyline.

This was the same man who’d accused me of not taking our wedding seriously.

If that’s not a red flag, what is?

I should’ve been livid. Jealous. Throwing things. Screaming.

Instead, I felt... nothing.

When I asked who she was, it was out of politeness. Mild curiosity, at best.

No jealousy. No rage.

Just the quiet, familiar sense of something slipping away.

Of course. The dream was ending.

I’d been floating lately—Fabrizio’s invitation, Ashton’s proposal—it all felt too good to be true. Like winning the lottery, then finding buried treasure, then getting a call from a long-lost billionaire relative with a mysterious will.

And now, finally, the fantasy was cracking.

Work was the only thing that felt real. I could hold the necklace in my hand, I could measure its weight. But the rest? It never quite settled.

‘She’s just a friend,’ Ashton said, meeting my eyes. ‘An old friend. She runs Titanova.’

Whatever he saw in my face must’ve rattled him.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘What? Nothing.’ My knees buckled. I reached blindly for a chair and sat down hard. ‘So, she’s flying back to Skyline with you.’

‘Yeah. I’ll have to cut my trip short.’ He gave me a regretful look.

‘It’s fine.’ I forced a smile. ‘I get it.’

Of course I did.

Rhys had been perfect—for Catherine.

And he only ever had eyes for her.

Ashton was perfect too. And now there was another woman. One he clearly cared about. One who only had to call, and he dropped everything to run to her.

The other shoe had finally dropped.

Yvaine and Ashton had called it cold feet.

But it wasn’t that.

It wasn’t wedding nerves or commitment issues.

It was the gut-deep certainty that this wouldn’t last. That it was never meant to.

I didn’t know why. I just knew.

Perfect things didn’t happen to people like me.

Caroline and Franklin had been perfect parents—for Catherine.

Rhys had been a perfect boyfriend—for Catherine.

Ashton would be a perfect husband—for someone else.

Any minute now, I half-expected Fabrizio to call and tell me his offer had been a misunderstanding, or a prank.

‘Mira? Mira?’

‘Huh?’ I blinked. Ashton was in front of me, his hands on my shoulders.

‘You’re crying.’ He brushed my cheek with his thumb. It came away wet.

‘Am I?’ I rubbed my eyes. ‘Must be the fumes.’

‘What fumes?’

‘I was using a butane micro torch earlier. The vapour stings.’ I pushed myself up. ‘I need the loo.’

I ducked into the bathroom, turned on the tap, and shoved my head under the cold water.

Ashton’s voice floated in. ‘You all right?’

I straightened and looked at him. ‘Fine.’

The water masked my pale face, hid the red in my eyes.

He stared at me for a moment. ‘If something’s bothering you, you can tell me.’

‘I’m fine. Really.’ I clung to the same lie about the fumes. ‘It’s late. You should get some rest. You have a plane to catch.’

‘You never told me how the dress fitting went.’

I thought of the gown—silk crepe in ivory, draped off the shoulder with a structured bodice and a long, dramatic train, embroidered with tiny pearls and silver thread that shimmered when the light hit just right.

‘It was perfect.’

Too bad I wouldn’t get to wear it.