Chapter 2: The Name Behind the Headlines

Mira barely slept that night. Her pillow felt too stiff, her sheets too scratchy, and the shadows that danced across her ceiling felt more watchful than usual. She wasn’t the type to dwell on things, especially not strangers. But the image of Leo Cavendish, disoriented in the rain, his gaze lost and haunted, had imprinted itself on her mind like a stubborn watermark.

She tried to shake the memory as she stood behind the diner counter the next morning, pouring coffee into chipped mugs and serving up plates of runny eggs and soggy pancakes. Life didn’t pause for brooding. Rent was still due, the electric bill was overdue, and her mother needed another round of blood pressure meds.

Still, it lingered.

Leo Cavendish.

The name had sounded faintly familiar when he introduced himself, but only now—while waiting for a refill of decaf—did she decide to dig into it.

Mira fished her phone out of her apron pocket, wiped a smudge of syrup off the screen, and typed the name into the search bar.

What came up made her jaw go slack.

Leo Cavendish: billionaire heir to the Cavendish luxury real estate empire, owner of the Cavendish Towers, SkySpire Hotels, and the Horizon Residences. Known for his inscrutable demeanor, philanthropic arm of the Cavendish Foundation, and, more infamously, his string of high-profile ex-girlfriends—models, actresses, and heiresses alike. His father, Julian Cavendish, was a titan in global finance. His mother, Eleanor Harte-Cavendish, a British diplomat with lineage older than half the castles in Europe.

Mira’s thumb paused over the image of him in a tailored tuxedo, stepping out of a black car at some gala in Milan, flanked by security and flashbulbs. His face was calm, unreadable. The same face that had looked dazed and human on a rainy sidewalk just hours ago.

She let out a low breath, then locked her phone.

“So,” Gina, her coworker and best friend since high school, said as she slid behind the counter with a tray of dirty dishes, “are we gonna talk about that crash outside the grocery store last night? I saw the whole thing on a neighborhood TikTok.”

Mira blinked. “It’s already online?”

“Girl, of course it is. Everything’s online. One angle even caught you helping him. You looked like a heroine in a soap opera.”

Mira groaned and dropped her forehead onto the counter. “This is a nightmare.”

“More like a fantasy,” Gina said, grinning. “Do you know who that was? Leo freaking Cavendish! You touched his arm! You helped him up! You made contact!”

Mira gave her a flat look. “Pretty sure I also got rainwater in my boots and a pulled shoulder from holding him up.”

“Still sounds romantic. You know he’s single now, right?”

“Yeah, I’m sure the billionaire bachelor who owns half the skyline is dying to date a waitress who takes the bus.”

Gina leaned in closer. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve got that whole mysterious-working-girl-meets-billionaire charm. Very Pretty Woman, but without the problematic parts.”

Mira laughed despite herself, shaking her head. “It was one moment, Gina. He probably doesn’t even remember me.”

But as she flipped pancakes and filled orders, she couldn’t deny the growing tingle in her stomach.

---

Three days later, she was proven wrong.

It was near the end of her shift. The late afternoon sun was casting long, golden shadows across the tiled floor, and Mira was wiping down the counter for the third time, mostly to keep her hands busy.

That was when the bell above the door jingled.

She didn’t look up at first. The diner was always a revolving door of regulars, construction workers, exhausted mothers, and tired students. But the hush that fell over the room made her glance up—and freeze.

He was standing in the doorway, out of place in a navy suit that probably cost more than Mira’s yearly rent. He looked rested this time, clean-shaven, sharp-eyed. Not the confused figure from the crash, but a man entirely in control of his surroundings.

Leo Cavendish.

Every customer in the diner turned to look. Phones began to sneak out of pockets. But Leo’s eyes were already locked on Mira’s.

“Hi,” he said, voice smooth and quiet. “Mind if I sit?”

Mira blinked. “You—you’re here.”

“Observant,” he said, lips twitching with a hint of a smile.

She gestured awkwardly to the corner booth. “Sure. Um. Over there?”

He followed her lead, sliding into the booth. She sat across from him, feeling out of place in her flour-dusted apron and coffee-stained shoes. The smell of bacon hung thick in the air.

“I owed you a thank-you,” Leo said, resting his forearms on the table. “And an apology. That night was... complicated.”

“Car crashes usually are,” Mira replied.

His smile widened slightly. “I mean before the crash. But yes, that too.”

She folded her arms, unsure whether to be flattered, annoyed, or curious. “You didn’t have to come here.”

“I did,” he said simply. “I remember how clear-headed you were. You kept me from collapsing, stayed calm, made decisions when I couldn’t.”

“I just did what anyone would do.”

“No,” he said, “you didn’t.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, just charged. Mira felt it in her chest—like electricity crackling just beneath her skin.

After a pause, Leo continued. “I’d like to offer you a job.”

That made her blink. “Excuse me?”

“I need a new assistant. My last one just left the country. And you seem like someone who doesn’t flinch under pressure.”

Mira blinked again, unsure if she’d heard right. “You want to hire me?”

He nodded. “Full salary, benefits, travel opportunities, and flexible hours.”

She let out a laugh, short and disbelieving. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough. And I’ve already done my research.”

That last line made her freeze. “You ran a background check on me?”

“I had to make sure you weren’t someone pretending to be a Good Samaritan for the press.” His tone wasn’t apologetic, just matter-of-fact.

“And?” she asked, her voice tight.

He looked at her directly. “And I found a woman who works two jobs, pays her rent on time, and takes care of her sick mother without complaint.”

Mira flushed. “That still doesn’t mean I’m qualified to be your assistant.”

“I’m not looking for someone with a résumé full of buzzwords,” Leo said. “I’m looking for someone real. Someone grounded. I can train skills. I can’t train instincts.”

Mira didn’t know what to say to that. Every instinct in her screamed that this was crazy. Dangerous, even. She’d read enough news stories about rich men exploiting working-class women to know where this kind of thing could lead.

But Leo’s gaze was steady. Not flirtatious. Not predatory. Just calm. Assured.

“I’ll give you time to think about it,” he said, rising smoothly from the booth and setting a business card on the table. “Call me if you’re interested. You’d start Monday.”

Then he walked out, leaving the scent of cedar cologne and disbelief in his wake.

Mira stared at the business card for a long time before finally slipping it into her apron.

---

The rest of the weekend passed in a blur. Gina freaked out. Her mother was suspicious. And Mira herself alternated between excitement and anxiety.

Why her? Why now?

By Sunday night, she sat on the fire escape outside her apartment, staring at the stars while the city buzzed below. The card burned like a secret in her pocket.

She wanted to say no. To keep her simple life and its simple pain. But something deeper—a hunger she’d buried years ago—whispered yes.

Yes to something different. Yes to something more.

By Monday morning, she dialed the number.

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