The morning after the storm was unusually quiet. Amara stood by her window, watching the rain droplets race down the glass. Last night's encounter with Adrian lingered in her mind. There had been something in his eyes—something lost. Vulnerable.
And it unsettled her more than his usual coldness.
---
Downstairs, the staff buzzed softly through the halls, cleaning up after the storm's chaos. The garden was flooded, and a few roof tiles had come loose. Amara wandered into the main hall and overheard hushed voices again.
"She was lucky he was even out there last night," one maid whispered.
"What was he doing in the storm anyway?" the other asked.
Amara's brow furrowed. Out there? What were they talking about?
Before she could ask, a deep voice cut through the air. "Miss De Luca."
She turned. Mr. Graham, the stern house manager, stood with his hands clasped behind him. "Mr. Blake requests your presence in his office."
Requests, she thought. As if I could say no.
---
Adrian's office was a space of power and precision. Dark wood walls, chrome fixtures, a massive desk that dwarfed everything else. He sat behind it, flipping through documents, a sharp suit hugging his frame.
He didn't look up when she entered.
"You wanted to see me?" she asked.
"You're attending a charity gala tonight."
Amara blinked. "What?"
He set the file down and looked her straight in the eye. "Part of the contract. Public appearances. We need to maintain the illusion."
She crossed her arms. "So I'm your trophy now."
He leaned forward slightly. "You're the woman I married in exchange for wiping your father's debt. Play your part, Amara. That's all I'm asking."
She felt the sting in her chest again, but instead of replying with anger, she gave a small, bitter laugh. "What if I surprise you tonight?"
His gaze narrowed. "Don't."
---
The gala was being held at the city's most luxurious hotel. As the stylists worked on her hair and makeup, Amara found herself staring at her reflection. She barely recognized the girl in the mirror. The soft waves in her hair. The deep blue silk gown hugging her curves. The makeup masking her exhaustion.
But her eyes… her eyes still held the same fire.
When Adrian entered to escort her, he paused at the door.
His eyes swept over her once, lingering longer than they should have. "You clean up well."
"Don't get used to it," she shot back, slipping past him.
---
The gala was dazzling—champagne glasses, glittering gowns, and shallow smiles. Photographers snapped pictures as Adrian placed a possessive hand at the small of her back.
He leaned in. "Smile."
"I am smiling."
"Try not to look like you're planning my murder."
She grinned for real then—sharp and bright.
They made their way through the crowd, mingling with city elites. Amara stayed quiet, observing, but she noticed something quickly: Adrian wasn't just powerful. He was feared. Everyone deferred to him, laughed too hard at his jokes, watched him carefully.
And yet, no one really knew him.
Later in the evening, a sleek woman in red slinked toward them. She placed a hand on Adrian's arm.
"Adrian. Still brooding and handsome, I see. Who's the arm candy?"
Amara opened her mouth, but Adrian beat her to it.
"My wife."
The woman blinked, visibly thrown. "Wife? Since when?"
"Since it stopped being your business," Adrian replied coolly.
Amara raised an eyebrow. Interesting.
As the woman flounced away, Adrian muttered, "You'll meet a dozen like her. Ignore them."
"Or enjoy watching you swat them away," Amara replied.
---
As the night wore on, Amara stepped outside onto the balcony for air. The city lights sparkled below, and for a moment, she allowed herself to breathe.
Adrian joined her minutes later, two champagne flutes in hand. He offered her one. "You did well tonight."
She took it. "Don't sound so surprised."
"I'm not," he said simply.
They stood in silence for a beat.
Then she asked the question that had been sitting in her chest since last night. "Why were you walking in the storm?"
He glanced at her. "Couldn't sleep."
"That's not an answer."
He looked away. "Maybe I was chasing ghosts."
Something about the way he said it made her stomach twist. "You're not as heartless as you pretend to be, are you?"
He turned to her then, his voice low. "Don't try to figure me out, Amara. You won't like what you find."
And just like that, the moment shattered.
But Amara knew something had shifted. Just a little.
---