Chapter 1: A Haunting Awakening
Amara stirred from a deep, dreamless sleep, her heart racing. The dream had been vivid-too vivid to be merely a figment of her imagination. It threw her into a great hall of some castle or other, where she was a princess-both homely and alien. And before her stood a man in moonlight: his dark eyes brimming with love and betrayal, his lips whispering words she couldn't quite catch yet words that tore her heart to shreds.
She woke up with a gasp, remnants of the dream still hanging in the air like an aura. The room around her was dim, with the first light of dawn creeping through the curtains. Her hand instinctively pressed against her chest, feeling the thudding of her heart. There was a gnawing emptiness inside her, a hollow space that she couldn't explain. Was it just a dream? Or something more?
The soft buzz of her phone cut into her musings. She reached for it; the screen lit with the message from her boss.
Damien Sinclair: "Be in my office in 15 minutes."
Amara swallowed as the mere name sent a ripple of unease across her; the same feelings she got every time that she saw him. Damien Sinclair was a cold, insular chief executive officer in Sinclair Enterprises, an enigma to all, charming as much as he could be secretive.
She had been working for him for six months now, but in all that time, she'd never been able to fathom him. Something commanding was about him; even though his dark eyes seemed never to soften, there was a pull toward him that she couldn't resist, even if she tried.
Amara dressed hurriedly, her dream clinging to her like an albatross as she walked to the elevator. She felt from the bottom of her heart that something was going to change. And big it would be.
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and she stepped into the sleek, modern lobby of Sinclair Enterprises. The office was on the top floor, commanding a view of the whole city, but it wasn't the view that unsettled her. It was the silence. The way everyone in the building seemed to respect Damien from a distance, the way he carried himself-untouchable.
She knocked on his door, her pulse quickening.
"Enter."
His voice was low, calm-the dark stillness of a storm before it raged. She opened the door and stepped inside into the large, minimalist space. Damien stood by the window, his back to her as he stared out at the city.
"You wanted to see me, Mr. Sinclair?" she asked, trying to make her voice firm, stronger than her erratic heartbeat.
He turned then, his piercing eyes locking with hers, and for an instant, she felt something flash inside them-a momentary splash of red which vanished almost as suddenly. She blinked, bewildered.
"No need to be formal, Amara," he said, cool but not cold. "I want you to get some documents together for me. But first.
He took a step closer, and despite herself, Amara felt her breath catch in her throat. There was an undeniable magnetism about him-something dangerous yet alluring. He stopped just a few inches away, overwhelming.
Amara felt a strange chill, but it was not from fear-it was the same feeling she had in her dream. The feeling of a connection she couldn't explain.
"Are you all right?" Damien's voice cut through her musing.
She nodded fast, forcing a smile onto her lips. "I am fine."
Damien really looked at her for a second, his eyes piercing. After a moment his expression softened, just enough for her to catch. Then he turned back to face his desk, the businesslike mask slipping back over his features.
"There is something about you," he grumbled, almost under his breath. "Something I cannot quite place."
Amara's heart skipped. She, too, had felt the connection between them, sure as the sun rises, powerful and impossible to explain despite their strictly professional interactions. But what was it?
She opened her mouth to speak, but before words could form, a shrill noise cut through the air, and her body jerked as if she'd been slapped. She gasped, looking around the room, but saw nothing unusual.
Did you feel that?" she asked, shaking.
Damien turned to her, his eyes narrowing, his jaw clenched. And for one quick second, she could have sworn she saw something dark flicker in his gaze.
"You should leave, Amara. I'll send for you later," he said, his voice cold with suddenness.
Confused and disturbed, Amara nodded and then hastened out of the room. As she stepped out of the elevator, her eyes caught something strange on the glass doors: a fleetingly moving figure, the impression of someone watching her.
She shook her head, trying to get the feeling of being followed off her shoulders. It was just her imagination. Damien was always distant, always mysterious. Nothing out of the ordinary.
But the unease in her chest grew, the same feeling from her dream, the same eerie sensation that this was only the beginning.
As she reached her desk, the strange occurrence lingered in her thoughts. What was Damien hiding? What was it about her that seemed to attract his attention?
Amara sat down, trying to push the thoughts aside. But deep down, she knew that whatever had happened, whatever was unfolding between her and Damien Sinclair, was far from normal.
And she was about to find out just how deep the mystery went.
As she sat, trying to focus on her work, her phone buzzed. The message was from an unknown number: "You've been marked."
Amara froze; the message made her heart
go cold, as she did not know who could have done it or what that said.