Amara
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The air between us crackled with unspoken tension, thick and suffocating, like the charged stillness before a storm breaks. Ronan's eyes locked onto mine, unyielding and sharp, his expression a fortress of control. But beneath the surface, something simmered—a flash of something raw, something unguarded. Fear? Anger? I couldn't tell, and the uncertainty twisted the knot in my chest tighter.
"Who sent this?" he demanded, his voice low and measured, but the steel beneath it was impossible to ignore. It was a tone that could strip defences bare, a tone that made it clear he wouldn't accept anything less than the truth.
"I don't know," I said, clutching the phone so tightly my fingers ached. It felt like a lifeline and a shield all at once, though neither offered much protection. "I told you, it's probably nothing."
Ronan moved closer, each step deliberate, his presence consuming the space between us. The dim light caught the sharp planes of his face, turning him into something impossibly fierce, impossibly inescapable. "Don't insult my intelligence, Amara," he said, his voice dropping lower, darker. His hand brushed against mine as he reached for the phone, the contact brief but electric. His grip was firm yet careful, prying the device from my hand with an ease that made me feel as though I'd never been holding it at all.
"Messages like this don't come from nowhere." His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken certainty, and the walls seemed to close in around me.
I swallowed hard, the heat of his proximity making it impossible to think clearly. My breath caught, each inhale sharper than the last. "Why are you so sure it's about me?" I managed, my voice quieter than I intended. "You're the one with enemies."
Ronan's lips curved into a smile, but it wasn't one of humour. It was cold, devoid of warmth, a weapon honed to perfection. The glint in his eyes was as sharp as silver under moonlight, piercing and deliberate. "You think this is my first time dealing with threats?" he asked, his tone impossibly calm. "If it were meant for me, they'd have the decency to be direct."
His words sent a chill down my spine, each syllable carrying a weight I didn't fully understand. There was something terrifyingly certain about him, a man who didn't doubt his control over the chaos around him. And yet, in that moment, his certainty felt more like a warning than a reassurance.
He glanced at the screen again, his jaw tightening. The muscles in his neck were taut, like a predator barely restrained. "This is personal. And it's aimed at you."
His certainty sent a chill down my spine. "You're making assumptions. For all you know, it could just be someone trying to stir up trouble."
"And what trouble could you possibly stir worth this much effort?" He stepped closer, his voice low and dangerous. "Tell me, Amara—what aren't you saying?"
"I'm not hiding anything," I snapped, the defensive edge in my tone sharper than I intended. "Why don't you focus on your own skeletons, Ronan? I'm sure there are plenty rattling around."
His eyes narrowed, the tension between us reaching a boiling point. For a moment, I thought he might push harder, demand answers I didn't have. But then, to my surprise, he stepped back, his gaze cooling to something unreadable.
"You think you can handle this alone?" he asked, his voice quiet but cutting. "You can't."
"Maybe I don't want your help," I shot back. "You're not exactly the beacon of trustworthiness."
Something flickered in his expression—annoyance, maybe, or something deeper. "You don't have a choice," he said, his tone final. "Not anymore."
•••
I didn't sleep that night. How could I? Every time I closed my eyes, the message replayed in my mind, each word laced with venom. You're in deeper than you think. But it wasn't just the message that kept me awake—it was the way Ronan had looked at me, as if he were seeing something I didn't understand.
By morning, my nerves were frayed, and the exhaustion sat heavy on my shoulders. The kitchen was quiet when I entered, sunlight spilling across the polished surfaces like a cruel mockery of peace. I poured myself a cup of coffee, the bitter aroma doing little to calm my racing thoughts.
I barely registered Ronan's arrival until his voice cut through the silence. "You look like hell."
"Good morning to you too," I muttered, not bothering to turn around.
His footsteps echoed softly as he crossed the room, his presence a weight I couldn't ignore. "Did you think about what I said?"
"Which part?" I asked, spinning around to face him. "The part where you implied I'm some kind of liability, or the part where you decided I have no control over my own life?"
Ronan leaned against the counter, his arms crossed, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Both."
The audacity of him left me momentarily speechless. "You're unbelievable."
"No," he said, his voice dipping lower, each syllable weighted and deliberate. "I'm realistic. You might not like it, but someone out there wants you scared—or worse. And until I know who they are, you don't get the luxury of denial."
The words hit like a slap, sharp and undeniable. My pulse quickened, anger and unease warring within me. "And what if I don't want your protection?" I demanded, my voice rising despite myself.
His smirk faded, the flicker of amusement extinguished in an instant. What replaced it was something darker, heavier—a shadow that seemed to deepen the space between us. He stepped closer, his gaze locking onto mine with the force of a predator honing in on its prey. "Then you're more foolish than I thought," he said, his tone cutting through the air like a blade.
My breath hitched, the intensity of his presence pinning me in place. He leaned in, the heat of him brushing against my skin, and I felt the walls around me dissolve. His voice was a quiet murmur, low and lethal. "You might hate me, Amara. You might fight me every step of the way. But you're under my roof, my name, my protection. And as long as that's true, no one touches you. Understand?"
The air between us grew impossibly thick, charged with an energy I couldn't define. His words lingered like smoke, curling around me, stifling yet intoxicating. My chest tightened, my heart pounding against my ribs as I struggled to hold onto the last threads of my composure.
I hated the way my pulse raced, how his words wrapped around me like a claim I couldn't escape. I hated the way his proximity stole the air from my lungs, making it impossible to think. But more than that, I hated the part of me—the small, treacherous part—that wanted to believe him.
To believe in the promise of his protection, no matter how dangerous it might be.
"Fine," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "But don't think for a second that I trust you."
Ronan's lips curved into a dangerous smile. "I wouldn't expect anything less."
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