Amara
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The silence that followed Ronan's warning was deafening, stretching thinly across the room like a taut wire. His smirk lingered in the air, a faint reminder of his words: "I don't care if you like it, Amara. I care if you survive." But as much as I wanted to dismiss him, the fear curling in my stomach told me he was right. Whatever this was, it was bigger than I could comprehend.
I stared at the door long after he disappeared through it, half-expecting him to return with more cryptic commands. When the door remained closed, the knot in my chest tightened. Being left alone felt like the cruellest punishment, but pressing for answers I wouldn't get felt even worse.
Time passed in a blur. Minutes? Hours? I wasn't sure. I paced the penthouse, the tension inside me growing with every echo of my heels on the polished floor. My mind raced with questions, each one crashing into the next until they became a deafening roar. Who was after me? Why was I a target? And what was Ronan hiding?
The longer I waited, the more the silence seemed to grow claws, scraping against my nerves. I found myself drawn back to the photograph on the table, the only human touch in Ronan's otherwise sterile domain. The boy in the picture—young Ronan—stared out at me with an intensity that matched the man he had become. The woman beside him, her smile soft and warm, felt like a whisper of a story untold. Who was she? What had happened to her? And why did Ronan seem so intent on erasing anything personal from his life?
Before I could lose myself in speculation, the sound of a faint knock broke through the stillness. My heart jumped into my throat, the abruptness of it sending a jolt of adrenaline coursing through me. I froze, staring at the door as if it might reveal its secrets on its own.
Another knock followed, firmer this time, and my pulse quickened. Ronan's warning echoed in my mind: Don't open the door for anyone.
"Amara."
The voice on the other side was familiar, but it wasn't Ronan. It was Nate.
"Amara, it's me. Open up." His tone was urgent, almost frantic, and the sound of it sent a wave of unease through me.
I hesitated, my hand hovering over the door handle. Nate's voice wasn't what I expected to hear tonight, but the desperation in it wasn't something I could ignore.
"Please," he said again, his voice lower now. "I just need to talk to you."
I didn't know what compelled me to open the door. Maybe it was the fact that Nate's voice wasn't distorted and threatening like the call earlier. Maybe it was the sliver of familiarity in a world that felt increasingly foreign. Or maybe it was the part of me that still wanted to believe I could trust someone—anyone.
I cracked the door open, just enough to meet his gaze. His face was shadowed in the dim hallway light, but the worry etched across his features was unmistakable.
"Nate," I said cautiously. "What are you doing here?"
"I needed to see you," he said quickly, his eyes scanning the space behind me as if expecting Ronan to materialize out of thin air. "You shouldn't be here, Amara. You're in danger."
My grip tightened on the door. "I know that," I said sharply. "But what are you talking about? How do you know—"
"Ronan," he cut me off, his voice low but fierce. "You don't understand who he is, what he's capable of. He's not protecting you, Amara. He's using you."
The words hit me like a slap, and for a moment, I couldn't breathe. "What are you talking about?"
Nate took a step closer, his gaze imploring. "You think this marriage was an accident? A spur-of-the-moment decision? You're a piece on his board, Amara, and you're walking straight into his trap."
"Enough."
The single word cut through the room like a blade, sharp and unyielding. It wasn't shouted—it didn't need to be. The quiet authority in Ronan's tone was enough to freeze us both in place. My blood ran cold as I turned toward the doorway, finding him standing there like a shadow pulled from the storm outside. His expression was a mask of lethal calm, but his eyes… they burned. They locked onto Nate with an intensity that could have turned stone to ash.
"Nate," Ronan said, his voice low and controlled, but there was no mistaking the fury simmering beneath the surface. "You've overstayed your welcome."
Nate straightened, his jaw tightening as he squared his shoulders. The tension between them crackled like a live wire, the space between them shrinking with every passing second. "She deserves to know the truth," he said, his tone defiant.
"And you think you're the one to tell her?" Ronan stepped forward, his movements slow, deliberate, predatory. Each step radiated power, his gaze never leaving Nate's face. "You have no idea what you're playing with."
"I know enough," Nate shot back, his voice rising. His fists clenched at his sides, his body coiled like a spring. "Enough to see through whatever game you're playing. Amara deserves better than to be dragged into your mess."
"She deserves better," Ronan repeated, his lips curling into a cold, humourless smile. The kind of smile that held no warmth, only warning. "And you think you're better, Nate? You think you can protect her from something you don't even understand?"
The words hung in the air like a gauntlet thrown, daring Nate to rise to the challenge. Nate didn't back down, his gaze flicking to me for a brief second, softening as it met mine. "I don't need to understand your world to know she's in danger with you."
"Danger?" Ronan echoed, his voice quiet but deadly. He stepped closer, until he was barely a breath away from Nate, towering over him. "The only danger to her right now is you."
"Stop!" I said, my voice trembling as I stepped between them. My heart thundered in my chest, my hands rising instinctively to push them apart. I didn't know who I was trying to protect more. "Both of you, just stop."
The air was suffocating, charged with a volatile mix of anger and something darker. Nate's gaze flicked to mine again, the anger in his expression giving way to concern, to something almost pleading. But when I turned to Ronan, I saw no such softness. His eyes were locked on Nate, watching him like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
"Go," I said firmly, turning back to Nate. My voice didn't waver this time. "This isn't the time."
For a moment, Nate looked like he might argue, his lips parting as if to protest. But then he nodded, his expression tight with reluctance. "Be careful," he said, his voice low, thick with something I couldn't place. "Please."
The sound of the door closing behind him echoed like a gunshot, leaving behind a silence that was anything but empty. I turned to Ronan, my chest heaving as I struggled to process what had just happened.
"What the hell was that?" I demanded, my voice sharp, cutting through the quiet.
Ronan didn't answer immediately. He crossed the room to the windows, his posture rigid, his movements taut with barely restrained fury. He stood there for a long moment, his back to me, the city lights casting shadows over his broad shoulders.
"A warning," he said finally, his voice cold and clipped. "And a reminder."
I crossed my arms, glaring at his back. "A reminder of what?"
When he turned, his eyes were darker than I'd ever seen them, his expression unreadable but no less intimidating. "That trust is a luxury you can't afford."
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