The hallway outside the suite was chilled with tension, the plush carpet muffling every footstep as Amara closed the door behind her with a soft click. Her face was blank, but her eyes burned sharp, bright, and distant. She walked with a clipped pace, heels echoing with finality.
Luca stood at the far end, arms crossed, his expression tight. He didn't ask what happened. He didn't need to. When their eyes met, there was no pity, only a solemn understanding.
"Do you want me to…" he began, voice low.
She shook her head once. "I'll manage," she said, calm but frigid.
He gave a single nod in response. No words, just quiet solidarity.
Behind them, the elevator chimed.
When the doors opened, Caden emerged, careless and slow, every movement laced with mockery. He didn't look at Luca. He didn't have to. His eyes were trained on Amara, and they gleamed with a mix of intoxication, mischief, and something darker.
"Oh, the loyal watchdog's still here," he drawled, voice rough with drink. "What, were you two plotting how to chain me up and drag me home?"
Luca's jaw flexed, but he said nothing.
Caden tilted his head with theatrical amusement. "Ah, silence. My favorite soundtrack." He staggered forward, brushing past Luca with a smirk, then turned back to Amara with an exaggerated bow. "Shall we, my ever-dignified fiancée? Off to cleanse me of my sins?"
Amara didn't rise to the bait. She brushed past him, her gaze fixed ahead, ignoring the heavy footsteps behind her.
The descent to the underground car park was thick with silence. Only the dull echo of Caden's lazy footfalls and the distant hum of traffic filtered through the concrete space. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a pale sheen over the polished black car parked near the far wall.
Amara pressed the key fob. The headlights blinked once. She walked toward the driver's side without hesitation.
Caden stopped mid-stride, brows lifting as he watched her open the door and slide in.
"Oh?" he muttered. "Is this… new?"
He yanked the passenger door open and flopped in, limbs loose but gaze tight. The scent of whiskey and cigarette smoke clung to him like sweat, thick and invasive. He looked at her really looked and something in his expression flickered.
She didn't speak. Just adjusted her seat and mirrors with quiet precision. The car's leather interior gleamed, cold and luxurious. Her hands on the wheel were steady, her back straight, chin lifted. Her movements were fluid, composed. There was elegance in the way she settled into control—not showy, but undeniable. She belonged there.
Caden stared.
"You can drive?" he said at last, disbelieving.
Still, she didn't answer.
A bitter laugh burst out of him. "Of course you can. Of course you would wait until tonight of all nights to unveil this little mystery. How poetic. Amara, the ice queen behind the wheel, whisking us away from the wreckage."
She started the engine. It purred to life beneath her fingers.
"Oh, don't act so righteous," he muttered, slumping further in his seat. "You drive like you live—quiet, perfect, controlled. Is that how you think you'll fix this? Drive me back to normal?"
She shifted into reverse, eyes on the mirror, silent as a statue.
Caden scoffed. "You know what I think? You like the power right now. You like me slumped here, wrecked. You like pretending this doesn't bother you." He gestured lazily toward the dark street ahead. "But it does, doesn't it? I saw your face. You're not as cold as you act. You just freeze everything before it can burn you."
Amara's grip on the wheel didn't waver. Her eyes remained focused, every word rolling off her like rain against glass.
That silence, that refusal to respond, made something in Caden twist.
"God," he laughed under his breath. "You're insufferable."
And yet even as he mocked her, even as his voice cut sharp and fast he couldn't stop staring. There was something about the way she looked in that moment. Poised. Collected. Beautiful in the kind of way that unsettled him. Like a storm on still waters. It caught him off guard for a second.
But then he blinked, and his smile turned hard again. Because behind the dizziness and the haze of champagne and rage, a single, gnawing thought rose in his chest like smoke:
Because of her, he thought bitterly, I argued with Grandfather. For the first time in my life.
And for that, no amount of elegance could be forgiven.
"Who'd have thought you can actually drive?" Caden sneered, voice low and razor-sharp, slicing through the thick silence of the car. The dim city lights painted his features in harsh contrast eyes narrowed, lips curled in something between contempt and amusement. "Guess I really don't know everything about my precious little disaster, do I?"
Amara didn't respond. Her grip on the steering wheel tightened, knuckles pale under the strain, but her face stayed impassive. She had learned by now silence could be her armor. Silence could be her weapon.
She pulled the car into motion, smooth and measured.
"Maybe I'm full of surprises," she muttered, barely above a whisper, her voice calm controlled.
Caden snorted, shaking his head. "Yeah, real shocking. The ice queen behind the wheel. What next? You gonna tell me you can throw a punch too?"
He leaned closer, his breath hot with alcohol. "Let's be honest, Amara. You're like a paper doll dressed up in steel. All stiff posturing and that quiet little act, like you're untouchable. But I've seen what's underneath." His gaze raked over her as if trying to peel her down layer by layer. "You break just like everyone else."
Amara's jaw clenched, but her eyes stayed ahead; locked on the road, refusing to give him the reaction he wanted. The city blurred past them, neon streaks reflecting off the windshield in jagged flashes.
Caden wasn't done. He never was.
"You know, it's almost funny," he said, voice dropping to a dangerous purr. "How hard you try to act like this poised, respectable thing. When really? You're just a girl who can't stand not being in control. That's why you're behind the wheel, isn't it? Makes you feel powerful. Safe."
Amara's heart thundered in her chest, but she didn't answer. Not yet.
"Cut the crap, Caden," she finally said, voice sharp and low. "Just let me drive."
He laughed a jagged, joyless bark. "Let you drive? Oh sweetheart, I let you drive because I'm too tired to give a damn tonight. Don't mistake that for control. You're not in charge. You never were."
Minutes passed in tense silence. The city's sounds faded. Only the low hum of the engine and the occasional hiss of tires against wet asphalt filled the void.
Then suddenly Caden's voice cracked through the quiet like gunfire.
"Stop the damn car."
Amara's eyes darted to him in disbelief, but she didn't argue. She pulled to the side of the deserted street, headlights casting long beams across cracked pavement and graffitied walls.
The moment the car came to a halt, Caden turned to her with slow, deliberate menace.
Before she could brace, his hand lashed out fingers gripping her jaw, rough and bruising, forcing her to face him. His thumbs dug into her cheeks, not enough to hurt yet, but enough to make her feel trapped.
"Why can't you just shut your mouth and behave properly?" he hissed, his voice as cold as it was cruel. "Why do you always have to make everything harder? Do you enjoy provoking me?"
Amara gasped, breath catching in her throat, but she refused to look away. Her eyes, wide with shock, still burned with defiance.
"I'm not the one who needs to learn how to behave," she said, her voice firm despite the trembling fury coiled in her chest.
Caden's expression twisted something between a smirk and a snarl. And then without permission, without warning he yanked her closer by the nape of her neck and slammed his mouth onto hers.
It wasn't a kiss. It was a punishment.
Crude. Aggressive. Possessive.
His lips were demanding, unforgiving. His grip in her hair tight, forcing compliance. Her body locked up, not from desire, but from disbelief rage, humiliation, and raw vulnerability tearing through her in jagged waves.
There was nothing romantic in it. No heat. No tenderness. Just control a violent declaration that she still belonged to him, that whatever power she thought she had was nothing.
He finally pulled back, lips damp, eyes gleaming with mockery.
"Ohh," he drawled, voice dripping with venomous sarcasm, "Pardon the misbehaved man who doesn't know how to act like a gentleman." He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. "What a disappointment I must be to you. But guess what? I never promised you a prince, Amara."
Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes. Not from sadness; from fury. From the way he twisted everything. From the way he always made her feel small, even when she knew she wasn't. Her heart thudded violently, and her throat ached, but she refused to let the tears fall.
He stared at her a moment longer, taking in her trembling hands, the storm in her eyes then finally leaned back in his seat, voice cool and commanding once more.
"Well," he muttered, tapping a finger against the window, "Get moving. Let's get the hell out of here."
Amara blinked, swallowed hard, and without a word, shifted the car into gear.
The silence between them now was different.
Heavier.
Colder.
Not empty, but loaded; with all the things she wanted to scream and all the things he refused to feel.
She drove on, the road stretching endlessly ahead, both of them trapped in the storm of their own making.