The city of London gleamed under the weight of Friday night. A swirl of glowing headlights, golden streetlamps, and the heartbeat of the underground gave the illusion that the entire city was breathing with anticipation. Amira sat in the backseat of the chauffeured car, her legs crossed, a wine-red silk dress hugging her curves like liquid fire. Her makeup was bold—sharp winged liner, deep berry lips—and her eyes sparkled with something wicked.
She was no longer the girl who got dumped at a bar with her luggage at her feet.
She was the woman being booked for an exclusive performance in Notting Hill.
"I still can't believe I'm doing this," she murmured, fingers adjusting the diamond-studded clip in her silver hair.
"You're doing it, alright," said Clara, her manager-slash-best-friend from the club, who sat beside her. "And if you slay tonight, you'll be singing at every high-roller's private event from here to Monaco."
Amira smirked, but her heart thrummed. Her voice was solid, her presence magnetic, but something about tonight felt...off. Electric. As if she were walking into a room full of fire while wearing perfume made of gasoline.
They pulled up outside the mansion—a grand Georgian townhouse with flickering torches and guards in black suits. Amira stepped out like a scene from a Bond film, heels clicking, dress shimmering under the moonlight. She didn't even flinch when she entered the packed foyer where everyone turned to look at her.
Because this version of Amira didn't shrink.
She thrived.
---
Backstage was a different story.
The green room was dimly lit with a velvet chaise lounge and a mirror lined with lights. Luca appeared minutes after she arrived, dressed in an all-black suit with an unbuttoned collar and no tie. He had the kind of effortless swagger that made women turn and men feel threatened.
"You look like trouble," he said, his voice low and amused.
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
"I say that because I know what happens when I get too close to trouble."
Amira smirked, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Then keep your distance, Luca."
"Not tonight."
He stepped closer, and for a second, the tension between them could've set the wallpaper on fire.
She turned back toward the mirror, steadying her nerves. "This is your crowd, not mine."
He leaned on the vanity next to her. "That crowd doesn't care about me. But they'll remember you."
Amira looked at him, uncertain. "Why?"
"Because I'm singing with you."
Her lips parted. "What?"
"It was a last-minute call from the host. They want a duet. And I told them if they want something unforgettable, they'll get it."
She blinked, mind scrambling. She didn't rehearse a duet. She didn't even know what song.
"It's one we've both done before," Luca said, as if reading her mind. "I'll lead if you get nervous."
"I don't get nervous."
"Right." He winked. "Then let's give 'em a show they'll never forget."
---
The lights dimmed. The music began.
And Amira stepped onto the stage like it was her kingdom.
The crowd fell silent, holding their drinks in breathless suspension. She opened with the first few lines, a haunting melody that wrapped around every ear like velvet ropes. Then Luca joined her, voice low and rich, the perfect foil to her high, sultry tones.
They didn't just sing—they performed.
They fed off each other's energy. Every sway, every glance, every note layered with chemistry. He brushed her fingers on the mic stand, circled behind her, whispered harmonies in her ear. And the more they sang, the more people leaned in, mesmerized by the push and pull.
But Amira's eyes caught something in the crowd mid-song. A familiar face. Rigid jaw. Dark hair.
Noah.
He was here.
Sitting in a velvet seat near the back, dressed in a tailored grey coat, glass of whisky in hand, and a storm in his eyes.
She faltered. Only slightly.
But Luca caught it—and covered with a smooth riff that sent the room into applause.
Her heart beat louder than the piano. Noah was watching her.
Watching them.
---
Backstage after the performance was chaos—compliments, drink offers, brand representatives trying to pitch her contracts. But none of it registered.
Luca leaned close, his lips brushing her ear. "That look in your eyes back there... I know who it was."
Amira didn't reply. She simply walked away, toward the far hallway.
He followed. "You don't have to talk about it. But just so you know... I'm here. And he's too late."
She turned slowly. "What if I don't want either of you?"
He smirked. "Then we'll fight for you until you decide."
The music in the ballroom swelled.
But Amira's soul was already spiraling into something deeper, darker—and more dangerous.
Because if Noah thought he could just walk in and watch from the shadows…
He didn't know her anymore.
The dressing room was silent when Amira shut the door behind her. Her breath caught, her hands trembling slightly as they found the counter. The afterglow of the performance clung to her body like sweat, but the real heat simmered under her skin—anger, adrenaline, lust.
And confusion.
A knock.
She didn't move.
Another knock.
Then the door opened, slowly, without a word.
Noah.
She turned to face him, her heart a wild metronome in her chest.
He closed the door behind him.
His eyes roamed her body like they had a right. Like he still owned any part of her.
"You've changed," he said, voice rough, dark.
"Did you come all the way here to state the obvious?"
He stepped closer. "I came because I needed to see you. Needed to know if what I felt was real."
She laughed—cold and sharp. "After ghosting me? After embarrassing me in front of your entire world? You don't get to ask questions."
"I know I messed up—"
"No, Noah. You destroyed me. And now you show up like some damn spectator while I'm singing my heart out with someone who actually gives a damn?"
Noah's jaw clenched. "Luca isn't me."
"Exactly. He's not."
Silence stretched between them like a razor's edge.
Then suddenly—violently—Noah closed the distance between them, cupping her face, slamming his lips against hers with the kind of desperation only guilt and buried love could spark.
And God help her… she kissed him back.
For a second.
Just a second.
Then she shoved him hard.
"You don't get to touch me," she snapped, voice breathless. "You don't get to taste me like you didn't leave me broken at that bar."
His chest rose and fell, lips swollen from the kiss. "Amira…"
She slapped him.
And then…
She kissed him again.
The tension between rage and desire crashed through the room like thunder. She pushed him against the wall, her fingers in his coat, his hands gripping her waist like it was still familiar territory.
"You want to feel what you gave up?" she whispered against his lips. "Fine."
Clothes fell. Morality followed.
Noah lifted her onto the counter, her thighs wrapping around him with ease, the silk dress sliding up her legs. His mouth traveled from her collarbone to her chest, every kiss penance for what he'd done.
She arched into him, gasping when his hands roamed lower, when his lips branded their way down her stomach.
"Noah," she moaned, her fingers tangled in his hair, "don't stop."
And he didn't.
He worshipped her like a man starving. His mouth devoured every inch, tongue circling, flicking, drawing sharp cries from her throat. She grabbed the edge of the mirror for balance as wave after wave crashed through her, her voice echoing off the walls.
When she came undone, she looked at herself in the mirror—lips parted, hair wild, mascara smudged—and saw a woman reclaiming power.
Not forgiveness.
Not love.
Control.
Noah leaned up, chest rising, face flushed.
"I never stopped loving you."
Her eyes locked on his.
"You should've loved me when it mattered."
She slid off the counter, fixing her dress. "This changes nothing."
"But it could."
She turned at the door. "Don't confuse lust with redemption. I can sing the same song twice, Noah… but the lyrics won't hit the same."
Then she walked out, leaving him in a room full of memories and regret.
---
Back at the hotel, Luca was waiting in the lobby bar, sipping from a rocks glass.
Amira walked in, still glowing, still shaken.
He glanced up. Saw everything.
"You saw him, didn't you?"
She nodded.
Luca stood, brushing his palms together slowly. "So what happens now?"
She held his stare, calm and steady. "Now? We see who gets to keep me."