Amara's POV
At first, Trey only looked amused. I saw it in the faint crease at the corner of his mouth, the way his eyes glittered as he held my childish drawing between his fingers. My face went crimson; every inch of me wanted to disappear under the polished floor. I had never felt so naked.
Then, as if a switch flipped, the glint vanished. His expression hardened, his jaw setting like stone.
"I don't want to remind you," he said quietly, "but since this has come out, let's get one thing straight. Don't you ever dare do something stupid like you did ten years ago. It will still end the same way, Amara."
The words hit like a blade under my ribs. In an instant, my embarrassment thickened into a sharp, hot anger. Ten years ago. He still held that against me. He still believed I was the same girl clutching a dream and chasing his shadow.
He leaned back, his voice colder now. "And I don't want my fiancée thinking I hired someone who's still obsessed with me."
That, right there, was the last straw.
I lifted my chin and finally met his gaze, forcing my voice to be steady even as my pulse pounded. "Don't flatter yourself, Mr. Alvarez. I was fifteen back then. Naive. Infatuated. I've learned the difference between a fantasy and a man. You don't have to worry." I felt my throat tighten but pushed on. "Because I would never fall for someone so conceited and arrogant as you. I would rather be with a man from the lower class who knows the value of real feelings, of real people. At least he wouldn't crush someone for sport."
The words left my mouth trembling but true. His eyes narrowed slightly, but I pressed forward before I could lose courage. "And I apologize for the younger version of myself, for following you around, for being infuriating, for thinking you were something to worship. I'm not proud of that girl. I would bury her if I could. I would bury all of those memories."
I straightened, feeling the heat of my tears sting but refusing to let them fall. "And for the record," I swallowed hard, each syllable a lifeline, "I'm happy with my boyfriend."
I pushed back my chair, keeping my head high even as my insides crumpled. Every step toward the door felt like peeling myself off a burning surface. I did not look back at him. I could not.
In that moment, I swore never again. Never another confession. Never another inch of my heart laid at his feet. I would carry my secret to the grave if I had to, because no matter how much a part of me still ached for Trey Alvarez, I would not give him the satisfaction of seeing it.
I walked out of the kitchen, spine straight, face burning, feeling like I had lost my dignity all over again. Yet somewhere deep inside, a tiny spark of pride flickered. I had spoken back. I had told him the truth. Even if my voice shook. Even if my heart still betrayed me with every beat.
I did not slow down until I reached the other wing of the house. My heels echoed like accusations against the marble floor. I needed air. I needed walls that were not carved out of Trey Alvarez's contempt.
Tessa's suite door was ajar. I pushed it open without knocking.
She was sitting cross legged on the carpet, surrounded by boxes of ribbons and table cards, her hair piled in a messy bun, a mug of tea in her hand. She looked up, blinking at me, instantly reading the storm in my face.
"What happened?" she asked, setting the mug down. "You look like you're about to set the curtains on fire."
I crossed the room in three strides. "Did you tell the staff to go through the storage rooms?"
Tessa tilted her head. "Uh, yes? I asked one of the maids to clear out the old boxes in the basement. Why?"
My hands clenched at my sides. "Because one of them just walked into breakfast and dropped a piece of my childhood on the table like a dead rat in front of your brother."
Tessa's brows shot up. "Wait. What did they find?"
"The sketch," I hissed. "The one from when I was fifteen."
Her mouth formed a small "o," and then she started laughing. Actually laughing. "Oh my God. They found that?"
"Not funny, Tessa."
She clapped a hand over her mouth, but her eyes danced. "I'm sorry, but come on, Amara. You used to draw all the time. You had a whole folder of those dreamy wedding sketches. I remember. At least you were artistic at an early age. I can't even draw a bird without it looking like a fried egg with wings."
I stared at her, my blood still humming from humiliation. "He saw it. The speech bubbles. Everything."
That sobered her for half a heartbeat, but then she giggled again. "He saw the comic bubbles?"
"Tessa," I warned, my voice sharp.
She held up her hands. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. It's just, you're acting like they found a love letter. It was a drawing. And honestly, it's kind of sweet."
Sweet. I could still see Trey's face when his amusement turned to ice. I could still hear him call me obsessed. My stomach knotted tighter. "It wasn't sweet. It was humiliating. And then—"
"What?"
I sank onto the edge of her bed, gripping a pillow like a lifeline. "I panicked. I said something I didn't mean."
Tessa's brow furrowed. "What did you say?"
"I told him I'm happy with my boyfriend."
For a second she just blinked at me. "Your boyfriend?" Then she laughed out loud, nearly spilling her tea. "Wait. You have a boyfriend and you didn't tell me?"
I buried my face in my hands. "I don't. I just said it. To have some pride left. To not look like the girl who's still in love with him."
Tessa let out a low whistle, then smirked. "Well. That's one way to stop him from thinking you're obsessed. Drop the imaginary boyfriend bomb."
"This isn't funny," I muttered.
"It's a little funny," she said, eyes twinkling. "Does he have a name, this mystery boyfriend? Should we plan a fake backstory? I can Photoshop you two together at a festival or something."
I threw the pillow at her. She ducked, laughing, then caught the edge of my sleeve and gave it a squeeze. "Look, Amara. You're not fifteen anymore. You don't owe him an explanation for who you were or what you drew. He was your first crush. Big deal. If anything, he should feel flattered."
Her light tone grated against the rawness inside me, but a tiny part of me clung to it anyway. I wanted to believe her. I wanted to be the woman who could shrug it off.
I shook my head. "Flattered? He called me obsessed. He basically told me I'm still the same stupid girl from ten years ago. And now he thinks I'm lying about some boyfriend."
Tessa's expression softened. "Hey. He's a jerk when he's cornered. Don't let him rewrite who you are now. You're here because you're good at your job, not because of a drawing from high school."
I drew in a shaky breath. "Sometimes I think he'll never see me as anything else."
"Then make him," she said with a tiny grin. "And for the record, if you do need a fake boyfriend for cover, I call dibs on casting him. We'll get someone ridiculously handsome, preferably with a motorcycle."
Despite myself, a choked laugh escaped. "You're impossible."
"Exactly," she said, handing me her mug. "Drink. Breathe. And don't ever let my brother convince you that fifteen year old Amara is the same as twenty something Amara. He's not the boss of your past."
I took a sip of her tea, letting the warmth settle in my hands, even as my heart still ached from the kitchen. The storm inside me quieted by a fraction, but one truth remained. I had just drawn another invisible line between Trey and me, and this time, I swore I would keep it.
"Please ask the maids to clear everything before your brother finds more of that stuff. I beg you," I murmured.
Tessa nodded solemnly. "Don't worry. I already told them to do that. If they find something else interesting, I'm sure they'll bring it to you."
I glared harder. She only grinned.
"You're impossible."
"You love me."
"I tolerate you."
She smirked. "And you know you're not going to fool him for long with this boyfriend story."
"Watch me," I said under my breath.
She stood, stretching her arms over her head. "Speaking of which, you know my brother wanted to meet us at seven, right? And you're still in your work clothes. I'm still in pajamas."
"You're ridiculous," I said, standing as well. "We're meeting a client, Tessa, not going to brunch."
She twirled a ribbon between her fingers. "I'm technically in my old house, and you know I always stay here with Trey now that Mom and Dad are loving life on the farm. The mansion feels so lonely. This is my nostalgia therapy."
"Therapy with flamingo pajamas," I muttered.
"Exactly. But don't worry, I'm ready to accompany you to my brother. And for the record," she added with a wicked grin, "I still can't wait until he can't resist you."
I rolled my eyes. "Stop it, Tessa. I wonder where you get these absurd ideas."
She only hummed, clearly not about to drop it.
By the time we entered the study, I had rebuilt every brick of my professional wall. The charcoal gray blouse. The neat bun. The folder of wedding plans in my arms. Armor, every piece of it. Tessa flopped into an armchair, unbothered. I stayed standing, spine straight, eyes on Trey.
He was at the long table with a sheaf of notes, wearing the kind of expression that made interns cry. He glanced up once, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face, then gestured to the empty chair opposite him.
"Sit."
I sat, setting the folder on the table. "You wanted to discuss the wedding schedule." My voice sounded cool even to my own ears.
"Yes." He flipped open a notebook. "The guest list doubled overnight. I want new seating plans, contingency tents for the garden, and a revised security detail."
"Already in motion," I said, sliding him the updated spreadsheets. "You'll have preliminary layouts by noon."
His brow ticked. "Good."
He began listing requests. Floral adjustments. Extra valet parking. An additional string quartet for the cocktail hour. Each demand landed like a test. Each time I answered with calm efficiency, refusing to flinch, my pen moving in neat strokes across my planner.
At one point, I caught him watching me, his gaze lingering on the curve of my wrist as I wrote. Once that might have made my heart stutter. Now I kept my eyes on the page.
When he finally closed the notebook, the sound was deliberate, a quiet finality that made the silence heavier. He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as though he were settling into a courtroom, ready to interrogate me.
"I was expecting you to fall apart after this morning," he said, his tone smooth, edged with that detached authority I had come to both dread and crave.
I refused to flinch. My spine straightened, and I met his gaze levelly. "I'm here to work, Mr. Alvarez. Not to reminisce about my teenage sketches."
For a heartbeat, something flickered across his face, too quick for me to catch fully. Surprise. Amusement. Or maybe, just maybe, the smallest crack of respect. Then his mouth curved, though it was not quite a smile. It was sharper, cooler, the kind that warned rather than welcomed.
"Let's see how long you can keep that up," he murmured.
My fingers tightened around the folder at my side, but my voice stayed even. "You'll see it through the entire wedding." The words came out crisp, polite, clipped. A statement, not a plea. Still, my pulse thundered so loudly I thought he might hear it.
I rose to my feet, smoothing the front of my skirt as if that could iron out the chaos building inside me. His eyes followed the movement, unhurried, weighted, and I knew he was measuring me. The maid's daughter turned planner. The girl who once scribbled fairy tales in a notebook and dared to cast him as her prince.
The air seemed to tighten as I walked toward the door, each step echoing louder than the last in the cavernous room. I did not look back. I could not. But I did not need to. I felt the weight of his gaze burn into my back, heavy as a brand.
And yet, beneath the sharp edge of his challenge, beneath the unspoken reminder of who truly owned this house and this narrative, something stirred inside me. For the first time since stepping back into this mansion, I felt it. The glimmer of my own power. The steady pulse of defiance. The taste of standing my ground against a man who had once dismissed me like a child.
It was not victory.
Not yet.
But it was something.