Chapter Fifteen: The Ghost in the Headlines
For two days after the confrontation in the hidden room, Amara and Ethan moved around each other like strangers. His walls were higher than ever, his voice clipped whenever he spoke. She told herself she didn't care—but her heart refused to listen.
Then the whispers began.
It started with a notification on her phone:
"Knight's Mysterious Wife Found in His Forbidden Wing—Who's the Woman in the Photos?"
Amara's blood ran cold. She hadn't told anyone. No one had seen her slip into that room. Yet somehow, the press knew.
When she showed Ethan the headline, his expression darkened like a storm. He snatched the phone from her, his eyes scanning the words before he cursed under his breath.
"They're digging again," he muttered. "Someone fed them this."
"Fed them what?" Amara demanded, her voice trembling. "That you had someone before me? That you were engaged?"
His jaw tightened, the muscle ticking. "This is exactly why I told you not to look. They'll twist it into something ugly. They always do."
By evening, the whispers had turned into roars. News outlets ran grainy photos of Ethan with the mystery woman from his past, pairing them with cruel speculation. "Abandoned fiancée." "Tragedy cover-up." "Is Amara just a rebound bride?"
Amara's chest ached as she scrolled through the relentless headlines. It wasn't just gossip anymore—it was war.
When Miranda stormed into the villa, her heels clicking like gunshots, she didn't waste time. "We can't contain this. The past is out. They'll want answers."
"There are no answers," Ethan snapped, pacing the room like a caged predator. "They'll never get them from me."
Miranda folded her arms. "Then they'll get them from her." She tilted her chin toward Amara.
Amara's breath caught. "Me?"
Miranda's gaze was sharp. "The world thinks you're the replacement. The rebound. If you want to silence them, you'll have to prove otherwise—publicly, convincingly."
Ethan's eyes cut to hers, blazing. "No. She doesn't owe them anything."
Miranda arched a brow. "She owes herself, Ethan. Unless you want the narrative to crush her."
The room fell silent. Amara could feel the weight of both their gazes, her pulse racing. She wanted to scream that it wasn't fair—that she hadn't signed up to drown in his secrets. But deep down, she knew Miranda was right.
That night, alone in her room, Amara stared at her reflection. The tabloids painted her as an imposter, a stand-in for a love story that had ended in ashes. And maybe, just maybe, she was.
But another voice whispered inside her: You're more than that. You're not a shadow. You're not second place.
When Ethan knocked softly at her door hours later, she almost didn't answer. But something in his voice made her pull it open.
"They won't stop," he said quietly, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. "And the truth… the truth isn't something I can give them."
Amara held his gaze, her heart pounding. "Then let me."
His brows drew together, as if the idea itself pained him. "You'd walk into the fire for me?"
Her throat tightened, but her answer came steady. "I already did, the moment I said yes to this contract."
For the first time in days, his mask slipped. Something raw flickered in his eyes—fear, longing, maybe even regret.
But before he could speak, her phone buzzed again. Another headline. Another leak. Another ghost clawing its way into the present.
And Amara knew—this was only the beginning.