Chapter Twenty-One: Behind the Masks
The villa was quiet when they returned from the gala, a silence that felt strange after the chaos of flashing lights and relentless questions.
Amara kicked off her heels the moment the door shut, sighing in relief. "I don't think I'll ever get used to that."
Ethan loosened his tie with practiced ease, but his jaw was still tense. "You did well tonight. Better than I expected."
Her brows lifted. "Better than you expected? Thanks for the glowing review."
The corner of his mouth twitched, but his eyes softened. "I mean it. You were steady. Graceful. They didn't see a crack."
Amara shrugged, though warmth bloomed in her chest at the rare compliment. "Maybe I just learned from the best."
Ethan's gaze lingered on her a moment too long, and the air thickened between them. He looked away first, pouring himself a glass of water. "The cameras saw what they wanted to see. That's all that matters."
She folded her arms, studying him. "And what about what's real?"
His hand stilled on the glass. For a heartbeat, silence stretched between them. Finally, he looked at her, his eyes shadowed. "What's real is dangerous."
The words landed heavy, reminding her of the balcony, of the kiss, of the way his walls crumbled when he let her in.
"Maybe dangerous isn't always bad," she said softly.
Ethan's throat worked, but he said nothing. Instead, he moved past her, heading for the study. Amara hesitated, then followed.
The room was dimly lit, lined with shelves of books and scripts. Ethan stood by the window, his reflection fractured in the glass. He didn't turn when she entered.
"You think this is easy for me?" he asked quietly. "Letting you close? Every time I do, I see the fire, the headlines, the way they took her from me." His voice broke slightly. "I can't lose again, Amara."
Her chest ached. She crossed the room slowly, standing just behind him. "I'm not her, Ethan. I'm not here to replace her. I'm here because, for some reason, you asked me to be. And whether you like it or not, I'm not going anywhere."
He finally turned, his eyes locking on hers. For once, there was no mask—just raw pain and something deeper, unspoken.
Before she could second-guess it, Amara reached for his hand. His fingers curled around hers instantly, as if they'd been waiting for her touch.
"I don't want to hurt you," he said hoarsely.
"Then don't," she whispered.
The silence between them shifted, heavier now, charged with something neither of them could deny. Ethan's hand slid to her cheek, his thumb brushing her skin like a promise he was afraid to make.
This time, when he kissed her, it wasn't fierce like the storm—it was slow, searching, tender. A question instead of an answer.
Amara melted into him, her hands gripping his shirt as if anchoring herself to the moment. For once, there were no cameras, no contracts, no ghosts—just two people breaking rules neither wanted to keep anymore.
When they finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against hers. His voice was a whisper in the dim room. "This feels like the beginning of something I can't control."
Her heart raced, but her answer came steady. "Maybe that's exactly what you need."
For the first time, Ethan didn't argue. He just held her, as if letting her in was the most terrifying and necessary thing he'd ever done.