Chapter Twenty-Eight: Ghosts of the Past
The café on the corner of Westbridge was quiet, a far cry from the glamorous galas and press rooms Amara had been thrust into lately. She hadn't wanted to come, but when Cassandra shoved the anonymous message into her hand that morning—Meet me if you want the truth about the leak—she knew she couldn't ignore it.
She had expected a stranger. What she hadn't expected was him.
Daniel.
Her stomach dropped the second she spotted him at the back table, his smug smile unchanged. His dark eyes swept over her, lingering with an unsettling familiarity.
"Amara Blake," he drawled, leaning back in his chair. "Or should I say Mrs. Blackwood? You wear the title well."
Her voice caught, but she forced it steady. "What are you doing here, Daniel?"
He smirked. "What I've always done. Looking out for myself. And in this case, maybe reminding the world that you're not the innocent fairy-tale bride everyone thinks you are."
Her chest tightened. "You fed Marcus Hale those lies."
"Not lies," he corrected smoothly. "Details. Fragments. Enough for him to craft the story people already want to believe. A struggling waitress. A failed engagement. A lawsuit that mysteriously vanished. It writes itself."
Anger burned through her fear. "You had no right. That part of my life is over."
Daniel leaned forward, his tone soft but venomous. "That's where you're wrong. You can't bury the past, Amara. Especially not when it's crawling with secrets."
Her heart raced, but she refused to let him see her crumble. "What do you want?"
He smiled, slow and calculating. "What I've always wanted. Control. You left me humiliated, remember? Walked away like I didn't matter. Now, you'll pay the price—unless, of course, you convince your husband to make it worth my while to stay quiet."
Amara's blood ran cold. "You're blackmailing me?"
"Call it… compensation," he said with a shrug. "Ethan has the money. You have his attention. All I want is a little slice of the pie."
Before she could reply, a shadow loomed behind her.
Ethan.
He stood in the doorway, his presence filling the room, eyes locked on Daniel with a predator's calm. The café hushed as if the air itself tightened.
"Get up," Ethan said, his voice low and lethal.
Daniel's smirk faltered, but he didn't move. "Ah, the billionaire himself. I was wondering when you'd show up."
Ethan's steps were deliberate, each one a promise of violence barely restrained. He stopped at the table, leaning down just enough to meet Daniel's gaze. "If you ever speak to her again—if you so much as breathe her name—I will destroy you. And not with money. With power. You won't exist in this city again."
The words were calm, but the weight behind them left no room for doubt. Daniel's face paled, his bravado cracking.
Amara's heart pounded, torn between relief and dread. Ethan wasn't bluffing. He would tear Daniel apart if pushed.
Daniel swallowed, forcing a shaky laugh. "Fine. You win this round. But remember, Ethan—every empire falls eventually." He pushed his chair back and slipped out, leaving silence in his wake.
Ethan turned to Amara, his expression softening as his hand reached for hers. "You should've told me sooner."
Tears pricked her eyes. "I didn't want to drag you into my mess."
His grip tightened, steady and unyielding. "You're not a mess, Amara. You're mine. And no one—no one—gets to rewrite your story."
For the first time, she almost believed him.