Chapter Thirty: The Interview
The studio lights were blinding, their heat prickling against Amara's skin as she sat beside Ethan on the velvet couch. Across from them, the host—famous for her no-nonsense interviews—shuffled a stack of cards with the faintest glimmer of curiosity in her eyes.
Every camera in the room was pointed at them. Every lens was waiting for cracks to appear.
Amara's fingers twisted nervously in her lap until Ethan's hand found hers. His grip was steady, grounding, as though reminding her silently: We're in this together.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the host began, her voice smooth, "today we welcome Ethan Blackwood and his new bride, Amara. A whirlwind romance, a surprise wedding, and now… rumors swirling about whether this marriage is real or just Hollywood smoke and mirrors."
The audience chuckled softly, leaning in. Amara's pulse thundered in her ears.
The host turned directly to her. "Amara, let's start with you. A year ago, you were working as a waitress. Now, you're married to one of the most famous men in the world. How does that feel?"
Amara swallowed, forcing a small smile. "Overwhelming," she admitted. "But also… grounding. Fame doesn't change the way Ethan looks at me when no one else is watching. That's what matters."
The audience murmured, charmed. Ethan's thumb brushed over her knuckles—a subtle, protective gesture.
The host arched a brow. "But what about the accusations? That this marriage was orchestrated to save Ethan's career?"
Amara froze. The words were a blade she'd been bracing for.
But before she could answer, Ethan leaned forward, his voice calm but sharp as steel. "Let me make something clear. My career doesn't need saving. And if it did, I wouldn't drag the woman I love into a lie to do it."
His tone left no room for argument.
The host tilted her head. "You're saying this is love?"
Ethan didn't hesitate. He turned to Amara, his gaze locking onto hers with such raw intensity that the studio seemed to disappear. "Yes. I married Amara because she makes me want to be more than a headline. Because when I'm with her, I remember who I am—not the billionaire, not the movie star. Just a man. A man who would do anything to keep her safe."
Amara's chest tightened, her breath catching as warmth surged through her. For a moment, she forgot this was supposed to be strategic. Every word felt too real. Too vulnerable.
The audience erupted in soft applause, the host herself momentarily disarmed.
"And Amara," she pressed, leaning forward, "do you feel the same? Is Ethan Blackwood your great love?"
The world seemed to hold its breath.
Amara could have lied easily. She could have smiled and played the part. But when she looked at Ethan—at the sincerity blazing in his eyes—something inside her cracked open.
"Yes," she whispered, her voice trembling but true. "He is."
The words weren't part of the plan. They weren't rehearsed. But as they hung in the air, Amara knew they had shifted everything.
The host smiled knowingly, closing her cards. "Well, I think our viewers will have plenty to talk about after tonight."
The cameras dimmed. The applause faded. But Ethan's hand remained on hers, steady and warm.
When they finally stepped backstage, Amara turned to him, her heart pounding. "Why did you say all that?"
His lips curved into a small, unguarded smile. "Because for once, Amara, I didn't want to act."
Her world tilted—and for the first time, she wasn't sure if she was still playing a role either.
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