AMARA'S POV
The morning light was soft—too soft for how hard my heart was beating.
Something warm pressed against my back, steady and alive. My breath caught before I even opened my eyes.
It took me one second to realize where I was.
And another to realize who was behind me.
Alexander.
His arm was draped loosely around my waist, his breath brushing the back of my neck in slow, calm waves. The steady rhythm of it felt wrong. Too peaceful for him. Too intimate for us.
I stayed perfectly still, afraid that any movement would make the moment real. His body heat seeped through the thin fabric of my nightdress, and my pulse stumbled, caught between panic and… something else. Something I didn't want to name.
I turned slowly, just enough to see his face. His lashes were long, his features relaxed. No cold smirk. No icy stare. Just him — quiet, human, and unfairly beautiful in sleep.
I'd never seen him this way before.
Never seen the storm calm.
Something fluttered deep in my stomach. I wanted to hate it. To look away. But my gaze stayed.
My fingers moved before my mind caught up — brushing over his cheek, tracing the faint stubble along his jaw. Warm. Real. Mine for this one stolen second.
God, what was wrong with me?
He looked… softer like this. Almost gentle. And that tiny thought was enough to mess with my heartbeat completely.
Why can't you stay like this when you're awake?
Why do you only look kind when you're dreaming?
My thumb brushed the edge of his bottom lip, and the memory hit — that night, the kiss, the loss of control. My chest tightened.
Before I could pull away, his voice — low, rough, and still heavy with sleep — rumbled near my ear.
"Enjoying the view, Mrs. Voss?"
I froze. Every cell in my body went still.
His eyes were open now — ocean blue, sharp even in the morning haze.
"You—" My voice cracked. "You were holding me."
He hummed, a sound between amusement and arrogance. "You didn't seem to mind."
I scrambled for words. "I didn't realize—"
"You were touching my face, Amara." His voice dropped, deep and teasing.
My face went hot. "I—You were—You started it."
He smirked faintly. "Did I?"
"Move," I said, trying to sound composed, failing miserably.
"Am I making you uncomfortable?" he asked, voice lazy.
"Yes," I lied.
"Liar."
The word hung between us, soft but sharp, like he could see straight through me. I turned around quickly, but that only made things worse — because now his face was right there, close enough for me to feel his breath fan across my lips.
"Get off the bed," I said, but it came out too soft.
He raised a brow. "You seemed fine sharing it last night."
"I didn't have a choice."
He smirked. "You had one. You just didn't use it."
"Because I didn't want to argue," I shot back.
"Strange," he murmured, eyes flicking to my lips, "arguing with me is your favorite thing."
My heart raced. "You're impossible."
"And you," he said, his gaze softening for a fleeting second, "never know when to stop looking at me like that."
"Like what?" I demanded.
He didn't answer. He didn't need to. His silence said everything.
Then he did something that froze me completely.
He chuckled.
Not the sarcastic, dry sound I'd grown used to — but a real, low laugh. Warm. Unrestrained. Human.
And for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
I stared at him, wide-eyed. "Did you just—laugh?"
He looked at me, still smiling faintly. "Don't act like it's a miracle."
"But it is," I blurted. "You don't laugh."
His smirk widened, that rare light still flickering in his eyes. "Maybe you're funnier than you think."
My chest tightened in ways I couldn't explain. It was ridiculous, really — one laugh, and suddenly the monster I'd built in my head didn't feel so untouchable anymore.
He looked almost… alive.
I forced my gaze away. "You should get ready," I mumbled. "We have a meeting in an hour."
"Yes, Mrs. Voss." His voice was soft this time, mocking but not cruel. "Wouldn't want to keep the world waiting."
I rolled my eyes and stood, grabbing my robe. But as I walked toward the bathroom, I could feel him watching me. The weight of his gaze followed every movement, every breath.
"Stop staring," I said without turning around.
"Then stop walking like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you're enjoying being stared at."
I spun around. "You—"
He was smirking again, but there was something different now. Not arrogance. Something quieter. Maybe curiosity. Maybe confusion.
"You're unbelievable," I said.
"Maybe," he replied. "But you keep finding reasons to look back."
I hated that he was right.
I hated that part of me wanted to look back.
Inside the bathroom, I shut the door and leaned against it, breathing hard. My reflection stared back at me — flushed cheeks, wild eyes, and a smile I shouldn't be wearing.
"What's wrong with you, Amara?" I whispered. "You can't melt for a laugh."
But deep down, I knew it wasn't just the laugh.
It was the way he looked at me — not with hate, not with control — but with something dangerously close to warmth.
And I wasn't sure which scared me more —
that it might have meant nothing to him…
or that it might have meant everything to me.