Sofia placed a hand on her arm. "Whatever happens, you're not alone. You've got me."
Amara smiled faintly, though the weight in her chest didn't lift. She excused herself soon after and slipped into her bedroom. As she peeled off her dress and hung it carefully in the garment bag, her reflection in the mirror caught her eye. She barely recognized the woman staring back—her lips slightly swollen from nervous chewing, her eyes wide with a mix of exhaustion and something else she didn't want to name.
Sleep was elusive. Every time she closed her eyes, the flashes returned, the sound of reporters calling her name. And through it all, Adrian's voice: Stay close. Don't let them see fear.
By the time dawn painted her curtains gray, she was already up, showered, and dressed for work. She chose a navy blouse and modest skirt, something professional, something that said I belong here. But her hands trembled as she poured her coffee, and her stomach rejected every bite of toast.
The walk into Kane Global felt longer than usual. From the moment she stepped through the revolving doors, she felt the weight of a hundred eyes. Conversations hushed as she passed. Some looked at her with curiosity, others with sharp judgment, and a few with thinly veiled envy.
She forced herself not to shrink. Her heels clicked against the marble floor with a steadiness she didn't feel. When she reached her desk, Claudia was already waiting, arms folded, her expression unreadable.
"You've caused quite the spectacle," Claudia said crisply.
"I didn't mean to," Amara answered, keeping her voice even.
"Intentional or not, you're in the spotlight now. That makes you vulnerable. And in this building, vulnerability is dangerous." Claudia's gaze softened, just barely. "Hold your head high. Don't give them the satisfaction."
Amara nodded, grateful for the advice, though her pulse still raced.
The frosted glass doors to Adrian's office opened then, and every head in the room seemed to turn. Adrian stood framed in the doorway, dressed in a dark suit that commanded attention effortlessly. His gaze swept the office before landing on her.
"Miss Reyes. Inside."
The eyes that followed her burned hotter than the morning sun as she rose and crossed the room. When the doors shut behind her, silence fell like a heavy curtain.
On his desk lay a stack of newspapers and glossy magazines, each splashed with their photograph. The image was damning: his hand at her back, her lips parted as if whispering something to him. To the world, it screamed intimacy.
Amara's stomach twisted.
Adrian didn't sit. He stood behind his desk, hands braced on its polished surface. His gaze was sharp, unreadable. "Do you understand the implications?"
"That people think we're… involved," she said softly.
"Exactly. And they won't stop there. They'll dig into your past, hunt for anything they can twist, and they'll use it against me."
Her throat went dry. "Me? But I'm no one."
His jaw flexed. "Not anymore. You're someone because they've seen you with me. And that makes you a target."
The words landed heavy. She wanted to argue, to tell him it wasn't fair, but deep down she knew he was right.
"What do I do?" she asked finally.
"Say nothing. To anyone. Silence is your shield." His voice softened slightly. "Don't let them see fear, Miss Reyes. They'll devour it."
She nodded, though the knot in her stomach didn't ease.
Adrian's gaze lingered on her a moment longer before he straightened. "That will be all."
She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her. "Amara."
It was the first time he had spoken her name without formality. She froze, her hand on the door handle.
"Don't let this destroy you," he said quietly.
The words followed her out of the office, haunting her for the rest of the day.
By evening, the office had emptied, but Adrian's light was still on. Amara hesitated at her desk, then gathered her courage and knocked softly.
"Come in," his voice called.
He was at his desk, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened. He looked tired but still impossibly composed, as though exhaustion only sharpened his edges.
"Why are you still here?" he asked without looking up.
"Why are you?" she countered, surprising herself.
His lips twitched, the faintest ghost of a smile. He set down his pen and leaned back in his chair. "Touché. Sit."
She did, smoothing her skirt over her knees. Silence stretched between them, filled with the low hum of the city beyond the windows.
Finally, she said, "Why do you never stop working?"
His gaze lifted to the skyline, faraway. "Because when I stop, I remember. And there are things I'd rather forget."
Her heart clenched at the rawness in his tone. She wanted to reach across the desk, to bridge the distance, but she held back. "You don't have to carry everything alone."
His eyes snapped to hers, sharp and intense. "Don't try to fix me, Miss Reyes. You'll only break yourself."
The warning should have scared her. Instead, it pulled her closer. She reached out before she could think better of it, her fingers brushing the back of his hand.
The air between them shifted instantly, charged with something dangerous. Adrian's eyes darkened, his jaw tightening. Slowly, deliberately, he covered her hand with his, his thumb grazing her skin.
"You don't know what you're doing," he murmured, his voice rough.
"Maybe I do," she whispered back, though her pulse thundered in her ears.
He rose suddenly, circling the desk, his movements controlled but urgent. When he stopped before her, the world seemed to narrow to the space between them. His hand lifted, cupping her cheek, his touch warm and firm. For a heartbeat he hesitated, his eyes searching hers, as if fighting some invisible war.
Then his mouth crashed onto hers.
The kiss was fierce, consuming, the culmination of everything unsaid between them. Her fingers fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, her body melting against his. His hand slid to the back of her neck, holding her as though he couldn't bear to let go.
Time dissolved. There was only the heat of his lips, the scent of him, the undeniable pull that made her forget who she was, who he was, and what this meant.
When he finally tore himself away, his chest heaved, his eyes stormy with conflict. "This is a mistake," he rasped. "It can't happen again."
Amara's lips tingled, her body trembling, her heart racing so fast she thought it might burst. She wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, but the words caught in her throat. Because she knew, just as surely as he did, that it would happen again. And neither of them would be able to stop it.