Cole had been a part of Lucas's life for as long as he could remember.
They'd grown up in the same neighborhood both born into wealth, both raised by families who believed reputation meant everything. Their parents had been business partners for years, and when they realized how well their children got along, they started planting the idea of a future together.
By the time Lucas finished secondary school, everyone already called Cole his "future wife."
It wasn't a love story born out of passion but out of convenience the kind of bond that looked perfect from the outside but felt heavy to live inside. Still, Lucas was a man who believed in responsibility and honor. Once he gave his word, he stood by it.
And when Cole officially became his girlfriend, he made sure she lacked nothing. He bought her the finest clothes, the newest phones, and took her to the most expensive restaurants in Manhattan. Cole loved the attention she was used to getting what she wanted, and Lucas was too noble to deny her.
Days turned into weeks, and Amara found herself stepping deeper into their world.
After Lucas offered her the job to handle his and Cole's laundry personally, she started visiting his mansion a grand estate that sat at the edge of the city like a castle pulled out of a dream.
The first time she saw it, she froze
Tall iron gates with golden crests, a long marble driveway lined with trimmed palm trees, and the house itself three stories high, white walls glinting beneath the morning sun. The windows were tall and elegant, and the front door alone looked like something worth more than her entire shop.
Inside, everything was silent, expensive, and cold.
Crystal chandeliers hung from high ceilings. The floor was marble polished enough to see her reflection. Each corner whispered luxury from the grand staircase that curved like silk to the art pieces that probably cost more than her yearly rent.
And the cars God, the cars.
A sleek Maybach parked beside a black SUV, two sports cars gleaming near the fountain. Everything smelled of money, of perfection, of a life she didn't belong to.
Sometimes, as she folded his shirts in the private laundry room, she'd hear Cole's laughter echoing from the living room soft, rehearsed, the kind of laugh that belonged to someone who'd never had to worry about anything.
Amara would smile politely whenever Cole passed by, always careful to look small, invisible, professional. She wasn't one to dream too far beyond her reach, yet she couldn't deny that something about Lucas intrigued her the way he carried himself, gentle but firm, with eyes that looked like they'd seen too much responsibility and not enough joy.
Weeks rolled by, and she continued to play her role.
Every morning, she arrived with freshly pressed clothes, greeted the house staff, and left quietly after finishing her work. Lucas would nod in approval each time, sometimes thanking her with a brief smile the kind that could warm her entire day.
Her little shop still ran back in Brooklyn.
When she wasn't at the mansion, she was back at Sparkle Cleaners, taking orders, folding clothes, answering calls. The extra cash from Lucas helped her mom's medications were covered, and Nina's tuition was safe for another semester.
The afternoon air inside the mansion was tense.
Amara had come to pick up the week's laundry, as usual. She was sorting through a basket of shirts near the hallway when she heard raised voices echoing from upstairs.
Cole's voice. Sharp. Angry
"Lucas, I said I don't feel like going tonight! Must everything always be about what you want?"
Lucas's tone was calm at first. "Cole, it's not about what I want. It's a dinner with my father's business partners. It's important for both our families.
"Oh, please," she snapped. "Even if I don't go, it doesn't mean I don't value what we have! Don't twist everything into some test of loyalty."
There was a pause long, heavy and then the sound of a door slamming shook the silence.
Amara flinched, clutching the shirt in her hand. She quickly lowered her head as footsteps echoed down the stairs.
Lucas appeared moments later, his expression hard and unreadable, his jaw clenched. He was still in his white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, looking every bit the perfect man the magazines loved to write about except now, his eyes carried frustration instead of charm.
He walked past her without a word, but then stopped. "Sorry," he said quietly. "Didn't mean to startle you."
Amara shook her head. "You didn't."
He looked at her for a moment longer, then exhaled and motioned toward the backyard. "I need some air. Come with me I'll show you where the rest of the laundry is kept."
It wasn't really about the laundry. He just didn't want to be alone.
Outside, the sun had started to set, brushing the sky with orange and pink. The garden was enormous trimmed hedges, a fountain, and roses lined up in perfect symmetry. Amara followed him, her blonde hair catching bits of sunlight, soft curls bouncing as she walked.
Lucas noticed though he tried not to.
"So," he said finally, breaking the silence, "how's business at your shop?"
She smiled shyly. "Still standing, I guess. Some days are good, some not so much."
"That's life," he murmured. "You fight, you fix, and you move on."
She nodded. "That's what I tell myself too."
For the first time since she met him, he smiled genuinely. The kind of smile that softened everything about him. They talked a little longer about small things, random things. The weather. The noise in Brooklyn. The best coffee she'd ever had.
And somewhere in between, Lucas laughed a real, unguarded laugh that surprised even him. For a moment, he forgot all about the argument upstairs, the expectations, the tension that always came with being Lucas
Amara felt it too a strange warmth in her chest, the kind that made her want to look away but couldn't. She wasn't used to being the reason someone like him smiled.
When their eyes met, the world seemed to pause for a heartbeat. Then Amara quickly looked down, cheeks flushed.
"I should, um… finish the laundry," she said softly.
He nodded, still smiling faintly. "Yeah… sure."
As she walked back toward the house, Lucas watched her the quiet grace in her steps, the golden hair glowing under the fading sunlight.
Cole had been a part of Lucas's life for as long as he could remember.
They'd grown up in the same neighborhood both born into wealth, both raised by families who believed reputation meant everything. Their parents had been business partners for years, and when they realized how well their children got along, they started planting the idea of a future together.
By the time Lucas finished secondary school, everyone already called Cole his "future wife."
It wasn't a love story born out of passion but out of convenience the kind of bond that looked perfect from the outside but felt heavy to live inside. Still, Lucas was a man who believed in responsibility and honor. Once he gave his word, he stood by it.
And when Cole officially became his girlfriend, he made sure she lacked nothing. He bought her the finest clothes, the newest phones, and took her to the most expensive restaurants in Manhattan. Cole loved the attention she was used to getting what she wanted, and Lucas was too noble to deny her.
Days turned into weeks, and Amara found herself stepping deeper into their world.
After Lucas offered her the job to handle his and Cole's laundry personally, she started visiting his mansion a grand estate that sat at the edge of the city like a castle pulled out of a dream.
The first time she saw it, she froze
Tall iron gates with golden crests, a long marble driveway lined with trimmed palm trees, and the house itself three stories high, white walls glinting beneath the morning sun. The windows were tall and elegant, and the front door alone looked like something worth more than her entire shop.
Inside, everything was silent, expensive, and cold.
Crystal chandeliers hung from high ceilings. The floor was marble polished enough to see her reflection. Each corner whispered luxury from the grand staircase that curved like silk to the art pieces that probably cost more than her yearly rent.
And the cars God, the cars.
A sleek Maybach parked beside a black SUV, two sports cars gleaming near the fountain. Everything smelled of money, of perfection, of a life she didn't belong to.
Sometimes, as she folded his shirts in the private laundry room, she'd hear Cole's laughter echoing from the living room soft, rehearsed, the kind of laugh that belonged to someone who'd never had to worry about anything.
Amara would smile politely whenever Cole passed by, always careful to look small, invisible, professional. She wasn't one to dream too far beyond her reach, yet she couldn't deny that something about Lucas intrigued her the way he carried himself, gentle but firm, with eyes that looked like they'd seen too much responsibility and not enough joy.
Weeks rolled by, and she continued to play her role.
Every morning, she arrived with freshly pressed clothes, greeted the house staff, and left quietly after finishing her work. Lucas would nod in approval each time, sometimes thanking her with a brief smile the kind that could warm her entire day.
Her little shop still ran back in Brooklyn.
When she wasn't at the mansion, she was back at Sparkle Cleaners, taking orders, folding clothes, answering calls. The extra cash from Lucas helped her mom's medications were covered, and Nina's tuition was safe for another semester.
The afternoon air inside the mansion was tense.
Amara had come to pick up the week's laundry, as usual. She was sorting through a basket of shirts near the hallway when she heard raised voices echoing from upstairs.
Cole's voice. Sharp. Angry
"Lucas, I said I don't feel like going tonight! Must everything always be about what you want?"
Lucas's tone was calm at first. "Cole, it's not about what I want. It's a dinner with my father's business partners. It's important for both our families.
"Oh, please," she snapped. "Even if I don't go, it doesn't mean I don't value what we have! Don't twist everything into some test of loyalty."
There was a pause long, heavy and then the sound of a door slamming shook the silence.
Amara flinched, clutching the shirt in her hand. She quickly lowered her head as footsteps echoed down the stairs.
Lucas appeared moments later, his expression hard and unreadable, his jaw clenched. He was still in his white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, looking every bit the perfect man the magazines loved to write about except now, his eyes carried frustration instead of charm.
He walked past her without a word, but then stopped. "Sorry," he said quietly. "Didn't mean to startle you."
Amara shook her head. "You didn't."
He looked at her for a moment longer, then exhaled and motioned toward the backyard. "I need some air. Come with me I'll show you where the rest of the laundry is kept."
It wasn't really about the laundry. He just didn't want to be alone.
Outside, the sun had started to set, brushing the sky with orange and pink. The garden was enormous trimmed hedges, a fountain, and roses lined up in perfect symmetry. Amara followed him, her blonde hair catching bits of sunlight, soft curls bouncing as she walked.
Lucas noticed though he tried not to.
"So," he said finally, breaking the silence, "how's business at your shop?"
She smiled shyly. "Still standing, I guess. Some days are good, some not so much."
"That's life," he murmured. "You fight, you fix, and you move on."
She nodded. "That's what I tell myself too."
For the first time since she met him, he smiled genuinely. The kind of smile that softened everything about him. They talked a little longer about small things, random things. The weather. The noise in Brooklyn. The best coffee she'd ever had.
And somewhere in between, Lucas laughed a real, unguarded laugh that surprised even him. For a moment, he forgot all about the argument upstairs, the expectations, the tension that always came with being Lucas
Amara felt it too a strange warmth in her chest, the kind that made her want to look away but couldn't. She wasn't used to being the reason someone like him smiled.
When their eyes met, the world seemed to pause for a heartbeat. Then Amara quickly looked down, cheeks flushed.
"I should, um… finish the laundry," she said softly.
He nodded, still smiling faintly. "Yeah… sure."
As she walked back toward the house, Lucas watched her the quiet grace in her steps, the golden hair glowing under the fading sunlight.