The television droned softly across the room.
"Three days after her first public appearance since the accident, Amara Wren was seen beside her boyfriend at the signing ceremony that secured Hale Industries' continued funding. Sources close to the family say she's recovering remarkably well—"
Lena muted the screen.Her reflection shimmered faintly in the black glass. Her dark hair had now been trimmed to model Amara's precise shoulder-length cut. It was almost uncanny that she bore almost the same facial features as Amara and if she could turn back time to a month ago she wouldn't believe it. The first time she had met Amara, they spent close to five minutes staring at each other without saying a word.
"Word got out to me that I had a look alike and I almost couldn't believe it myself"
"Was that why you requested my services?"
"It was why I could trust you with this particular portrait." Amara said reclusively.
"Your'e a talented artist Lena. Is it okay if I called you Lena or Miss Rowan?--"
"Lena is fine."
A soft knock was heard at the door and without waiting for a response,it creaked open to reveal Margo the head housekeeper. "Good, you're awake. Breakfast is in the sunroom. Mr. Hale's waiting."
"Waiting?" Lena's tone betrayed a hint of surprise. Why would he be waiting for her?
Margo smiled faintly. "He prefers punctuality."
Lena forced a smile. "Thank you, Margo."
The sunroom was an expanse of white marble and glass, framed by rose vines. Damon sat at the far end of the table, reading something on his phone. The morning light caught the sharp edge of his jaw, making the silver watch on his wrist glint like ice.
"Good morning," Lena said, forcing evenness into her voice as she sat opposite.
He looked up briefly. "Morning."
A maid poured her coffee, and another set down a plate of fruit she wouldn't eat.
"I saw the news," she said after a pause. "Apparently I'm recovering well."
His eyes lifted again. "You handled the event better than expected."
"That almost sounds like a compliment."
"Don't get used to it."
The corner of her mouth twitched. "I wasn't planning to."
One of the maids spilled a little water as she refilled Damon's glass and the silence that followed made her flush crimson.
"Leave it," Damon said quietly. She bobbed a quick bow and hurried off. When the room emptied again, Lena stirred her coffee just to give her hands something to do. "They're afraid of you," she said softly.
He didn't look up from his phone. "As they should be. They work for me after all"
"Is that how you view it?"
"That's how it should be viewed, Miss Rowan. And you should learn that if you want them to believe you're her."
Something in the way he said her made Lena's chest tighten.
"I have to put on a show for them too?"
"It helps you not to forget your role" he said with a tone of indifference.
She stared at him while he ate, her cheeks burning up in anger and frustration. She never wanted anything from this man but the barest minimum of decency to treat her like a person and not some actor was all she really needed especially in uncharted territory such as this.
"Your meal is still untouched" he pointed out dusting the sides of his mouth with a napkin.
"I lost my appetite."
He pushed back his chair, standing. "I suggest you eat as we start training in an hour. PR wants you ready for the gala next week."
"Another event?"
"This one is extra important to me, Miss Rowan. It is one of Amara's favourite activities so I want you to give it your all."
—-
The training took place in one of the glass corridors that overlooked the gardens. A woman named Ruth stood before Lena like a drill sergeant in heels.
"Posture," Ruth said, tapping Lena's shoulder. "Head high, chin level. You're not apologizing for breathing."
Lena adjusted. Dancing had never been her strong suit, especially one that required etiquette. She had two left feet and there was no helping her no matter how hard Ruth blared into her ears. Damon's intense stare from across the room wasn't doing much good either.
"Walk."
She obeyed, heels clicking against marble.
"Again,"Damon said with his arms crossed. "Slower this time."
Ruth sighed. "She's trying, Mr. Hale.
He sighed irritably. "It's her shoulders. She's always so tense." He featured with his hands. "She needs to loosen them up."
She looked at Lena signaling her to heed to Damon's advice but it seemed to make everything worse.
"Posture, chérie," Ruth murmured, tapping Lena's spine lightly with a baton. "A waltz is not only about movement it is about breathing in the same rhythm as the room."
Lena tried to follow her lead, keeping her back straight and her chin up. "Your shoulders would loosen but it would take some time. You are not used to this life which is understandable." Lena nodded, grateful someone could understand her as she struggled to catch her breath.
Ruth turned toward Damon suddenly. "Monsieur Hale, you are watching as if this is theater. Come."
His brow lifted. "Come?"
"Yes." Her baton pointed sharply at him. "She cannot learn to waltz alone. Chemistry must be tested."
Lena blinked. "That's really not—"
"Necessary?" Ruth's dark eyes glinted. "Ah, but it is.The public must see devotion. Even a small distance will be seen. Touch matters."
Damon's jaw tightened, but he pushed off the piano and crossed to Lena without a word. The sound of his shoes echoed against the marble floor.
"Relax, mademoiselle," Ruth said, moving between them. "This is not war. It is dance."
Lena exhaled shakily as Damon extended his hand.She placed hers uncertainly.
"Left hand on his shoulder," Ruth instructed. "Good. Now—follow."
The music swelled, soft strings carrying a faint ache. Damon led.The first turn was chaotic as she stepped on his shoe, murmuring a quick, "Sorry."
He didn't flinch. "Watch my chest, not my feet," he said quietly. "You'll follow better that way."
"I was born with two left feet."
"I can tell."
She almost smiled, but the rhythm forced her focus back. His hand pressed gently against her back, putting just enough amount of pressure to make her move with him.
Ruth clapped once."Better! Now you feel it, oui? A waltz lives only when two hearts pretend they have known each other forever."
Lena's breath caught at the phrasing while her eyes met with Damon's
"I'm not pretending that well," she murmured.
His lips curved faintly. "There's an improvement."
The second turn was smoother; her body began to anticipate his.The distance between them shrank until she could feel the warmth of his breath against her temple.Ruth paced around them, humming. "Do you feel this, ma chère? This… current between you? It is what the camera will see before it hears a word. A waltz without chemistry is like a lie without conviction."
"Then I suppose I should learn to lie better." Lena heard herself say.
"You already have." Damon answered.
She looked up sharply, but he wasn't smiling now. His gaze held hers for a heartbeat too long before he broke the step, releasing her hand.
Ruth sighed. "Non, non, non… You stop too early! They always stop when it begins to work!"
"I think that's enough for today," Damon said,backing away.
Ruth rolled her eyes skyward. "Mon Dieu, you two have the chemistry of thunder and lightning. Beautiful—if only it did not frighten the house."
Lena caught her breath, looking anywhere but him. "Thank you, Ruth," she said softly.
"Tomorrow we dance again!," Ruth replied, already gathering her notes. "And next time, you will not look like you wish to flee when he touches you, d'accord?"
When the door closed behind the woman, silence which could be cut with a knife engulfed the room again.
"Ruth is a good teacher, non?" She said trying to stir up conversation but he left without uttering a word.
---
That night, she couldn't sleep.
The mansion was too silent. Like it had let out it's final exhale it had been holding back all day. She wandered into the hallway, barefoot, wrapped in one of the soft robes Margo had laid out for her.The glass walls glowed faintly under moonlight.
Through the greenhouse doors, she spotted him. Damon, in rolled sleeves, hands deep in soil, tending white roses under the soft hum of grow lights. His expression was different — not his usual cold stoic self. He looked much calmer and at peace but also extremely tired There was a gentleness in the way he pruned each stem, something almost reverent.
She watched quietly from the doorway until he looked up.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, voice lower than usual.
"I couldn't sleep," she said. "I heard… something."
He dusted his hands, and straightened himself. "The house creaks. You'll get used to it."
"I didn't think you liked flowers."
A faint twitch at his mouth. "I don't. It's a hobby."
Lena stared delirious at him, with arms crossed. "A hobby? But you don't like it. Do you understand what a hobby is?"
Damon looked at her with an unreadable expression. "Do you intend to question me till dawn Miss Rowan?"
She stepped closer to where he was crouched. "Hobby or not, I never pegged you for a gardener."
He clipped a stem cleanly. "Someone has to keep them alive. The staff always overwater."
"Seems fitting," she murmured. "A man obsessed with control nurturing something that grows on its own." She paused briefly guaging his expression. "Speaking of which, I never had the chance to thank you for reinstating my brother in a ward."
"I was simply keeping my end of the bargain."
She frowned. "Are you always this closed out to people?"
"Yes," Damon answered unfazed.
"Including Amara?" she had no idea why she mentioned that.
He paused momentarily as if choosing the right words. "I and Amara have a singular understanding with one another. If that's the way to put it."
"I don't understand"
His expression softened barely, but enough that she saw it. "You shouldn't try to understand me,Miss Rowan. It's easier if you don't."
"Maybe," she said "But I think understanding people is what keeps me alive."
He looked down at her then, like really looked as if the conversation had shifted from small talk to something rawer. The wind stirred the roses gently.
"You did well today," he said finally.
She blinked. "It didn't look like I did."
"Well you did. Judging by the fact that you stepped on my foot just once.
"You make that sound like a compliment."
"Believe me it's not." He turned away, rising from the flower bedrushing dirt from his palms. "Goodnight Miss Rowan."
Back in her room, she sat on the edge of the bed scrolling idly on the news blog when she received a pop up notification from an unknown number.
You're not Amara. Leave before he buries you too.