Amara blinked. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Damian replied, turning his gaze to her, "you don't have to stay in Navarro Corporation. You could come work for Sinclair Holdings instead. You'd start immediately, and you could work however you like."
Her lips parted slightly. "Damian…"
"I'm serious." His voice was firm but kind. "You don't owe them anything, Amara. Not after what they did."
Her heart clenched. The offer was tempting — so much more tempting than she wanted to admit. She would be free from the eyes that mocked her, free from Kael's cold glances, free from pretending to be fine when she wasn't.
But…
She shook her head gently. "Thank you. But… I don't want to enter a company just because someone backed me up. I want to earn it properly — like everyone else."
Damian's expression softened. He had expected that answer.
That was Amara — gentle but principled.
Damian's lips twitched into a faint smile. "I knew you'd say that."
Her fingers tightened around the glass, eyes flicking up uncertainly. "You sound disappointed."
"Not even close," he said. "Just proud."
The words struck deeper than she expected. Proud. No one had said that to her in a long time.
A quiet wind swept between them again, carrying the scent of roses.
Damian exhaled quietly, his eyes reflecting relief more than disappointment. "Backing you up doesn't mean you're cheating your way in, Amara. You've worked with me before — you know I've seen your skills first-hand."
She turned away, cheeks warming. "You're exaggerating."
"I'm not," he said firmly. "You're talented, hardworking, and you care about what you do. That's rare."
Amara looked at him — really looked at him. The sunlight softened the edges of his face, catching the faint stubble along his jaw, the calm weight of his gaze.
Something fluttered inside her chest.
"Maybe…" she said, half teasing, half nervous, "you're just saying that because you like me."
She froze the second the words left her mouth. Her eyes widened, her hand flying up to cover her lips. "I— I didn't mean—"
But Damian only chuckled — low, warm, and real.
His gaze dropped briefly to the table, then lifted again, locking with hers. His eyes — usually steady and reserved — now held a faint, quiet fire.
"That's also one of the reasons."
Her breath caught.
The world seemed to narrow, every sound fading except the soft rush of her pulse in her ears.
"Damian…" she whispered.
He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, voice soft but certain. "I'm not asking for anything. I just need you to know that when I say you deserve better — I mean it. You don't have to keep proving your worth to people who can't see it."
Her throat tightened. She wanted to answer, to say something — anything — but the lump in her chest wouldn't let her.
So instead, she stood abruptly, fumbling for composure. "I— I should go inside."
He opened his mouth to stop her but stopped halfway, catching the trembling in her hands. She wasn't running from him — she was running from herself.
As she walked away, her long black hair swayed behind her like a ribbon of night, the sun dipping low behind her.
Damian let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He leaned forward, burying his face briefly in his hands. Then he laughed quietly — breathless and helpless.
She had blushed because of him. She had teased him. After all those silent, broken days, he'd finally seen her smile again.
It was enough. For now, it was enough.
That evening, the villa was awash in gold. The sun had lowered, stretching its final light through the high windows and painting the rooms in amber warmth.
Amara stood by her bedroom window, the air faintly scented with lavender. Below, she could hear Damian's voice — calm, rich, speaking with one of the staff. She caught the soft lilt of his laughter.
It was the kind of sound that soothed and stirred her at once.
She smiled faintly, fingertips resting against the glass.
"How could someone like him… like someone like me?" she murmured.
She still didn't understand it. Damian was steady and self-assured — the kind of man who carried gravity in silence. He could have anyone. And yet, he was here, waiting patiently beside her bruised heart as if it was worth the time.
Her reflection in the glass stared back — a woman changed. Softer, but stronger.
Maybe, she thought, it was time to stop questioning and start accepting that she deserved kindness too.
Sunday evening came faster than she expected.
The villa's lights glowed warmly as Amara stood at the entrance, suitcase in hand. She took a deep breath, taking in the serenity one last time — the distant hum of crickets, the fading scent of roses, and the stillness before departure.
She had spent nearly a month here — a month of healing, laughter, and quiet recovery.
Damian came out shortly after, holding his car keys. He had insisted on driving her back to the Navarro villa himself.
"You ready?" he asked quietly.
"As I'll ever be," she said.
He smiled faintly, opening the door for her. "Then let's get you home."
The drive was peaceful, the city lights beginning to flicker awake against the darkening sky. Neither spoke much — words weren't needed. The silence between them carried understanding, unspoken warmth, and something fragile neither dared name yet.
Amara leaned her head against the window, eyes half-closed. The gentle hum of the car and the steady rhythm of his breathing beside her made her feel safe — the kind of safety that made her heart ache a little.
When she opened her eyes, the familiar view of the wrought-iron gate in front of her made her chest ache — not because of nostalgia, but because of what it represented.
This was the place she once called home.
This was where she had dreamed Kael would someday look at her differently — not as the daughter of his family's staff, not as a shadow who followed quietly behind, but as a woman he could love.
But those dreams had shattered into dust the moment he denied her in front of everyone.
Still… even as her rational mind screamed that it was over, a small, foolish part of her heart whispered —
Maybe he missed me.
Maybe he regretted it.
Maybe, after all this silence, he'd be waiting by the door.
Her throat tightened at the thought.
Amara glanced at Damian, she found him already looking her way.
Their eyes met — just a moment too long.
"You okay?"
She nodded faintly. "Just… nervous."
He smiled softly, though his eyes carried a shadow of worry. "You'll be fine. If it's too much, you can always call me, you know that."
Her throat constricted. "I know. Thank you," she whispered.
Damian parked, stepping out to open her door. "Here we are."
Her heart thumped painfully.
What if he's inside? What if he's waiting? What if…
But then she shook her head. She shouldn't hope.
Not anymore.
Still… she couldn't stop the faint flicker in her chest.
She wanted — just once — to see in his eyes that he regretted everything. That he missed her. That he realized he had hurt her.
Even if she wouldn't take him back… she wanted to know that her love hadn't been meaningless.
"Amara," Damian called her gently.
Amara hesitated before taking his hand to steady herself as she stepped out. Her fingers lingered — just a second — before she pulled away.
"Thank you… for everything," she said softly.
He didn't reply right away. His gaze lingered, searching her face as though trying to memorize it. Then, quietly, "You don't have to thank me."
But before either could speak again, the villa door opened — and Kael stood there.
He froze.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. The air shifted — heavy, electric.
Amara's hand fell from Damian's sleeve. Damian straightened, calm but alert. Kael's expression flickered — disbelief, confusion, then something darker.
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut through the night.
And somewhere beneath it all, the first thread of regret began to pull taut inside Kael Navarro's chest.