A slow curve touched Amara's lips - a forgotten feeling resurfacing. It was a smile, she realized, after quite some time.
It wasn't genuine sight, not what she actually saw, however a sleep spell for nightmares.
The days started alike - Ethan's murmur from the kitchen, coffee perking, a hand at her back while he said she was improving. A small smile touched her lips; she inclined her head, allowing him to think fortitude equaled compliance.
She wasn't strong because of what she said - rather, her power resided in keeping quiet.
Now the penthouse felt like a theater, with her playing the leading role flawlessly.
She found herself at benefits once more, alongside Ethan, shimmering affairs filled with hushed talk regarding her comeback. People labeled her courageous, a motivation, his ideal partner
Her laughter mirrored theirs, yet felt strangely empty whenever she heard it herself.
He didn't let go of her hand when they were seen together. It felt deliberate, a strong grip suggesting to everyone - perhaps even herself - that she belonged to him.
Each squeeze of his hand felt like a potential break - a vision of her cracking each bone danced in her head.
She fit right into the scene at home, acting without a hitch.
He reveled in her cooking, those familiar dishes he adored. Her laughter greeted even his most worn-out stories; she pretended interest in his business schemes, though her heart wasn't really in them anymore. Yet beneath the gentle facade, a sharp intelligence worked relentlessly.
Tucked in her pillowcase, the disposable phone felt like a stolen moment. Whenever Ethan wasn't around, she'd power it on, hoping something hadn't been lost forever. Data errors blurred most messages; But then, one name remained clear.
Daniel Rhee, a name flashing with stories yet untold. Perhaps a quiet observer, maybe someone who builds things, or conceivably a soul simply navigating life's currents.
A jolt went through her when she read it - a name from so long ago. She remembered Daniel, a ghost from before Ethan arrived. He simply vanished when she said yes to Ethan's question.
There was no response when she dialed the phone ; silence met her attempt.
Then, suddenly, a message popped up on the screen.
"You don't know me, but I know what he did. Meet me. Tomorrow. 4 p.m. Han River Park. — D.R."
A fierce beat hammered in her chest.
The morning Ethan headed to work, she chose her outfit thoughtfully: muted shades, minimal cosmetics - a picture of domesticity out for groceries.
Gray clouds hung over the park when she arrived. Settling onto a bench, her hands shook. Time drifted - ten minutes became fifteen.
A familiar sound wandering to her ears - one she thought lost forever.
"Can't sit still when you're nervous."
Curving the corner, she found him. Daniel Rhee. Years had changed him - a bit weathered, yet undeniably himself. Longer hair framed a harder face, however those eyes held the familiar blend of rebellion alongside something gentle.
"Daniel…"
He smiled faintly. "You look good for a dead woman."
A gasp escaped her lips. "Were you aware?"
"I know a lot of things," he said, sitting beside her. "Including the fact that your husband covered up a sabotage case the night you crashed."
Her gaze locked on his face, pulse quickening. "So, Ethan attempted to - ?"
"I'm saying," Daniel interrupted, "someone messed with your brakes. And the only person who benefited from you being gone… was him."
A wobble shook things, yet she wasn't surprised - a sense of this had lingered.
Daniel handed her a small flash drive. "Proof. Emails. Transfers. He used your shares to save his company."
Her fingers numb, she accepted it. "What makes you want to assist?"
He looked away. "Because I couldn't help you then."
A past feeling stirred - a familiar hurt, a lingering fondness, a shadow of possibilities lost. However, Amara suppressed it; there simply wasn't space for tenderness anymore.
Darkness had come. She held still while Ethan's breath evened - a weight on her side. Then, quiet as a shadow, she rose from their bed to the space where she made things.
A flash drive clicked into her computer. Files bloomed on screen – deals, records, messages. Then, there it was
TO: Clara Vale
FROM: Ethan Vale
"She's asking too many questions. Handle it quietly."
A chill seized Amara.
Clara, though Ethan's sibling, wasn't simply his little sister. She was the Vale family's pride, a blend of sugary charm alongside a fragile spirit.
Keep things under wraps.
A sick feeling twisted inside Amara. Clara's gentle grin floated back to her - also that shaky little laugh, how Clara had begun dodging her phone calls leading up to everything.
A new message popped up as she kept looking down the screen.
"If this goes wrong, you keep your mouth shut. I'll take the blame."
She felt a sudden coldness.
From the beginning, Ethan didn't simply realize something needed doing; he actively schemed to keep Clara safe.
"Another sleepless night?" Ethan asked, appearing in the doorway.
The lid slammed down on the laptop as Amara leaped back, startled.
Shirt open a bit, he rested in the doorway - worn out yet somehow still put together.
"Nightmares," she said quickly. "I didn't want to wake you."
He went across the room, brushing her hair off her face. "You've been on edge lately. If something's bothering you, I'd rather you tell me."
She forced a small laugh. "I think it's just the memories coming back."
He stopped, his hand hanging there. "You mean… memories?"
"Nothing clear," she said softly. "Just feelings. Sounds. The storm. The bridge."
A quiet beat hung in the air. He offered a smile - a thin thing that failed to warm his gaze. "No use revisiting old ground, agreed?"? Now you're secure; I'm here to protect you
Her head dipped in agreement, eyes falling to her lap. "Sure thing," she murmured
A shaky breath escaped her lips as he walked away. He noticed something shifting within her, a facade starting to crumble. She realized she needed a better strategy.
Both played each other, a dizzying dance unfolding over several days.
She received presents from Ethan – sparkling things, blossoms, a brand-new mobile device. Then, unexpectedly, he prepared dinner, confessing his desire for a clean slate
"Maybe we should take a trip," he suggested one night, his voice almost tender. "Just the two of us. Somewhere quiet."
A chill gripped Amara despite her smile. "Perfect," she said
Now she understood Ethan Vale's idea of perfection: a way to dominate masked as concern.
The studio held its breath as she slipped the flash drive under a warped plank. Losing it wasn't an option - not now, anyway.
Seven days passed, then a message popped up from Daniel.
"I have something new. He's moving funds. Meet me soon."
She typed back quickly: When?
Silence stretched on. Nothing arrived.
Time drifted by, then the television blared with a report: a crash on that very bridge - the one she almost didn't make it off of. They hauled mangled metal from the water, broadcasting it all.
A chill seized her when she saw who the report named.
Dan Rhee.
Knees giving way, she clung to the countertop, each breath a struggle. Then Ethan emerged from his office - worry etched plainly on his features.
"Amara? What's wrong?"
She pointed to the TV. "That's Daniel - he - "
A shift crossed Ethan's face briefly, yet telling. It was there , gone, but not missed.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, pulling her into his arms. "I know you were close once."
A few tears slipped out, some genuine. Each one represented a forgotten fact, a vanished memory.
Tears streamed down her face into his shirt, yet a small voice cautioned her within
It felt unreal, a speed that didn't quite fit. Something was off.
Vale figured things happened for reasons. He wasn't one for chance encounters.
She wasn't either.
Darkness held them. She didn't sleep; instead, watched him breathe - a quiet rhythm filling the room while her own thoughts raced.
Daniel's words echoed in her mind - the flash drive, those emails from Clara. Then came the bridge, the dark river, a face watching her go under.
She pictured payback - not a shouting match, nor high drama - instead, something calm, considered, lovely.
She was meant to fit a vision he held - a flawless partner, according to his desires.
Yep, she'd do it.
He hadn't understood - not until then - how striving for flawlessness could wound just as easily.