AMARA'S POV
The house is too quiet tonight.
The kind of quiet that sinks into your bones, makes the walls feel too close, too heavy.
I've been here for weeks now, but it still doesn't feel like home. Not even close.
Since the night of the gala, everything's shifted between us.
There's been a subtle distance, like I'm waiting for something to break — or for him to break me.
But I can't stay in his shadow anymore.
I refuse to.
I move through the penthouse, picking at old books, flipping through magazines that don't interest me, doing anything to avoid the thoughts that keep clawing at my mind. The ones that remind me I've been here far too long, pretending to play his wife.
It's not even a marriage — it's a cold business agreement. A show.
When he's not home, it's easier.
But when he is, his silence feels like a constant reminder of everything I'm not allowed to say, everything I'm not allowed to feel.
I pause by the window, staring at the lights in the distance, wondering how many more days will pass before I finally break out of this cage.
Then, the elevator hums. His footsteps follow — heavy, purposeful.
The air shifts again. And I can't ignore it.
I'm not sure if I want to face him, but I don't have a choice. The door swings open, and there he stands.
His suit's impeccable, as always — but tonight, it's the look on his face that unnerves me. Something cold. Something calculating.
I cross my arms, not hiding the challenge in my eyes.
"What now, Mr. Voss?"
He doesn't flinch, doesn't back away. His eyes flicker — intense, like he's seeing me for the first time. But it's not curiosity. It's something darker. Something more dangerous.
"I need you to remember who you are," he says, his voice low. "This isn't just a marriage, Amara. It's a partnership. And I need you to start acting like it."
I clench my jaw, feeling the weight of his words settle in my chest.
"I am acting like it," I say quietly, but with strength in my voice. "I'm not here to be your obedient little wife. I'm here to prove I'm not just a pawn in your game."
He takes a step closer — not enough to touch, but enough to make my breath catch in my throat.
"You think you're different?" His voice drops, colder. "I don't have time for games. I'm not here to play nice."
I meet his gaze, refusing to back down.
"I never asked you to."
For a moment, the tension between us is electric. Neither of us moves, both of us testing the limits of the invisible wall we've built between us.
Then, he sighs. He turns away.
"You're more trouble than I thought."
"Good," I reply, my voice unwavering. "Because I'm not afraid of you, Alexander."
He pauses in the doorway, his back to me. For a fleeting second, I see the tension leave his shoulders. But then it's gone, replaced by that same stoic mask.
"I'm not afraid of you either, Amara," he says quietly, almost to himself. "But I will make you understand."
I stare at his back, the uncertainty creeping into my thoughts.
I don't know what he means. I don't know what's coming next. But I'm sure of one thing:
I won't let him break me.
---
ALEXANDER'S POV
I walk into the penthouse and feel her before I see her.
Her presence. Strong, unwavering. She's not just standing there — she's owning the space.
And it makes me uneasy. More uneasy than I care to admit.
Amara has changed.
The woman I married, the woman I thought I could control, is slipping through my fingers like smoke.
I can see the fire in her eyes, the challenge she's holding back. She's not afraid. She's not fragile.
And I hate that it's driving me insane.
I'm trying to keep this business deal on track. But every time I look at her, I see more than I planned to.
I see strength, defiance, independence — things I never thought I'd need in a wife.
And she doesn't care about my expectations. She never did.
I shouldn't want her to stand her ground.
I shouldn't even notice the way her words cut deeper than I care to admit.
But I do. And I can't stop it.
I've trained myself to not care, to lock my emotions down tighter than any prison. But with her…
With her, everything feels more complicated than it should be.
"I need you to remember who you are," I say, my words slipping out before I can stop them.
Her gaze locks onto mine — unflinching. She doesn't back away.
But when she speaks, I can hear the steel in her voice. "I am acting like it. I'm not here to be your obedient little wife. I'm here to prove I'm not just a pawn in your game."
A pawn.
The word stings — harder than it should.
I take a step closer to her, trying to remind myself why this marriage exists in the first place.
But I can't help it. She's unraveling me. Slowly. Methodically.
And I'm not sure I want her to stop.
She's right about one thing — I'm not here to play nice. But something about her, something deep inside of me, wants to fight for more than just control.
I turn away from her, my heart beating faster than it should.
"You're more trouble than I thought."
But inside, I know:
The trouble with her is that I don't want it to end.