AMARA'S POV
I can still feel the heat in my palm from where I slapped him.
The sting of his cheek lingers — not from the impact, but from the shock on his face. He wasn't expecting it. And neither was I.
The whole room froze. The air itself seemed to hold its breath. For a second, it felt like I had broken a spell — a spell he'd been casting over me from the very beginning.
I didn't care if I lost my job.
I didn't care if Alexander Voss made me regret this.
I needed to do it. For myself. For the person I used to be before I got tangled in his world of power, manipulation, and control.
But now, I'm sitting in the silence of the penthouse, my fingers trembling as I try to put some space between myself and the chaos. I wanted to walk away, but I can't. I'm not sure what will happen next. And that's the problem — for the first time since I came here, I have no idea how he'll react.
There's no way to turn back now. I've broken the silent contract between us. I'm not his puppet anymore.
But... why does the thought of him feeling humiliated bother me? I shouldn't care.
The sound of the elevator's familiar hum breaks through the quiet. The door opens.
Alexander.
I don't have to turn to know it's him. I don't have to look at him to feel the tension crawl back into the room. But I do.
He's standing in the doorway, as cold and distant as ever, but there's something different in his gaze. His eyes are hard, unreadable. The way he stands is like a man who's been knocked off his pedestal — but he's too proud to show it.
He doesn't say anything at first. He just watches me, like he's waiting for me to speak.
I don't.
"I'm not here to apologize," he says finally, his voice cold, controlled, but laced with something I can't name. "I should have handled that situation better. But you—"
"You humiliated me," I cut in, my voice sharper than I intend. "In front of everyone. All because you decided you knew better."
"I wasn't trying to humiliate you, Amara." The way he says my name is different now. Tighter. Like it's a reminder of something he can't control. "I just wanted to know the truth."
"The truth?" I laugh bitterly, standing up. "You don't care about the truth. You care about power. You care about control."
His expression hardens. "What do you want from me?"
"I want you to stop treating me like a pawn," I snap. "I'm not your assistant. I'm not your enemy's daughter. I'm a person, Alexander. A person you can't just push around anymore."
For a moment, his eyes flicker with something I can't read. A flash of regret? Anger? Something deeper? But he quickly masks it.
"Do you think this is easy for me?" he says, his voice quieter now. "I don't want to keep fighting you, Amara. But you're pushing me."
"I'm not pushing you. I'm standing up for myself. And for once, you can't control me."
His eyes narrow, a flicker of something dark passing across his face. "You think that slap was about standing up for yourself? That was you provoking me. You think you can just walk into my life and demand respect? That's not how it works."
I take a step toward him, heart hammering. "That's exactly how it works, Alexander. You don't get to treat me like garbage and expect me to just take it. I'm not your pet. I'm not your little game."
He takes a breath, steadying himself. "You don't understand the world I'm in, Amara. I didn't ask for you to be in it either. But you're here, and I—"
"Stop," I say, my voice softening for a moment. "Just stop. I don't care about your world. I care about me."
The words hang in the air between us. The silence that follows is thick, heavy.
And then, almost imperceptibly, he steps closer.
It's just a movement, a fraction of a step. But it feels like a challenge.
I take a step back, instinctively.
"I'm not going to let you ruin me," I say, feeling more sure of myself than I have in days. "Not anymore."
His gaze locks with mine, and for a moment, I see something flicker in his eyes. Something vulnerable. Almost human. It's there — and then it's gone.
Without another word, he turns and walks toward the stairs. I'm left standing there, my chest tight with every word left unsaid.
---
ALEXANDER'S POV
I can still feel the sting of her slap.
It's not just on my cheek — it's in my chest. In my mind. It's a burning reminder that I've lost control. And more terrifyingly, that I'm okay with it.
I should've fired her. I should've thrown her out, made her understand who was in charge.
But something in me didn't want to.
When I look at her, standing there, her defiance, her fire — it calls something out of me I didn't know existed. Something… alive.
But I can't let myself care. I can't afford to care. If I do, I'll lose everything.
This isn't about love. This is about vengeance. It always has been.
Her family destroyed mine. And that's the only reason I married her.
But when she looked at me — no fear, just fire — I couldn't ignore it.
I don't know what to do with that.
I can't be weak. Not now. Not ever.
But damn, if she didn't make me want to be.