AMARA POV
The day was almost over when his phone rang.
The sharp tone cut through the quiet hum of the office, and I looked up instinctively. Alexander's expression changed — that calm, icy focus that only appeared when something big was happening. He stood abruptly, chair scraping against the marble.
"Cancel the rest of my appointments," he said, already reaching for his coat.
"What happened?" I asked carefully.
He didn't look at me as he replied. "Emergency. The Singapore branch. We're flying out tonight."
My hand stilled over the tablet. "Tonight?"
"Yes. Pack your things. We leave in an hour."
I didn't argue — didn't need to. Working for Alexander Voss meant adapting fast, even when the ground shifted beneath your feet.
Still, as I gathered the files and powered down my system, I couldn't help the flicker of nerves twisting in my stomach. It wasn't fear — more like the sharp rush of stepping into the unknown.
We barely spoke on the drive home. He was on call after call, voice clipped, efficient, dangerous. Every sentence sounded like a command, every silence heavier than the last.
By the time we got to the house, dusk had started to swallow the sky. The city lights blinked alive one by one, and the air felt charged — tense, expectant.
I rushed upstairs, threw open my wardrobe, and began to pack. Two work suits. A sleek black dress. A few essentials. Nothing more. Efficiency was the only armor I had left.
Downstairs, his voice echoed faintly — calm, deliberate, full of authority. He was giving orders again, but softer now, like the storm was being contained behind that smooth tone.
When I came down with my suitcase, he was waiting by the door, tie loosened, phone finally tucked away.
"All set?" he asked.
"Yes."
His gaze flicked to the small suitcase in my hand, then back to my face. Something unreadable passed through his eyes. "Good. We'll head straight to the airport. The jet's being prepared."
He started walking toward the car, and I followed, my heels clicking against the marble like the countdown of something I didn't yet understand.
Inside the car, the silence stretched. The city blurred past in streaks of gold and gray, and for a moment, I let myself study him — jaw tight, brows drawn, the faintest shadow of exhaustion beneath his eyes.
He caught me looking. "You're quiet."
"I'm just processing," I said. "You didn't exactly give me much time to think."
He almost smiled. Almost. "Welcome to my world."
We drove the rest of the way in silence, both of us pretending the air wasn't thick with unspoken questions.
When we boarded the jet an hour later, everything felt surreal — the hum of the engines, the faint scent of his cologne in the cabin, the way the city lights vanished below as we ascended into darkness.
And somewhere between takeoff and the first streak of stars across the window, I realized —
this was the first time we were leaving his empire behind.
The first time it was just him… and me.