The grand mansion was unusually quiet that night.
After the gala, after the flash of cameras and the sound of whispered gossip, silence felt heavier than noise.
Amira sat by the window of their bedroom, still wearing the diamond earrings Leonardo had clasped on her earlier. Her reflection in the glass looked foreign — elegant, composed, but her eyes betrayed exhaustion. The kind that comes from pretending for too long.
The door clicked open.
Leonardo entered, jacket draped over his arm, tie loosened. He looked tired but still impossibly self-controlled, as if nothing could shake him.
For a few moments, he said nothing. The distance between them filled the room — thick with the scent of perfume and unsaid words.
Amira finally broke the silence.
"You didn't have to humiliate me like that, Leonardo."
He paused mid-step, glancing her way. "Humiliate you?"
"At the gala," she said, standing now. Her voice trembled, but she steadied it. "You called me a temporary arrangement in front of your investors."
His expression hardened. "Because that's what this is, Amira. A contract. A performance. Don't forget that."
She flinched. "I didn't forget. But you didn't have to remind the whole world."
Leonardo sighed and poured himself a glass of water from the crystal decanter. "The whole world already knows who I am. They only needed to believe that you belong here. Tonight, they did."
Amira folded her arms. "Belong here? You made me look like a fool."
"Or maybe," he said quietly, "I made you visible."
That stunned her for a second. There was truth in his words, but it didn't erase the sting.
He turned away, his tone softer now. "The investors are ruthless, Amira. They respect what they can't have, not what they can understand. You standing beside me — even as a paper bride — helps me keep control. You knew this."
"I knew," she admitted, her throat tight, "but I didn't know it would hurt this much."
Her voice cracked slightly on the last word.
Leonardo looked at her — really looked — and for once, the steel in his eyes flickered. "You're stronger than you think," he said.
"Strength doesn't mean I feel nothing," she whispered.
He walked closer, stopping a few steps away. The tension was palpable — the kind that hums just beneath the skin.
Leonardo lowered his voice. "What exactly do you want from me, Amira?"
She met his gaze. "Honesty."
His jaw clenched. "You already have it."
"No," she said, shaking her head. "You give me control, money, and protection. But you hide everything real. You never tell me what you actually feel."
"I don't feel, Amira," he said flatly. "Feelings complicate business. They destroy judgment. I learned that lesson the hard way."
Amira's eyes softened, though she didn't understand what he meant. "What happened to you?"
He looked at her for a long moment, the kind of look that carried history and regret. Then he turned toward the window. "That's none of your concern."
She exhaled sharply. "You asked what I want? I want to stop being treated like a shadow in your life. You said this was an act, but it feels like a prison."
Leonardo turned back. "And yet you signed the contract."
"I signed it to save my father's life, not to lose mine in the process."
For the first time since the night began, silence didn't separate them — it connected them.
He moved closer. "Amira…"
She looked up. His voice was softer now, almost uncertain.
"This arrangement," he said, "was never meant to hurt you."
"Then why does it?"
"Because," he said, the corners of his mouth tightening, "you make it real."
The confession hung between them, raw and dangerous.
Amira's breath hitched. "You're saying you—"
"I'm saying," he interrupted, "that I can't afford to care about you."
Her eyes glistened. "Then stop pretending you don't."
Before he could respond, she stepped closer, the faint scent of jasmine filling the air. "Every time you look at me, you give yourself away. Every time you act like this doesn't matter, it does. You think I don't see it?"
Leonardo's jaw tightened. "You're mistaken."
"Am I?" she whispered.
He said nothing. His silence was an answer on its own.
Then the doorbell rang, cutting through the moment.
He turned sharply, almost grateful for the interruption. "Stay here."
But Amira followed him out of the room and down the hallway. At the entrance stood a woman — tall, poised, dressed in a navy dress that screamed wealth and confidence.
"Lara," Leonardo said under his breath, the name edged with surprise.
The woman smiled thinly. "You didn't expect me?"
"Not tonight."
"I never make appointments, Leo. You should remember that." Her gaze shifted to Amira, cool and assessing. "And this must be the wife."
The words dripped with mock sweetness.
Amira straightened, forcing a polite smile. "Yes. Amira Yusuf."
"Of course," Lara said, extending her hand but not letting go right away. "I've read all about your little… marriage."
Leonardo's tone turned icy. "That's enough, Lara."
Lara chuckled. "Relax, Leo. I'm just here to talk about the company merger. Unless your… bride here is handling your business affairs now?"
Amira opened her mouth, but Leonardo's hand brushed her wrist lightly — a silent don't.
"I'll handle this," he said. "In the study."
Lara smirked, brushing past him. "As always."
When they disappeared into the study, Amira stood frozen for a moment. Then she walked quietly toward the half-closed door.
Her curiosity wasn't about business — it was about her. About what Lara meant to Leonardo.
Inside, voices murmured — too low to make out everything, but fragments reached her.
"…you can't keep her in the dark forever."
"She's not involved."
"She's already involved. The press loves her. You can't control that."
A pause. Then Lara's voice again, softer, sharper. "You still haven't told her about Elise, have you?"
Amira frowned. Elise?
Leonardo's reply came, strained. "That's none of your concern."
"It should be. Because secrets have a way of finding their way out."
Amira stepped back, her pulse racing. Elise. The name echoed like a warning.
When the study door opened minutes later, Lara swept past her, perfume lingering like tension in the air. Leonardo followed, his face unreadable.
"Go to bed," he said quietly.
She didn't move. "Who is Elise?"
His eyes darkened. "Don't start this, Amira."
"Then tell me!" she said, her voice rising. "Who is she? Why does that woman think she can walk into our home and talk about your secrets?"
Leonardo's composure cracked — barely, but enough. "Because Elise was my wife."
The words hit her like a slap. "Was?"
"She died three years ago."
Amira froze. Everything — the coldness, the distance, the walls he built — suddenly made sense.
He ran a hand through his hair, his voice low. "That's why I don't do feelings, Amira. That's why this contract was supposed to stay clean. Because when I loved once, it destroyed everything I had."
Tears welled in her eyes, but she forced herself to speak. "Then why choose me?"
"Because you reminded me of her," he said quietly. "At first. But now… you remind me that I can still feel something I swore I'd buried."
The room spun around her, emotions tangled beyond control.
Leonardo took a step closer. His voice was rough now, stripped of all polish.
"This is getting dangerous, Amira."
She met his gaze. "Then why aren't you walking away?"
He didn't answer. Instead, his hand brushed her cheek — brief, trembling, uncertain — before he turned and left the room.
Amira stood there, heart racing, realization sinking deep.
Behind every lie, every deal, every cold word — there was a man still haunted by love.
And for the first time, she wasn't sure if she wanted to save herself from him… or save him from himself.