The morning after the storm felt strangely quiet. The rain had washed the city clean, leaving behind the sharp scent of wet earth and new beginnings. But for Amira, nothing about this day felt new.
She stood before the tall mirror in her room, buttoning a pale cream blouse Leonardo had left for her on the bed. It wasn't a gift — it was a signal. Attached to it was a short note in his precise handwriting:
"You'll accompany me to the office today. 9 A.M. sharp."
No greeting. No explanation. Just an order.
Amira stared at her reflection for a moment. Her eyes were tired from a night without sleep. She could still feel the ghost of his touch — the warmth, the confusion, the ache. She wasn't sure what last night meant, or if it meant anything at all.
But she wasn't going to let him see her break.
By the time she descended the marble staircase, Leonardo was already waiting near the door, coat in hand. His expression was unreadable — back to his polished, distant self.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Do I have a choice?" she murmured.
His jaw tightened slightly, but he didn't answer.
The drive to Rossi Corporation was silent. The city hummed around them — cars, voices, flashes of light — but inside the car, it was all muted. The memory of the storm lingered between them like a shadow neither wanted to name.
When the glass tower of Rossi International came into view, Amira felt her chest tighten. The building loomed above everything, all steel and glass, reflecting the clouds like it was too proud to let the world touch it.
Leonardo's world.
They stepped into the lobby, greeted instantly by hushed glances. People stopped mid-conversation, eyes flicking toward the woman walking beside their CEO.
"Is that her?" someone whispered.
"The new Mrs. Rossi?"
"She's nothing like Elise…"
Amira caught fragments of the murmurs, each one like a pinprick beneath her skin. She straightened her back and kept walking. If they wanted to stare, let them. She had faced worse.
Leonardo led her to the private elevator. "Ignore them," he said without looking at her.
"I'm not made of glass, Leonardo," she replied quietly.
"I didn't say you were."
The elevator doors closed, sealing them in a narrow space filled with soft tension. Amira could see his reflection in the mirrored wall — the calm CEO mask perfectly in place. Only the slight twitch of his hand betrayed him.
When the doors opened again, they were on the top floor — his floor.
The office was everything she expected: sleek, modern, intimidating. Floor-to-ceiling windows opened to a panoramic view of the city, and a long glass table stretched across the boardroom like a stage. Around it sat twelve people — the Board of Directors.
All eyes turned to her.
"Gentlemen," Leonardo said smoothly, "this is my wife, Amira Rossi. She'll be observing today's session."
The word wife hung in the air like a secret exposed.
A few polite smiles appeared. Most were tight, forced.
"Of course," said Mr. Harris, an older man with silver hair and calculating eyes. "Always a pleasure to have family join us."
Leonardo gave a curt nod and took his seat. Amira sat beside him, silent, her hands folded in her lap. The meeting began — numbers, mergers, markets — a language she didn't yet speak. But she watched everything carefully: the way Leonardo commanded attention, how people shifted when he spoke, and how certain board members exchanged glances when he wasn't looking.
Especially one woman.
Sitting across from them was Clara Moretti, the company's public relations director. Her red lipstick was too sharp, her smile too practiced. Every time Leonardo spoke, her eyes softened in a way that didn't feel professional.
Amira noticed.
And so did Clara.
After the meeting, Leonardo was pulled aside by Mr. Harris for a private word, leaving Amira momentarily alone. She wandered toward the large window, watching the city below, when a voice spoke behind her.
"So you're the new Mrs. Rossi."
Amira turned. Clara stood there, her smile polite but her tone edged with curiosity.
"Yes," Amira replied.
Clara's gaze swept over her. "You're… not what I expected."
Amira tilted her head. "And what did you expect?"
"Someone a little more like her," Clara said softly.
"Elise?"
Clara's smile didn't falter. "You've heard of her, I see. Everyone here has. She was… unforgettable."
"I'm sure she was."
Clara stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Leonardo doesn't talk about her much, but this building still remembers her. Every detail — from the way she arranged the flowers in the lobby to the brand of coffee she ordered for him. It's hard to fill a ghost's shoes."
Amira met her gaze steadily. "I'm not here to replace anyone."
"No," Clara said, her smile sharpening. "You're here because he needed someone new."
Before Amira could respond, Leonardo's voice cut through the air. "Clara."
Both women turned. His expression was unreadable, but his tone carried quiet warning. "I believe your department has enough to handle without gossiping."
Clara's smile vanished, replaced by professionalism. "Of course, Mr. Rossi." She gave Amira one last look before walking away, heels clicking sharply on the marble floor.
Leonardo turned to Amira. "What did she say to you?"
"Nothing that wasn't already obvious," she said coolly.
He studied her face, searching for cracks. "Don't let people like her get to you. They thrive on weakness."
"Then it's a good thing I don't have any left," she said, walking past him toward the elevator.
The ride home was even quieter than before.
Leonardo didn't try to speak, and Amira didn't look at him. But when they reached the mansion, he followed her inside.
"Amira," he said softly as she reached the stairs.
She stopped, one hand on the railing. "What?"
"I brought you there today for a reason."
"To parade me in front of your board?"
"To show them that this marriage is real," he said, stepping closer. "And to show you what my world looks like."
"Your world looks like secrets wrapped in glass," she said bitterly. "Everyone smiling while holding knives."
His lips twitched — not quite a smile, not quite denial. "That's business."
"That's sad."
He moved closer, his voice lower now. "You handled yourself well today. Better than I expected."
She turned to face him fully, chin lifted. "You mean, I didn't embarrass you."
"I mean," he said quietly, "you belonged there."
Something in her chest shifted at his words — not trust, but something like it.
Before she could respond, the housekeeper appeared at the end of the hall. "Sir, there's a package for you. It was delivered privately."
Leonardo frowned, taking the small, flat envelope. No sender's name. No company seal.
He opened it, and his expression hardened instantly.
Amira saw the photo before he could hide it — a picture of Leonardo and Elise, laughing together outside a villa. But there was another photo beneath it — Leonardo and Amira, taken just that morning outside Rossi International.
Across the bottom, written in red ink:
"History repeats itself. You can't bury the past."
Leonardo's jaw tightened. "Where did this come from?"
The housekeeper shook her head nervously. "It was left at the gate, sir."
He dismissed her, then turned to Amira, his voice sharp. "Don't go anywhere without my permission."
"Excuse me?"
"Someone is watching us."
"Who?"
"I don't know," he said, crumpling the photos in his fist. "But they know too much."
Amira stared at him, her pulse quickening. "Is this about the merger?"
"Maybe," he muttered, more to himself than to her. "Or maybe it's about Elise."
The way he said her name made Amira's stomach twist. "You think she—"
"She's dead," he cut in quickly. "But that doesn't mean her story is."
The silence that followed was cold and heavy. Amira looked down the long hallway — the same one where their kiss had happened just a night before. It felt like the walls were listening.
"Leonardo," she said quietly, "whatever this is, you can't keep locking me out. If I'm going to stand beside you, I deserve to know what I'm standing in."
He met her eyes, the conflict clear there — duty, fear, and something dangerously close to tenderness.
Finally, he said, "Tomorrow, you'll start working at the company. Not as my wife — as my assistant. You'll see everything for yourself."
Amira blinked. "Your assistant?"
"It's the only way to protect you," he said, voice low. "And the only way to find out who's trying to destroy us."
Her heart pounded, half from fear, half from the strange thrill of stepping further into his world.
"All right," she said softly. "But if I find out you're lying to me again…"
He smiled faintly — the kind of smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Then I suppose I'll deserve whatever comes next."
Amira turned away, heading toward the stairs. She didn't look back.
Outside, thunder rolled again — far away this time, like a warning carried on the wind.
Somewhere in the city, someone was watching.
And for the first time, Amira realized that her marriage wasn't just built on secrets.
It was built on danger.