The storm had passed sometime in the early morning, leaving behind a sky painted in muted shades of grey and soft blue. The world outside looked renewed, rain-washed and gleaming, but inside Amara's tiny apartment, nothing felt clean or new.
Only the remnants of last night's anguish lingered like ghosts in the corners of the room.
Amara sat curled on the edge of her bed, her back pressed against the headboard. She hadn't slept a single moment. Her eyes were red and swollen, her throat hoarse from the tears she had tried and failed to stifle. The pillow beside her was damp, the blanket twisted around her legs like a trap.
Every time she closed her eyes, she heard him.
Kael's voice.
"You will never have my affection. Ever."
The words rang in her ears, raw and merciless, cutting her open all over again. She had thought she'd grown numb to pain after two weeks of his cold treatment, but she'd been wrong. Last night's encounter had proven that she was still fragile, still foolishly tethered to a man who despised her.
This wound wasn't the shallow kind caused by gossip or whispers behind her back. No — this wound was deep because it came from his mouth directly.
Her hands trembled as she clutched the thin fabric of her nightdress, her chest so tight it hurt to breathe. She wanted to scream, to rage, to demand why fate had placed her heart in the hands of someone so cruel.
But her voice was gone.
The storm had taken her voice, leaving only silence and the faint dripping of rain outside the window.
Then came the knock.
Soft at first. Then again, firmer.
"Amara," a gentle voice called. "It's me. Damian."
Her breath caught. Damian.
For a heartbeat, she thought about pretending she wasn't home. She didn't want him — or anyone — to see her like this. But something in his voice — calm, grounding, kind — reached through the fog of pain.
"I… I'm coming," she croaked.
She pulled herself from bed, every step sluggish. When she opened the door, Damian stood there, rain still glistening in his dark hair, his grey eyes filled with concern. He wore simple clothes — a light sweater and slacks — but carried an unshakable presence. Quiet strength radiated from him.
The moment he saw her face, his expression darkened into sorrowful anger. "Amara…"
She tried to smile, to lie, to tell him she was fine. But her voice broke. Tears welled again.
"Please don't say you're fine," he murmured, brushing a strand of wet hair from her cheek. "Not when you look like this."
Her lips quivered. And then, without meaning to, she began to cry.
Damian gently guided her to the couch. "Tell me what happened," he urged, kneeling in front of her. "Whatever it is, you don't have to face it alone."
"It's too much," she whispered. "I don't even know where to start."
"Start with what hurts the most."
That simple kindness cracked her composure entirely.
"It's Kael," she choked. "He—he came here last night, and he was so angry. Damian, he said things I can't…" Her voice cracked. "Things I can't unhear."
Damian's jaw tightened, though his voice remained calm. "What did he say?"
"That I'm obsessed with him. That I manipulated his grandfather. That I…" She gulped down a breath. "That I trapped him into living with me. He said he'll never love me. Not now, not ever."
Her body shook with every word. "I didn't even know the house was ready. Mr. Navarro asked me weeks ago to try, but when nothing happened, I thought he changed his mind. I swear I didn't plan any of this."
Damian's jaw tightened. He took her trembling hands. "You did nothing wrong, Amara. Kael's anger isn't about you. It's about his pride — his blindness."
She gave a bitter laugh through tears. "But it doesn't matter. He'll never believe me."
"Then stop trying to make him believe," Damian said firmly. "You don't owe him that. You deserve someone who sees you — truly sees you."
For a heartbeat, Amara's breath stilled. His gaze lingered, heavy with words left unspoken. But Damian only smiled softly.
"Let me stay for a while," he said. "You shouldn't be alone."
Amara hesitated, then nodded.
Neither noticed the figure outside — standing half-hidden beneath the drizzle.
Kael.
He hadn't planned to return. After storming out last night, he told himself it was over. But sleep had refused him. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her — crying, fragile, broken. Against his will, he drove back, telling himself it was just to make sure she was all right.
But through her window, he saw Damian.
Damian's hand brushed Amara's hair as she cried into his chest.
Kael's chest clenched painfully. His fists curled until his nails dug into his palms.
Why do I even care? He told himself savagely. She means nothing to me.
But his heart thudded in protest, and the bitter burn in his chest told a different truth.
He turned away, his coat whipping in the wind as he stalked back to his car. But even as he drove off into the fading storm, the image of Amara in Damian's arms refused to leave him.