The phone buzzed once before Amara realized it wasn't her heartbeat.
It took her a second to pull out of her train of thoughts, and remember where she was. The soft sheets, the faint glow of the hotel room lamp, and the night air humming through the half-open curtains all brought her back to her consciousness.
She reached for her phone from the nightstand. The screen lit up, still ringing.
Celeste was calling.
Her lips curved almost immediately.
"Hey baby, are you alright?" Celeste's voice came through the speaker the moment she answered, soft and worried, like the warmth of a familiar blanket.
Amara smiled, though her throat still felt tender. "I am," she said quietly. "Why?"
"I saw your speech," Celeste said, a touch of laughter hiding in her voice. "You looked stunning, but I know my best friend. So I needed to hear your voice."
Amara exhaled slowly, sinking deeper into the bed. "You watched it?"
"Of course I did," Celeste said. "The entire world did, I think. You broke the internet again, my love."
A tired laugh escaped Amara. "That's not the kind of breaking I planned for."
"Well, too late," Celeste teased softly. "You spoke directly from your soul. Although I know how it happened, I still felt the ache. Dominic sends his regards."
Amara's chest tightened at the mention of Dominic. The image of the twins flashed through her mind.
"Tell him I said thank you," Amara murmured.
"I already did. He said he's proud of you," Celeste said. Her tone softened again. "But I know what pride doesn't say. You okay, really?"
Amara hesitated. Her fingers traced invisible circles on the bedsheet. The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was thick, full of all the words she'd been swallowing for three years.
"I think I am," she said at last. "It just… hit differently, saying his name again. Out loud. In front of everyone."
"Elias," Celeste said quietly, "I need you to get used to hearing his name."
Amara nodded, though Celeste couldn't see it. "It felt like bleeding and healing at the same time."
There was a soft hum from the other end. "You always had that gift," Celeste said. "You can turn pain into something beautiful without letting it poison you."
"I wish it didn't still ache, though," Amara whispered. "It's been years, Celeste. Three, to be exact. And sometimes, I still wake up expecting him to be beside me."
Celeste's voice was gentle when her lips parted. "Love doesn't disappear, Amara. It just changes shape."
Amara smiled faintly. "You sound like something Dominic would say."
"Maybe he's rubbing off on me," Celeste said, a smile audible in her tone. "Or maybe I just learned from watching you fall apart and build yourself again."
Amara laughed softly. "I didn't rebuild gracefully."
"You did," Celeste said firmly. "You stumbled, you broke, you cried, you wrote, and you came out shining. You gave your pain a name, and then gave it back to the world."
Amara swallowed hard. "Sometimes I still think about what I'd say if I ever see him again."
Celeste was quiet for a moment. "And what would you say?"
"I don't know," Amara whispered. "Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. Maybe just… 'Why?'"
Celeste sighed softly. "You deserve answers, Mara. But maybe not from him anymore. Elias is dead, remember?"
The room was silent again except for the faint hum of the city outside. Amara turned her head toward the window, where the moon hung low and pale over the skyline.
"Travis was there tonight," she said suddenly.
Celeste perked up. "The coffee-guy?" Her voice immediately turned curious, and ready for more gist.
Amara smiled, remembering his calm eyes and the way he'd looked at her like he could see through the walls she'd built. "Yeah. That one."
"Tell me more," Celeste said, her tone immediately shifting. She sounded curious, and playful, yet protective.
"He's… different," Amara said. "He's kind, but not the performative kind. He listens like he actually hears you."
"And?" Celeste pressed, her grin almost audible.
"And," Amara said, voice smaller, "it's nothing."
"Which means it's something," Celeste countered.
Amara groaned softly. "Don't start."
"I'm not starting," Celeste said, laughing. "I'm just saying you deserve soft again. You deserve someone who doesn't make love feel like a battlefield."
Amara stared at the ceiling. "Maybe I don't trust peace anymore."
Celeste went quiet for a beat. "Peace isn't something you trust, Amara. It's something you can relearn."
Amara closed her eyes. "I wish you were here."
"You'll see me soon," Celeste said. "The twins already drew you a welcome-back card, even though you're not here yet."
Amara chuckled, tears prickling behind her eyes. "Tell them I miss them."
"I will," Celeste promised. "And promise me you'll rest tonight, okay? You did something huge. Don't let the aftermath eat you alive."
"I'll try," Amara murmured.
"I love you."
"I love you more."
There was a soft pause before Celeste said, "Goodnight, my sweet-hearted girl."
"Goodnight, Momma." Amara whispered.
Celeste laughed, and Amara chuckled.
The call ended, but the warmth lingered. She found herself smiling at the sound of Celeste's voice.
Amara set her phone back on the nightstand and sat quietly in the half-dark room.
Her gaze drifted to her laptop on the desk.
Her fingers itched to write.
She opened the lid anyway. The screen lit up, the blank document staring back at her. The cursor blinked, patient and pulsing.
After a long pause, she typed one sentence.
"He looked like the kind of man who'd ruin your silence and then make you thank him for it."
The opening of her door interrupted her.
She raises her brow. She didn't order room service. Also, it was past 2 am. Why would someone be at her door?
Wait, couldn't the person knock?
Her pulse skipped. She froze.
No one was supposed to be here. She hadn't ordered room service. She hadn't called for anyone.
The sound came again. The soft scrape of shoes against marble, deliberate and steady.
Amara sat up, her heart thudding unevenly against her ribs.
Someone was in her suite.
Her throat went dry. She pushed the sheets aside and rose to her feet, tightening the belt of her robe around her waist. The air felt suddenly heavier, almost electric.
She stepped into the living room, and her pulse stopped.
A man stood by the door, tall and broad-shouldered. The faint lamplight caught in his dark hair. He moved with the quiet ease of someone who belonged there.
He was setting down his keys on the marble table beside him, his attention caught by the row of neatly lined shoes by the entrance — heels, flats, boots. Her shoes.
He tilted his head, confusion flickering across his face as he looked around the room that clearly wasn't supposed to be occupied.
That's when Amara found her voice.
"What the hell are you doing here? Who are—"
He turned.
The rest of the sentence never left her lips.
Her words died. Her breath died. The world around her ceased to exist.
Her entire body went still. Everything in her shattered. Standing in front of her, under the dim gold light, was him.
Older. Harder. Beautiful in a way that burned.
Every inch of her went cold. Her knees weakened. Her chest seized.
For a single, breathless second, she thought she was dreaming. Then the pain that rushed through her veins told her she wasn't.
His eyes found hers. The same storm-dark eyes that had once looked at her like she was home, now filled with something raw and disbelieving.
Neither of them moved.
The silence between them was unbearable.
The air itself pulse with recognition, and with the ghosts they'd both buried and pretended to forget.
Her heart plummeted violently, with her breath catching on the edges of his name, but she didn't say it. She couldn't.
She just stared, trembling. Her face was pale and her lips parted in shock.
And then, the bag in his hand slipped, falling to the marble with a dull, heavy thud that echoed through the suite.
He didn't even flinch.
Neither did she.
The universe itself was held its breath.