CHAPTER 3
542 Words
A Kiss Meant for Silence
They stared at each other for too long.
“You were in her life, weren’t you?” Amara asked.
Elijah walked toward her, slow and calm — but every step screamed tension.
“And if I was?”
Amara's voice cracked. “Then you left her. Or worse.”
He stopped just in front of her.
Then, without warning, he grabbed her waist and kissed her.
Not gently. Not sweetly.
A harsh, deliberate kiss — meant to silence, to punish, to confuse.
But her lips didn’t pull away.
Neither did his.
When he finally let go, she slapped him.
He didn’t flinch.
“Next time,” she whispered, “use your words.”
He didn’t mention the kiss the next day.
Neither did she.
But he did leave the bracelet on her bedside table. No explanation. No denial.
She wore it anyway — like armor.
At dinner, Elijah said, “That belonged to someone I cared about.”
“Someone who’s dead now?”
He didn’t answer.
Amara leaned in. “Is that what you do to women? Care, then forget?”
He looked up. “You shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”
Amara smiled. “You shouldn’t lie to someone who’s already buried a sister.”
She visited his company the next morning, under the pretense of bringing lunch.
His secretary, a young woman with red lipstick and shaky hands, didn’t know her face yet.
“Mrs. Hart?” she asked, scanning the visitor list. “Wait — he had a Mrs. Hart last year. Are you... the second one?”
Amara blinked. “Excuse me?”
The woman turned pale. “Forget I said that. Please.”
But it was too late.
Elijah had been married before.
Or something like it.
And someone didn’t want Amara to know.
The rain came down hard that night.
Amara stepped outside, barefoot in the garden, head pounding with questions. The bracelet, the kiss, the “other” wife. It was all too much.
And then he was there.
No umbrella. Just silence and eyes that burned.
“You’re looking for ghosts,” Elijah said quietly.
“I think I found one,” she replied.
He stepped closer.
“I didn’t kill your sister, Amara.”
Her breath caught.
“You knew her,” she whispered. “You were with her.”
He nodded once.
“And you still let me marry you?”
Another pause.
“I had to,” he said. “Because the truth would destroy you.”
Thunder cracked overhead.
And somewhere deep inside her…
a part of her believed him.
The next morning, Amara waited until Elijah left for work before entering his office.
It wasn’t hard. He was careless with security, or maybe he wanted her to find something.
The room smelled like leather and coffee. Papers lined the shelves — deals, contracts, financial reports. All sterile.
Until she found a locked drawer.
She picked it open with a bobby pin.
Inside, she found a plain manila folder. No labels. Just initials.
L.R.
Her throat tightened.
Inside: a photo of her sister, smiling at a dinner table.
Sitting beside her was Elijah.
And a contract.
Signed by both of them.
- Writer
