9: Storm Behind Closed Doors
861 Words
The ride home was silent.
The city blurred past in streaks of rain and neon, but neither of them spoke.
Sebastian’s jaw was clenched, his hands steady on the wheel.
Amara sat rigid beside him, every nerve burning with unspoken questions.
When the car finally stopped in front of his mansion — her new home — she pushed the door open before he could even turn off the engine.
“Amara—”
She didn’t wait. She stormed inside, the echo of her heels slicing through the marble floor.
The moment they reached the grand hallway, she spun around. “What the hell was that?”
Sebastian closed the door behind him, calm as ever. “Clarify.”
“You humiliated Darian in front of half the city! You made our marriage headline news! You dragged every skeleton out of the grave!”
“Correction,” he said evenly. “He brought the shovel.”
“Don’t twist this, Sebastian,” she snapped. “You didn’t defend me—you used me. You turned my pain into your public victory.”
His expression didn’t change, but his tone cooled. “I warned you. Once we signed that contract, the game began.”
“I’m not your game piece!”
He stepped closer, voice low but dangerous. “Then stop acting like one.”
Her breath caught. “You think I wanted this? You think I enjoy being the Cruz family scandal?”
“No,” he said quietly. “But you agreed to stand beside me, not behind me. Tonight, you showed them you’re not afraid to face them. That matters.”
Her eyes stung. “You didn’t do it for me.”
Sebastian’s gaze flickered—something unguarded for half a heartbeat. “Maybe not at first.”
That silenced her.
He turned away, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves, his composure cracking slightly. “You don’t know what these people are capable of, Amara. They bury threats. They erase anyone who stands in their way.”
She frowned. “What are you talking about?”
He hesitated. “You want the truth? You’re not the first person they’ve tried to destroy.”
Amara’s pulse quickened. “Who?”
He poured himself a glass of scotch, eyes distant. “My mother.”
Her breath hitched. “Your mother?”
Sebastian nodded slowly. “Eduardo—my brother—ruined her. He wanted full control of Cruz Holdings. She was the legal heir. So he made her disappear.”
Amara stared at him. “Disappear?”
“An ‘accident.’ At sea. No body.” His voice was tight, stripped of its usual calm. “I was nineteen. I saw the documents he forged to take over the company. I couldn’t prove it, but I knew. That’s when I left the family. That’s when I became the ghost they whisper about.”
For the first time, Amara saw not the billionaire — but the broken boy beneath.
The one who’d lost everything to the same cruelty she’d faced.
“Sebastian…” she said softly. “I’m sorry.”
He laughed once — bitterly. “Don’t be. I learned early that the only way to survive devils like them is to become one.”
She shook her head. “No. That’s not survival. That’s surrender.”
His gaze snapped to her. “And what would you know about survival?”
“Everything,” she said fiercely. “Because I don’t destroy people just to feel powerful.”
For a moment, silence hung between them — thick, fragile, electric.
Then Sebastian set his glass down and stepped closer. “You think you understand me?”
“No,” she whispered. “I think you’re terrified of what you’d be if you stopped fighting.”
That hit him harder than she expected. His jaw tightened, his voice lower now.
“You shouldn’t talk like that to me.”
“Why?” she said, holding her ground. “Because you’re the man who owns my name?”
He took one more step — so close she could feel the heat of him, smell the faint scent of rain and whiskey. “Because I don’t like being seen.”
Her breath caught. “Maybe that’s what you need.”
Sebastian’s eyes burned into hers — a storm of anger, pain, and something darker.
Then, just as quickly, he stepped back, restoring the distance between them.
“This conversation is over,” he said quietly. “You should rest.”
She wanted to scream. To shake him until the mask cracked again.
But instead, she turned away, her voice trembling.
“I may have signed your deal, Sebastian,” she said. “But I won’t lose myself to it.”
His answer came soft but sharp. “Let’s hope you’re strong enough not to.”
⸻
Later that night, as the storm raged outside, Amara lay awake in the massive bed that didn’t feel like hers.
Across the hall, Sebastian’s light was still on.
She wondered what haunted him more — the ghosts of his family, or the woman he’d just invited into his war.
- Writer
