The evening was cold, the atmosphere inside the lodge oppressive. The silence in the guest wing was punctuated only by the distant, low murmur of Julian’s voice from the study, confirming the arrangements for her departure. Amara knew he was dealing with the logistics, using the coded language of the elite to coordinate a charter plane and a difficult pickup point. Each muffled word was a hammer blow, confirming the reality of her escape and the finality of their separation.
The silence that followed the close of the study door was absolute. Julian was in the master suite, guarded by the immense door, shielding himself and Melita from the destructive force she had become. He was protecting the legacy; she was protecting her career. They were both survivors.
Amara couldn't rest. She walke
