Chapter Eight : This Is How Trouble Begins
803 Words
Morning sunlight spilled through the curtains, soft and golden, settling over tangled sheets and even more tangled thoughts.
Amara sat on the edge of the bed, his shirt draped loosely around her frame, legs pulled to her chest. She wasn’t a woman prone to guilt, but this didn’t feel like victory either.
Lucien stirred behind her. She didn’t look back.
Instead, she listened to the soft rustle of covers, the shift of weight as he sat up too. Silence stretched between them—not heavy this time, just real.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“That I should’ve stopped myself.”
He didn’t answer right away. Just reached out and ran a hand slowly down her back.
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
She looked over her shoulder, eyes sharp. “Didn’t I? You’re my boss. You’re the man who sent me away like a headline cleanup.”
“And you’re the woman who kissed me like she didn’t care about rules.”
His tone wasn’t cold. It wasn’t arrogant either. It was just... honest.
Amara stood, walked to the window, arms crossed. The air outside was crisp. A hawk circled high above the trees. “I’m not built for this,” she said. “Whatever this is.”
Lucien leaned against the headboard, watching her. “What are you built for then?”
She hesitated. “Survival. Escape. Proving I’m not my father’s daughter.”
“And yet here you are. Still trying to prove it—to a man who already knows.”
That pulled something in her chest. “Do you?” she asked. “Do you really know who I am, Lucien?”
He got out of bed and crossed the room without a word. When he reached her, he turned her gently by the shoulder, making her face him.
“I know you could’ve buried yourself in a different name forever,” he said. “But you didn’t. You walked into my building, into my office—into a storm you knew might eat you alive.”
She looked up at him. “And I’m supposed to believe you respect me for that?”
“I do.”
He kissed her forehead then, lingering just long enough for her to feel the weight behind it.
“And that scares you,” he added quietly.
She didn’t deny it.
They dressed in silence. Amara tied her hair up, buttoned her blouse with steady hands, and packed her things like the moment between them hadn’t cracked the surface.
Because it had.
And it would come at a cost.
“You’re going back today?” Lucien asked as he slid his jacket on.
“I have work to do.”
“You’re not going back to the office until I’ve handled the board.”
She shot him a glare. “I don’t need your protection.”
“I’m not protecting you,” he said smoothly. “I’m protecting the company. Don’t get it twisted.”
That stung more than she wanted it to.
She nodded slowly, slipping on her flats. “Got it. Business first.”
Lucien rubbed the back of his neck. “That came out wrong.”
“No,” she said, grabbing her bag. “It came out exactly how it should.”
Before he could respond, her phone buzzed. She pulled it from her coat pocket.
Unknown number.
She almost ignored it. Then something in her gut shifted.
She answered. “Hello?”
A pause. Then a voice she hadn’t heard in over two years.
“Amara. Baby girl... it’s me.”
Her blood turned to ice.
“Dad?”
Lucien turned sharply at the sound of that one word.
She stepped away, gripping the phone so hard her knuckles whitened. “How did you get this number?”
“I’ve been keeping tabs. Quietly. I heard what happened. They’re dragging your name now... You don’t deserve that.”
She backed up toward the porch. “Don’t call me again.”
“I need your help, Amara.”
“No.”
“I kept your name out of my trial. I kept your hands clean,” he said, voice tightening. “I made enemies for you.”
“I didn’t ask you to!” she hissed.
Lucien was at the doorway now, watching her with alarm.
“Just listen,” Dominic said. “I know where this is going. The press isn’t your problem. Lucien Vale is.”
She hung up.
Just like that, the line went dead—but the damage remained.
Amara stared at her reflection in the window. Her father was still out there. Still pulling strings.
And suddenly, it wasn’t just headlines she was up against.
It was blood.
It was legacy.
And worst of all?
It was Lucien.
- Writer
