Chapter Seven : Quiet Doesn't Mean Safe
771 Words
The cabin Lucien sent her to was nothing like she expected.
It wasn’t tucked away in some lavish resort or perched on a private island. No, this was quiet—almost too quiet. Pine trees framed the sky like brushstrokes. The air smelled of wet leaves and woodsmoke. The kind of place people disappeared to when they didn’t want to be found.
It suited her mood perfectly.
Amara dropped her duffel on the couch and sank into a chair by the fireplace. There were no staff. No schedule. Just a fridge stocked with the bare essentials and a note from Lucien that said:
“Breathe. Let the noise settle. – L”
She read it twice before crumpling it into her fist.
She didn’t need permission to breathe.
And she wasn’t the kind of woman who fell apart at the mention of her father’s name.
Was she?
The first two days passed in silence. No calls. No notifications. Just long walks down dirt paths and the occasional owl keeping her company. She thought the stillness might help, that she’d finally process everything. Instead, it left too much space for thoughts she’d shoved deep for years.
Thoughts of courtrooms.
Of headlines that read “WHITE COLLAR KING FALLS.”
Of whispers behind her back in lecture halls—how she only got into Columbia because of her last name.
Dominic Blake’s daughter.
No matter how much she tried to run from it, that label clung like smoke.
By the third day, she started to miss the noise. The chaos. Even the way Lucien filled a room just by walking into it. Not that she’d admit it out loud. Especially not to herself.
But when the knock came that evening, she already knew it was him.
Lucien stood on the porch, dressed down in a dark wool coat and black sweater, holding a paper bag like some reluctant peace offering. For once, he looked out of place. A man used to commanding skyscrapers, now surrounded by trees and gravel.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” she said, arms folded, blocking the door.
“I’m rarely where I’m supposed to be,” he said evenly. “May I come in?”
She hesitated. Then, he stepped aside.
He walked in like he’d done it a hundred times before. Set the bag down on the counter. “I brought dinner.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Then sit and pretend.”
She watched him unpack takeout containers from a local spot she hadn’t bothered to visit. The scent of garlic and grilled shrimp filled the room, annoying her more than it should.
They sat across from each other in silence for a while, picking at their food. Amara tried not to notice how tired he looked. Like someone who hadn’t been sleeping since the story broke.
“Why did you really come?” she finally asked.
Lucien set down his fork. “Because hiding feels safe… but sometimes it makes things worse.”
She raised a brow. “Are you saying I’m hiding?”
“I’m saying… I sent you away too fast.” His gaze was steady now. “You didn’t deserve that.”
Amara leaned back in her chair. “You treat everything like a business decision, Lucien. Even me.”
He didn’t argue.
“That day in your office,” she went on, softer now, “when you asked if I was jealous... the truth is, I don’t know what I was. I just knew that when I saw someone else touch you, I felt something twist. And I hated that it mattered.”
Lucien’s voice dropped. “It mattered to me, too.”
She looked up, startled by the honesty in his tone.
“I don’t know what this is,” he said, standing slowly, moving toward her, “but it’s not just strategy. Not anymore.”
Amara stood too, heart kicking harder now.
“I don’t want to be used, Lucien,” she whispered.
“You’re not,” he said. “You never were.”
Their eyes locked—and for once, there was no fire, no challenge. Just truth.
Lucien lifted his hand slowly and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “If you tell me to walk away, I will.”
Amara didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
She just closed the space between them and kissed him first.
It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t soft.
It was months of tension crashing together—raw and real.
And when he kissed her back, pulling her in like she belonged there all along…
She finally stopped running.
- Writer
