CHAPTER 10 — THREE DAYS LEFT
1123 Words
The house felt different after the preparations started.
Not louder.
More final.
Amara stood in her room staring at the mirror, not really seeing herself—just the version of her that was about to be placed in front of cameras, people, and a man who spoke like outcomes were already decided.
Three days.
That number kept repeating in her head like a countdown she didn’t start.
A knock came at the door.
She already knew who it was.
Damian didn’t wait for permission. He rarely did.
The door opened.
He stepped in.
Still dressed in formal black from earlier, sleeves slightly loosened now. Controlled even in rest.
His eyes went straight to her.
“You haven’t changed,” he said.
Amara turned slightly. “Was I supposed to?”
A faint pause.
“You’re avoiding preparation staff,” he replied.
She scoffed. “So now I have staff too?”
“You always did,” he said simply.
That answer irritated her more than it should have.
Amara crossed her arms.
“I’m not a project,” she said.
A pause.
Then Damian walked further into the room—not close enough to crowd her, but enough that the space stopped feeling safe in the way she preferred.
“No,” he said. “You’re not.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Then stop treating me like one.”
Silence.
Damian studied her for a moment.
Then said:
“You misunderstand the purpose of preparation.”
“Enlighten me,” she replied flatly.
“It reduces unpredictability in public perception.”
Amara exhaled sharply.
“There it is again,” she muttered. “Public perception. Outcome. System.”
His gaze didn’t shift.
“Yes.”
She stepped closer now.
“And where do I fit inside that system again?”
A pause.
Then Damian answered without hesitation:
“You anchor it.”
That made her stop slightly.
Not because it was soft.
Because it wasn’t.
It was structural again.
Like she wasn’t a participant.
She was a stabilizing point.
Amara looked away briefly.
“That’s not a role I asked for,” she said quietly.
“No one does,” he replied.
Silence stretched.
Something in the air felt heavier than before.
Amara turned back to him.
“I want to know something,” she said.
“Ask.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
“Why me?”
That question again.
But this time she didn’t expect poetry or avoidance.
Just truth.
Damian didn’t answer immediately.
He actually paused.
Longer than usual.
That alone made her more alert.
Then he said:
“Because you reacted differently.”
Amara frowned. “To what?”
“To pressure,” he replied.
A pause.
“To information. To control attempts. To exposure.”
She studied him.
“That’s your reason?”
“It’s one of them,” he said.
Amara shook her head slightly.
“That doesn’t sound like a reason to marry someone,” she said.
“It isn’t,” he replied.
That stopped her again.
She frowned. “Then what is it?”
Silence.
Damian’s gaze didn’t move away.
“This is not a conventional arrangement,” he said.
Amara scoffed. “I noticed.”
A faint pause.
Then he added:
“It’s corrective.”
That word landed heavy.
Amara’s expression tightened immediately.
“Corrective?” she repeated.
“Yes.”
She stepped closer, anger rising slightly.
“So I’m what? A fix?”
“No,” he said immediately.
That was firmer.
Then—
“You’re a stabilizer for a system that is already collapsing.”
Silence.
Amara stared at him.
“That still doesn’t answer why me,” she said quietly.
Damian held her gaze.
Then said something different this time.
Because it wasn’t about system or outcome.
“It had to be someone who wouldn’t break easily.”
A pause.
Amara didn’t respond immediately.
Then she laughed once—low, sharp.
“So I’m durable,” she said.
“No,” he replied.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
“You adapt,” he clarified.
Silence again.
That word hit differently.
Adapt.
Not weak.
Not fragile.
Not controlled.
Just… reactive in a way that didn’t collapse under pressure.
Amara looked at him for a long moment.
Then asked quietly:
“And what happens after the three days?”
Damian didn’t answer immediately.
Then he said:
“Public alignment is completed.”
She frowned slightly. “And after that?”
A pause.
Then—
“Then the attention shifts.”
Amara didn’t like that answer.
“Shifts where?”
Damian’s voice lowered slightly.
“Towards what triggered this entire arrangement.”
Silence dropped instantly.
Amara felt something tighten in her chest.
“So this whole engagement…” she said slowly, “…is bait?”
Damian didn’t correct her immediately.
That hesitation was enough.
Amara’s expression hardened.
“You’re using me,” she said quietly.
“No,” he replied.
A pause.
Then—
“I’m positioning you where they will look.”
Silence.
That was worse.
Because it wasn’t denial.
It was confirmation reframed.
Amara stepped back slightly.
“And when they look?”
A pause.
Damian’s gaze didn’t shift.
“Then we identify them.”
A beat.
Amara shook her head slightly.
“So I’m part of an operation,” she said quietly.
“Yes.”
The honesty was blunt.
No softness.
No attempt to hide it anymore.
Amara looked away for a moment.
Then back at him.
“And my consent in all this?”
A pause.
Then Damian said:
“It was required at the start.”
That made her pause.
“At the start?” she repeated.
“Yes.”
Amara’s voice lowered slightly.
“And now?”
Silence.
Longer than before.
Then Damian said:
“Now it is procedural.”
That word landed heavier than everything else.
Procedural.
Like she had moved from decision to step.
From choice to sequence.
Amara exhaled slowly.
“You really are impossible,” she said quietly.
“I’ve been told worse,” he replied.
That made her almost laugh again.
Almost.
Instead, she just stared at him.
“You never answer anything like a normal person,” she said.
“There is no benefit in emotional framing,” he replied.
Amara shook her head slightly.
“You’re going to ruin my life publicly in three days,” she said.
A pause.
Then Damian said:
“You’re already inside it.”
Silence again.
But this time, Amara didn’t argue immediately.
Because something about the way he said it wasn’t threatening.
It was final.
And she was starting to realize—
he wasn’t introducing her to a new situation.
He was just revealing the one she had already been inside for longer than she knew.
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