*Chapter 15: “The Plan That Broke Her Instead”*
500 Words
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Amara was done being slapped and called “wife.” She wanted him to feel what she felt: powerless. So she made a plan. A devious one.
She’d step into the line of fire while Lucien was teaching the men to shoot. Let him think he’d hurt her. Let him see fear in her eyes. Let _him_ be the one who couldn’t breathe after.
She walked out when he had his rifle up, pointing at targets downrange. He didn’t see her at first. Called out instructions. “Elbows in. Squeeze, don’t pull.”
Her heart hammered. This was it. She stepped forward into his peripheral vision—
And froze.
The shot cracked. Not at her. At the target. Wood splintered meters away.
But the sound broke something in her. The reality of it. The smell of powder. The way Lucien’s shoulders locked when he finally turned and saw her there, pale, eyes wide, plan crashing down around her.
He didn’t shoot her. But for one second, he thought he had.
The rifle clattered from his hands. He was across the yard in three strides. Dropped to his knees in the dirt in front of her. Hands hovering over her arms, her face, checking for blood that wasn’t there.
“Amara.” His voice cracked. Not Colonel. Not commander. Just his name on her lips, raw. “What were you— God, what were you thinking?”
She was awake. Breathing, but shallow. Not from a bullet. From panic. From regret slamming into her chest harder than any recoil. She grabbed his shirt with both fists, not to manipulate him— just to stay upright, just to breathe.
“It hurts,” she whispered. And she didn’t mean her body. She meant the plan. Meant realizing she’d rather die than let him keep her. Meant seeing actual fear on Lucien Devereaux’s face for her.
Lucien didn’t let go. He pulled her against him, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other pressed to her back like he could hold her together. The whole base watched. No orders. No drills. Just silence.
“I thought you were—” He couldn’t finish. Swallowed hard. Thumb brushed her cheek, the one he’d slapped hours earlier. “Don’t you ever. Don’t you _ever_ put yourself in front of my gun again. Do you hear me?”
Amara nodded against his chest. Hated that she did. Hated that his arms felt like safety and cage at the same time.
Elias stood frozen near the stables, rifle still in his hands. What kind of iron lady is this? He thought. One who’d risk everything to make him feel. One who regretted it the second she did.
Lucien carried her back to the big log quarters. No slap this time. No orders. Just him, muttering “breathe, just breathe” against her hair like a prayer.
And Amara, clutching his shirt, realized her plan worked. She hurt him. But it hurt her worse.
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- Writer
