Curves,claws and contracts

The First Truce

Cole Tower. 7:30pm.

Amara stared at the dress in her hands like it was a weapon.

Red. Backless. Worth more than her rent.

"The car leaves in 10 minutes, Mrs. Cole," the housekeeper said.

Mrs. Cole. The words still tasted like lies.

She walked into the gala on Damian’s arm and immediately regretted everything.

Crystal chandeliers. Billionaires. Cameras.

And whispers. Always whispers.

"That’s her. The lawyer."

"She looks... different."

"Gold digger."

Damian’s hand pressed into the small of her back. Warm. Possessive. Rule 2: No touching.

She dug her nails into his wrist.

"Smile," he murmured. "Or they’ll know we hate each other."

"I do hate you," she hissed back, smile fixed.

"Good. Use it."

Then Victor Hale appeared. Again.

With a woman on his arm and malice in his eyes.

"Damian. Mrs. Cole." Victor kissed the air near Amara’s cheek. "You look radiant. Marriage agrees with you."

"Don’t touch her," Damian said, low.

"Relax. I’m just admiring the contract." Victor’s eyes flicked to the ring. "Section 4 must be expensive."

Amara’s blood went cold. He knew.

"We’re leaving," Damian said.

"Not yet." Victor pulled out his phone. "Smile for the cameras. The board needs to see how happy you are. Or should I tell them about the real terms?"

Amara saw it then. The trap. If they fought, photos would leak. If they looked unhappy, the merger died.

She made a choice.

She looped her arm through Damian’s and laughed. Loud. Bright. "Darling, stop being so dramatic. Let’s dance."

Damian blinked. "What?"

"You heard me." She dragged him to the dance floor. "Truce. For 3 minutes."

The music started. Slow. Too slow.

"This is a bad idea," Damian said as his hand settled on her waist.

"This whole marriage is a bad idea," Amara shot back. "But we’re doing it anyway."

They moved stiffly at first. Enemies.

Then she stepped on his foot. On purpose.

He spun her too hard. On purpose.

And for 10 seconds, they weren’t pretending. The anger was real.

"You think you can control me?" she whispered.

"I think I have to," he whispered back. "Because if I don’t, Victor wins."

His thumb brushed her bare back. Accidental. Or maybe not.

Her breath caught.

The song ended. They didn’t let go immediately.

"That was..." he started.

"Don’t," Amara cut him off. "It meant nothing."

Flash.

A photographer caught them. Foreheads almost touching.

By midnight the photo was online. *#COLECHEMISTRY*

In the car home, neither spoke. Until Damian’s phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

_Good acting. Shame about the audio I have of you two fighting in the car 2 nights ago. -V_

Damian deleted it. But Amara saw.

"We’re not safe," she said.

"No," Damian agreed. "But tonight, we survived."

For the first time, it didn’t feel like a lie.