Chapter 3 – Storms Behind Glass
1214 Words
Chapter 3 – Storms Behind Glass
Amara didn’t sleep.
She lay in the unfamiliar bed of the guest room, staring at the ceiling while the city lights bled through the curtains. The silk sheets were soft, but the silence was louder. It wrapped around her like chains—reminding her that she was a prisoner wearing designer jewelry.
Lucien Valezco had stepped back from a kiss she didn’t even realize she wanted to give.
Was it because she challenged him? Or was she simply not his type?
Why do you even care? she scolded herself.
This wasn’t about attraction. It was about survival. He could be the most handsome man in Manila, and it still wouldn’t matter if he treated her like a business expense.
But still… that look in his eyes before he backed away—it haunted her.
It wasn’t rejection.
It was fear.
The next morning, Amara woke to the smell of coffee.
She padded out of the guest room in one of the silk robes provided by the housekeeper. The penthouse, with its open layout and glass walls, was drenched in morning light. The skyline of Manila stretched endlessly in front of her.
Lucien stood at the kitchen island, reading something on his tablet with a mug in hand. He looked like a GQ spread—shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled, hair slightly tousled.
She hated that he looked this good without even trying.
“You’re up early,” he said, not looking at her.
“I didn’t sleep,” she replied.
He finally glanced up. “Too soft a bed?”
“Too loud a mind.”
Lucien set the tablet down. “We have a brunch meeting with my grandfather at eleven. Dress formal, conservative. He’s traditional.”
“So no thigh-high slits or diamond necklaces meant to intimidate ex-girlfriends?”
His lips twitched, barely. “Exactly.”
She crossed her arms. “Lucien, do you ever… stop being a CEO?”
He tilted his head. “Do you stop being a Del Fierro?”
Amara blinked. “Touché.”
He picked up another mug and held it out to her.
She hesitated, then took it.
No words of thanks. No small talk. Just quiet sips of black coffee and the quiet hum of tension between them.
Then Lucien said, “You almost kissed me last night.”
She nearly choked.
He didn’t smile—just observed.
Amara raised an eyebrow. “You’re bringing that up now?”
“I’m curious what would’ve happened if you had.”
She stepped closer, the mug warm in her hands. “You would’ve kissed me back.”
“You think so?”
“I know so,” she said, voice low. “You wanted to.”
Lucien leaned on the counter, eyes locked on hers. “Maybe. But want and should are different things.”
“You’re scared of something real,” she said quietly. “You wear control like armor.”
“And you wear rebellion like perfume,” he replied. “It’s intoxicating. And dangerous.”
Silence stretched.
Then Amara stepped back. “I’ll wear beige today. So your grandfather doesn’t die of shock.”
Lucien watched her go, but didn’t follow.
For the first time since this marriage began, Amara wasn’t just playing a role.
She was changing the game.
They arrived at the Valezco estate just past eleven. It was less of a house and more of a private kingdom—gated walls, manicured gardens, and a mansion that whispered old money in every marble detail.
Lucien’s grandfather, Don Gregorio Valezco, waited on the veranda like a monarch expecting tribute. Dressed in a crisp white barong, his silver hair slicked back, eyes sharp as a hawk’s.
“Lolo,” Lucien greeted him with a respectful nod.
Don Gregorio didn’t smile, but his gaze softened slightly when it landed on Amara.
“So you’re the one who agreed to marry my impossible grandson.”
Amara smiled politely. “Yes, sir.”
“Call me Lolo Greg.” He waved them inside. “And for the love of God, sit. I’m old, not rude.”
The brunch spread was elaborate—longanisa, garlic rice, fresh fruit, and brewed kapeng barako. But the real feast was the conversation.
Don Gregorio peppered Amara with questions—about her studies, her views on business, her family’s fall from grace. He was blunt, but never cruel.
“You have fire,” he said at one point. “Lucien needs fire. Too much ice in his veins.”
Amara glanced at Lucien, who sipped his coffee in silence.
“I don’t plan to be tamed,” she said.
Don Gregorio laughed. “Good. I’d be disappointed if you were easy.”
After an hour, the old man rose with effort. “This marriage is strange. But sometimes strange things become strong things. I built an empire on risks. Let’s hope you two are worth the gamble.”
Amara and Lucien stood.
Before they could leave, Don Gregorio took Lucien aside. Amara lingered nearby, pretending not to eavesdrop.
“She’s got a spine,” the old man said gruffly. “Don’t waste it.”
“I won’t,” Lucien replied.
“You don’t need a trophy wife. You need a partner. Don’t screw this up.”
Lucien nodded. But said nothing more.
Back at the penthouse, Lucien was unusually quiet.
Amara finally asked, “Do you always let your grandfather lecture you?”
He shrugged off his jacket. “He built everything I have. I can give him ten minutes of advice.”
“You never had your own parents?”
Lucien paused. “Died when I was ten. Plane crash.”
“I’m sorry.”
He nodded once. “Don’t be. It made me grow up fast. Taught me the world doesn’t wait for broken things.”
Amara walked to the window, arms folded. “No wonder you act like feelings are liabilities.”
Lucien came up beside her. “Feelings are liabilities. Especially in boardrooms. And marriages.”
She turned to him. “Not this marriage.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”
“Because this isn’t a real marriage, remember?” she said, stepping closer. “So what are you so afraid of?”
Lucien didn’t move.
So Amara did.
She reached up, slowly, hand resting lightly on his chest. His breath hitched—but he didn’t pull away.
Her other hand rose to his jaw, tilting his face toward hers.
“This time,” she whispered, “you don’t get to back away.”
Then she kissed him.
Slow. Intentional. Not desperate—but deliberate.
For a second, he stayed still.
Then his arms slid around her waist, and he kissed her back.
Hard.
His lips claimed hers with control that quickly unraveled, hands fisting in her hair. She gasped against his mouth, and he swallowed the sound with a growl, backing her against the wall.
It was heat and power and a crack in the walls they’d both built.
When they finally broke apart, breathless, he rested his forehead against hers.
“That was a mistake,” he murmured.
She smiled, lips still tingling. “Then let’s keep making them.”
- Writer
