Amara's Pov

I bolted out of the office building, my lungs screaming as the cold night air hit my face. My hands were still sticky with the iron-scented reality of what I had done. I didn't look back. I just ran, my heels clicking frantically against the wet pavement.

I reached the corner of the block and stopped, my heart hammering against my ribs. Across the street, two men stood under the flickering amber glow of a streetlamp. They wore long black coats, their posture rigid and alert. One of them turned his head, and the light caught the jagged scar running from his temple to his jaw.

My blood turned to ice.

I knew that face. I had seen it in the rearview mirror of a car in Italy, right before the bullets started flying. They were the ones who had been sent to finish me at the hospital. How did they find me here in New York?

I stumbled backward, a sob catching in my throat.

I turned to run the other way, but my legs gave out. I didn't hit the ground. Instead, I fell into a wall of solid, warm muscle. Strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me into a tight, crushing hug that smelled of cedarwood and expensive tobacco.

"Easy, Amara," a deep voice rumbled against my ear.

I looked up, my vision blurred by tears, and met the silver eyes of Victor.

"Please," I whispered, clutching the front of his coat. My fingers left dark, wet stains on the grey wool. "Save me. Please... just take me back. Take me to your house. I'm being chased. Please."

Victor didn't ask questions. He didn't look shocked. He simply swept me toward a black sedan idling at the curb. He opened the door, tucked me inside, and climbed in beside me. As the car pulled away, I looked out the tinted window. The men in black were staring at the car, their expressions unreadable as we disappeared into the New York traffic.

The mansion felt different this time. Victor led me to living room. He went to a sideboard, poured a cup of steaming coffee, and handed it to me.

"Drink," he commanded softly.

I took the cup, my hands shaking so hard the ceramic clattered against my teeth. The warmth of the liquid helped settle the tremors, but the fear remained.

"Who are they, Amara?" Victor asked. He was leaning against a desk, his arms crossed over his chest.

I looked down at the coffee. If I told him the truth-that I was a target in Italy-he would throw me out. Or worse, he would hand me over to protect his own interests.

"I... I don't know them," I lied, my voice small. "I think they were muggers. Or robbers."

Victor watched me for a long moment, his silver eyes narrowing. "You're a terrible liar. But it doesn't matter."

" What were you doing there by that time?" I asked curious. "You seem to know where I am. You even know my name."

" You can say it's fate. I feel drawn to you, Amara. There is a spark in you that I find... intriguing. I can give you protection. My name is a shield in this city. No one touches what belongs to me."

I looked up at him, my brow furrowing. Belong to him? Was he trying to be like Mr. Handerson now?

"You want the protection, don't you?" he countered. His voice was smooth, devoid of judgment. "You want to feel safe when you close your eyes at night."

"What makes you think I can't protect myself?" I asked. "You barely know me."

" You can't," he said simply. He paused, his gaze dropping to my hands. "I can also clean up the mess at your office. The police will find no prints, no weapon, and no security footage of you ever entering that building tonight."

The coffee cup nearly slipped from my fingers. I stood up, my eyes widening in horror. "How... how did you know?"

"I saw it," Victor said. He didn't move an inch. "I happened to be there when it happened. I saw him touch you, and I saw you defend yourself. You have a survivor's instinct, Amara. I admire that."

I dropped the cup onto the rug, the dark liquid spreading like a bruise. I couldn't trust this man. He had watched me kill someone and said nothing. He had let it happen. I turned toward the door, my heart racing. "I have to leave. I can't be here."

"Where will you go?" he asked, his voice cool and level. "Back to your apartment, where those men are likely waiting? To the precinct, to confess to a murder you can't take back?"

I stopped, my hand on the brass doorknob. He was right. I had nowhere.

"Be my wife for three months," Victor said.

The words felt like a physical blow. I turned back to him, stunned. "What?"

"A legal marriage. Three months," he repeated. "It gives you my name, my legal team, and my security. At the end of ninety days, we annul the marriage, I provide you with a new identity and enough money to never work again, and you walk away free."

I stared at him, my mind spinning. Like father, like son. Lucas had used me and then dumped me when things got hard. Now his father wanted to use me as a pawn.

"I'm not interested," I snapped, my pride flickering back to life.

I turned the handle, ready to walk out into the night and take my chances with the men in black, but the door swung open before I could pull it.

I froze.

Lucas stood in the doorway, his hand still on the outer handle. Beside him was the brunette woman-his wife.

Victor's Pov

I watched my son's eyes. They didn't land on me first. They went straight to the girl shivering in my shadow. The shock that registered on his face was almost comical, a pale, wide-eyed disbelief that told me I needed to know something.

Beside him, his wife, Kendra, stood beside him.

I moved with a deliberate slowness, stepping behind Amara. I let my hand hover over her shoulder before bringing it down, my fingers curling over the curve of her collarbone. I felt her flinch, a sharp tremor running through her small frame, but I didn't let go. I pulled her back against my chest, my palm pressing firmly against her side.

"Lucas," I said, my voice a calm, low vibration. "I didn't realize you and Kendra were stopping by this evening."

Lucas's gaze snapped to my hand on her shoulder. I noticed his jaw tightened so hard I could see the muscle leaping in his cheek. "Dad? What is... who is she?"

I smiled. "This is Amara. And you should be the first to congratulate us." I leaned down slightly, my breath stirring the damp strands of her blonde hair. "She has just agreed to become my wife."

The silence that followed was absolute. Amara stiffened, her breath hitching as she tried to pull away from my grip. I tightened my hold just enough to remind her she needs my protection.

"It's... it's not-" she started, her voice a desperate whisper.

"Amara, this is my son, Lucas." I interrupted, my voice cutting through hers. "And his wife, Kendra. Now, I believe dinner is being served. We should eat as a family."

I sat at the head of the table. Amara sat to my right, looking small and fragile in the oversized velvet chair. Across from her, Lucas sat like a man made of stone, his eyes never leaving her face.

Didn't he like my idea of remarrying?

"You're not eating," I turned to Amara, nudging a plate of vegetables toward her. "You should eat. "

She looked at the food as if it were poison. "I'm not hungry."

"Well," I looked at everyone, sipping my wine. "We've decided not to waste any time. The wedding will be in two days. A private ceremony here at the estate."

Lucas's cutleries fell to the table. "Two days? You've got to be kidding me! You can't just... you don't even know her, Dad! This is insane."

"I know her well enough to know she belongs here," I replied, my voice dropping into a dangerous register. "And I don't recall asking for your permission, Lucas."

"Have you forgotten mom? It's just two years and you want to move on?" His voice was loud enough to stop everyone from eating.

Lucas stood up, his chair scraping harshly against the floor. "This is a mistake. A massive one." He looked at Amara, his expression held something I couldn't see.

He kept his eyes on Amara for three more seconds-three seconds where the air in the room felt like it might combust-before he turned and stormed out of the room. Kendra followed him, her heels clicking rapidly as they vanished into the hallway.

That look he had looked at her was disturbing.

I turned to Amara. She was standing now, her chest heaving, her hands gripping the back of her chair.

"I am not marrying you," she hissed, her voice trembling with rage. "I've made my decisions."

I stood up, moving around the table until I was standing directly in front of her. I was a head taller than her, my shadow swallowing her whole.

"Let's look at the facts, Amara," I said, my voice calm and clinical. "In forty-eight hours, you can be Mrs. Amara Hale. You will have the best legal team in the country making sure that glass award 'never existed.' You will have a security detail that will make you untouchable. You will never have to worry about a paycheck, a boss, or a dark alleyway again."

I stepped closer, until our chests were almost touching.

"Or," I continued, "you can walk out that door right now. I'll call the precinct and tell them exactly where to find the girl who fled the office tonight. I'll tell them about the blood on your coat. I'll let those men in black have their way with you. Which will it be?"

She looked up at me, her eyes shimmering with tears she refused to let fall. "Why do you want me? Why are you doing this to me? Why go through all this for a 'three-month contract'?"

"Because you are the only thing I want at this moment," I lied, though the truth was far more complex. "And because I like having beautiful things. "

I reached out, my thumb tracing the line of her jaw. "Three months, Amara. One season as my wife. In exchange, I give you your life back. Isn't that worth a signature and a ring?"

She closed her eyes, a single tear finally escaping and tracing a path down her cheek. She looked defeated, her shoulders sagging as she realized the cage she was in was gilded, but it was still a cage.

She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. "Fine," she whispered.

I smiled, pulling her into my arms. She felt cold, but she didn't fight me this time. "Good girl. Now, let's get you some rest. You have a wedding to prepare for."

Amara's Pov

The silence of the Vane mansion at night was heavier than the city.

Moving into the estate had happened with the dizzying speed of light. Within hours, Victor's men had cleared out my small apartment, packed my life into a few designer suitcases, and transported me into this fortress. I felt like I was making the biggest mistake of my life, but as I walked through the hallways, a new, darker thought began to take root.

It's my revenge on him for breaking me. Now, he would have to address me as his stepmother.

The master suite was larger than my entire apartment. I entered, my fingers trailing over the gold-leaf detailing on the doorframe. I expected the room to be empty, but the sound of rushing water stopped me cold.

The bathroom door swung open, and a cloud of steam billowed out.

Victor stepped into the room, a white towel slung low on his hips. Droplets of water clung to the dark hair on his chest and traced the hard lines of his abdomen.

I stood frozen, my breath catching in my throat. I found myself involuntarily swallowing, my gaze traveling over the breadth of his shoulders and the thick muscle of his arms.

"Admiring the view, Amara?" he asked, his voice a low, teasing rumble.

He didn't look embarrassed. He didn't even slow down. He walked to the dressing room, his movements fluid and unbothered, as if my presence were a minor detail in his night routine.

"I-I didn't realize you were in here," I stammered, my face burning. I let out a sharp, awkward cough, turning my head away. "I'll... I'll go."

"It's your room too, for the next three months," he called out, the sound of a silk shirt sliding over his skin following me as I bolted for the terrace doors.

My heart was hammering against my ribs-not just from the fear, but from a confusing reaction I had felt when I saw him bare. I pushed through the heavy glass doors and stepped out onto the wide terrace.

The night air was cool. I leaned against the cold rails, staring out at the stars above. I needed to breathe.

"You always did like the stars."

I jumped, spinning around to find Lucas standing. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket. His tie was loosened, and his hair was mussed, as if he'd been running his hands through it in frustration.

I hardened my expression, the memory of our past flashing in my mind. "What are you doing here, Lucas? Your wife is probably wondering where you are."

He flinched at the word *wife*, but he didn't leave. He stepped forward, entering the pale moonlight. "She's asleep. I couldn't sleep."

"We have nothing to talk about" I said, turning back to the gardens.

"Is it true?" he asked, his voice calm but strained. "Are you really going through with this? Are you really marrying my father in two days?"

I didn't look at him. "Your father is intentional about me, Lucas. Besides, you shouldn't be bothered about it."

"I'm bothered about it, Amara," he whispered, stepping closer. I could feel the heat radiating from him now behind me, the familiar scent of his skin cutting through the cool night air.

"Why?" I snapped, finally turning to face him. My voice was thick with two years of suppressed rage. "You left without a word. And now you show up with a ring on your finger and tell me not to marry the only man offering me a way out?"

"You don't understand him," Lucas said, his hand reaching out as if to touch my arm before he pulled it back. "My Father doesn't love things; he owns them."

"And what do you do, Lucas? You discard them?" I stepped into his space, my eyes defiant. "What right do you have to tell me what to do? You forfeited that right the night you walked out."

"I did it because I had no other option," he burst out, his voice a desperate hiss.

I scoffed. "Well, you did a great job,"

It hurts because I still feel something for him, but that should die. I shouldn't let Victor find out about us or our past.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words died in his throat. He looked at me, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that made my heart stutter.

"I can't tell you," he whispered. "Not yet. Just... please, Amara. Don't do this. Don't let him put that ring on your finger."

He moved closer, his hand finally finding the side of my neck. His thumb traced my jawline, a gesture so familiar it made my knees weak. For a moment, the anger vanished, replaced by the ghost of everything we used to be. The way his eyes darkened, the way his breath hitched-it was the same.

He leaned in, his forehead resting against mine. "Don't marry him," he breathed against my lips.

His hand slid into my hair, pulling me toward him. The magnetic pull was overwhelming. I felt my eyes flutter shut, my body betraying my mind as I tilted my head up, waiting for the collision I had dreamed about for seven hundred nights.

But then, I remembered where I was. I remembered the man inside the room behind us-the man who held my life in his hands.

I pulled back sharply, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I pushed his hand away, stepping out of his reach.