Morning spilled into the room in bands of white light. It crawled up the floorboards and caught on the glass vials and silver trays scattered across the vanity table. Lena sat in the same chair as the day before, hair pinned, collarbones dusted with translucent powder. The stylists were already at work - one adjusting the nape of her cream suit, another pressing concealer into the hollow beneath her eyes. She barely got enough sleep last night despite the enormous queen size bed and she couldn't tell whether it was due to guilt or the fact that she had left home on bad terms with her brother.

"Hold still," murmured the makeup artist. "We're almost done with the eyes."

She nodded faintly. Her phone sat on the edge of the table idle as she waited for a call back from Eli.When the woman turned to fetch a brush, she reached for it.The stylists' chatter soon dissolved into a low hum as she barely heard them the moment she pressed call.

No answer.

She tried again.

"Eli, it's me," she whispered into her phone when his voicemail caught her again. "I just- I need to know you're okay. Please."

She swallowed the wave of nausea and pressed her thumb against the phone again,this time searching for the hospital's number.

A nurse answered after a long ring. "Riverside General, endocrinology wing."

"Hi," Lena said, her voice catching on the first syllable. "I'm trying to reach Eli Rowan. He was undergoing treatment there. I've been trying to call him but he's not-"

"One moment, please," the nurse cut in, "Let me check."

Lena pressed the phone tighter to her ear, staring at the mirror. Her reflection didn't move.She could hear the faint tap of a keyboard,the muffled static of hospital air and the distinct chatter of people.

Then "And are you by chance a relative of the patient?" Lena nodded even though the woman couldn't see her.

"He's my brother"

"Well, according to the file,his account was recently cleared of all outstanding debts. He's been reassigned to the in-patient wing for resumed treatment."

Lena blinked. "Cleared? What-how?"

"I'm afraid I don't have that information. It says 'anonymous payment processed directly to administration.'"

Her stomach dropped. Anonymous.

It didn't take much realization to know who that meant.

"Can I speak to him? Just for a minute?"

"I'm sorry, not at the moment. He's receiving treatment. You'll be notified when he's available for calls." The line clicked. Lena sat there, hand still clutching the phone as the dial tone hummed in her ear. For a moment she thought she might be sick.

Someone cleared their throat behind her. It was Clara.

"Miss Wren," she said gently. "We need to go over the event schedule."

---

The stylists moved around her again like a porcelain doll; pins, cuffs, lipstick, a quick spray of perfume.Clara held out a small jewelry box to her.Inside was a delicate silver chain with a diamond pendant that caught the light just so.

"Wear this," Clara said. "It was one of her favorites."

"Does he approve of everything?" Lena asked without thinking.

Clara's smile didn't reach her eyes. "You want this to go well don't you?"

A few minutes later, Damon entered. He was dressed in a dark tailored suit, tie perfectly knotted, watch glinting at his wrist and his hair gelled to perfection.

"Ready?" he asked.

Lena rose, smoothing her dress of invisible lint "As I'll ever be."

His gaze swept over her. "Don't speak unless you're asked to. Keep your answers short. I'll handle the statements."

"Statements?" she repeated.

"The board's lawyers will want a visual confirmation of our-" his pause was deliberate,"-union." His tone gave the word a hard edge. "Don't forget to smile."

---

The car waited at the front steps and Damon gestured for her to enter first,his hand hovering just enough to imply courtesy, not warmth.

Inside, the air smelled faintly of leather and cedar polish.The partition was up; the driver's voice came through muted. Lena sat with her hands folded on her lap, pulse still trembling beneath her skin.

For a while, they said nothing. The estate gates swung open, and the car rolled onto the road.

"You'll take my arm when we enter. If any questions are thrown at you, look at me for a signal on whether you should answer or not. If cameras are present, you'll look at me when I speak as though you trust me."

"I don't," she murmured but he caught it.

"Good. That makes it easier to fake devotion."

She turned to face her own side of the window, swallowing the rising ache in her throat. "And what shouldn't I do?"

"Don't improvise. Don't touch me unless I do first. Don't look uncertain when they mention her."

The car slowed as the hospital gates opened. Even from inside, Lena could see the row of cameras lined up along the barricade - long lenses glinting under the afternoon light, the eager crowd already buzzing. The first time she stepped in this hospital was as Lena, a victim of circumstance and a villain under the public eye. And now she had returned this time as Amara, sabotaged heiress and People's princess. How fast things can change.

"They're early," Clara muttered from the front seat, tapping her earpiece. "They've been camped out since dawn."

Damon leaned forward and pressed a button on the intercom. "We're here."

Lena's eyes traced the scene outside-the reporters shifting, security holding the line, flashes waiting to ignite.She exhaled quietly, then glanced at Damon.

"Keep your chin up," Clara instructed. "You'll step out first, left foot forward. Walk slowly.The cameras need some time to adjust."

"Ready?" Damon asked, already halfway out, adjusting his cufflinks.

"I don't- I don't think-"

"Now!" Clara said gently but firmly. "Step out. Right foot first. Don't look at the cameras. Don't look at them. Look at him."

Lena hesitated for one heartbeat too long. Then she opened the door.Reporters shouted her name or Amara's.She couldn't tell which. Several hands shot forward with microphones almost touching her lips

"Miss Wren! Is it true the accident was staged?"

"Mr. Hale, are you confirming the marriage?"

"Who's footing the hospital bills-"

"Eyes forward," Clara muttered behind her teeth. Damon reached a hand towards Lena's elbow and she almost didn't take but the flashes blinded her, and instinct made her reach back.

"Smile," he murmured. She tried but it felt wrong on her face.

"Good morning," Damon said to the crowd, in a calm and steady voice."We appreciate your patience. A brief statement would be made, after which we would proceed inside."

The reporters surged forward.

"Mr. Hale, is she staying with you at the Hale estate?"

"Miss Wren, were you driving?"

"Who paid for the-"

"That's enough." Damon's tone didn't rise, but it cut through the noise. The crowd went quiet."There will be no commentary on rumors or personal details.Thank you."

He turned slightly toward Lena. "Walk."

She followed, heels clicking against the pavement, camera flashes strobing against her skin. The sound of her heartbeat mixed with the machine-gun rhythm of shutters was almost impalpable.

"I can't feel my hands," she muttered under her breath.

"Good,"Damon said. "Means you won't fidget."

They reached the doors. Security opened them quickly, ushering the pair into the hospital's bright marble lobby. The noise dulled down automatically but the flash of the cameras was still evident. When they entered the room, a small team of hospital administrators and legal representatives were already seated, waiting. Cameras flashed again. This time smaller, official ones which had been set up as documentary evidence. A neat folder sat at the center of the table, flanked by silver pens.

"Mr. Hale, Miss Wren," the head administrator greeted,extending a hand. "We're grateful you could make it. This helps put a lot of questions to rest."

"Of course," Damon replied smoothly. "We all want what's best for Amara's recovery."

Lena smiled faintly, keeping her voice even. "I'm just glad to be out of bed."

There were polite laughs around the room, though none of which met the other's eyes.The lawyer gestured toward the folder. "If you'll both sign here and here, we'll finalize the legal continuation of the foundation's funding and the press release."

Lena hesitated for a heartbeat, then took the pen. One of the reasons she had been unable to sleep the previous night boiled down to this particular moment. She had to ace the signature. Damon's gaze stayed fixed on her as he watched her dawdle with the italics.

When she was done, she pushed the pen forward. "There."

She could feel Damon exhale lightly in relief as he injured his own signature.

"Excellent," the lawyer said, stacking the papers neatly. "The statement goes out at four."

As they walked back toward the lobby, Clara leaned close and whispered, "You did well. They bought it."

"Good for them," Lena said softly. As they turned toward the exit, the reporters outside surged again like bees drawn to honey.

"Miss Wren! Look this way!"

"Mr. Hale! One photo together!"

"Just one!"

Damon paused just short of the door. "We should honor this request," he said quietly.

"I don't want to."

"It's not about what you want."

He turned, placing a careful hand on her waist. "Breathe," he murmured.

She did, shallowly. "This was not necessary and you know it" she said under her breath.

"No," he said. "But it was enough conviction"

They reached the car and a guard opened the door. The cameras screamed for another picture but Damon didn't stop this time. He let her slide inside first, then followed.

The television droned softly across the room.

"Three days after her first public appearance since the accident, Amara Wren was seen beside her boyfriend at the signing ceremony that secured Hale Industries' continued funding. Sources close to the family say she's recovering remarkably well-"

Lena muted the screen.Her reflection shimmered faintly in the black glass. Her dark hair had now been trimmed to model Amara's precise shoulder-length cut. It was almost uncanny that she bore almost the same facial features as Amara and if she could turn back time to a month ago she wouldn't believe it. The first time she had met Amara, they spent close to five minutes staring at each other without saying a word.

"Word got out to me that I had a look alike and I almost couldn't believe it myself"

"Was that why you requested my services?"

"It was why I could trust you with this particular portrait." Amara said reclusively.

"Your'e a talented artist Lena. Is it okay if I called you Lena or Miss Rowan?--"

"Lena is fine."

A soft knock was heard at the door and without waiting for a response,it creaked open to reveal Margo the head housekeeper. "Good, you're awake. Breakfast is in the sunroom. Mr. Hale's waiting."

"Waiting?" Lena's tone betrayed a hint of surprise. Why would he be waiting for her?

Margo smiled faintly. "He prefers punctuality."

Lena forced a smile. "Thank you, Margo."

The sunroom was an expanse of white marble and glass, framed by rose vines. Damon sat at the far end of the table, reading something on his phone. The morning light caught the sharp edge of his jaw, making the silver watch on his wrist glint like ice.

"Good morning," Lena said, forcing evenness into her voice as she sat opposite.

He looked up briefly. "Morning."

A maid poured her coffee, and another set down a plate of fruit she wouldn't eat.

"I saw the news," she said after a pause. "Apparently I'm recovering well."

His eyes lifted again. "You handled the event better than expected."

"That almost sounds like a compliment."

"Don't get used to it."

The corner of her mouth twitched. "I wasn't planning to."

One of the maids spilled a little water as she refilled Damon's glass and the silence that followed made her flush crimson.

"Leave it," Damon said quietly. She bobbed a quick bow and hurried off. When the room emptied again, Lena stirred her coffee just to give her hands something to do. "They're afraid of you," she said softly.

He didn't look up from his phone. "As they should be. They work for me after all"

"Is that how you view it?"

"That's how it should be viewed, Miss Rowan. And you should learn that if you want them to believe you're her."

Something in the way he said her made Lena's chest tighten.

"I have to put on a show for them too?"

"It helps you not to forget your role" he said with a tone of indifference.

She stared at him while he ate, her cheeks burning up in anger and frustration. She never wanted anything from this man but the barest minimum of decency to treat her like a person and not some actor was all she really needed especially in uncharted territory such as this.

"Your meal is still untouched" he pointed out dusting the sides of his mouth with a napkin.

"I lost my appetite."

He pushed back his chair, standing. "I suggest you eat as we start training in an hour. PR wants you ready for the gala next week."

"Another event?"

"This one is extra important to me, Miss Rowan. It is one of Amara's favourite activities so I want you to give it your all."

--

The training took place in one of the glass corridors that overlooked the gardens. A woman named Ruth stood before Lena like a drill sergeant in heels.

"Posture," Ruth said, tapping Lena's shoulder. "Head high, chin level. You're not apologizing for breathing."

Lena adjusted. Dancing had never been her strong suit, especially one that required etiquette. She had two left feet and there was no helping her no matter how hard Ruth blared into her ears. Damon's intense stare from across the room wasn't doing much good either.

"Walk."

She obeyed, heels clicking against marble.

"Again,"Damon said with his arms crossed. "Slower this time."

Ruth sighed. "She's trying, Mr. Hale.

He sighed irritably. "It's her shoulders. She's always so tense." He featured with his hands. "She needs to loosen them up."

She looked at Lena signaling her to heed to Damon's advice but it seemed to make everything worse.

"Posture, chérie," Ruth murmured, tapping Lena's spine lightly with a baton. "A waltz is not only about movement it is about breathing in the same rhythm as the room."

Lena tried to follow her lead, keeping her back straight and her chin up. "Your shoulders would loosen but it would take some time. You are not used to this life which is understandable." Lena nodded, grateful someone could understand her as she struggled to catch her breath.

Ruth turned toward Damon suddenly. "Monsieur Hale, you are watching as if this is theater. Come."

His brow lifted. "Come?"

"Yes." Her baton pointed sharply at him. "She cannot learn to waltz alone. Chemistry must be tested."

Lena blinked. "That's really not-"

"Necessary?" Ruth's dark eyes glinted. "Ah, but it is.The public must see devotion. Even a small distance will be seen. Touch matters."

Damon's jaw tightened, but he pushed off the piano and crossed to Lena without a word. The sound of his shoes echoed against the marble floor.

"Relax, mademoiselle," Ruth said, moving between them. "This is not war. It is dance."

Lena exhaled shakily as Damon extended his hand.She placed hers uncertainly.

"Left hand on his shoulder," Ruth instructed. "Good. Now-follow."

The music swelled, soft strings carrying a faint ache. Damon led.The first turn was chaotic as she stepped on his shoe, murmuring a quick, "Sorry."

He didn't flinch. "Watch my chest, not my feet," he said quietly. "You'll follow better that way."

"I was born with two left feet."

"I can tell."

She almost smiled, but the rhythm forced her focus back. His hand pressed gently against her back, putting just enough amount of pressure to make her move with him.

Ruth clapped once."Better! Now you feel it, oui? A waltz lives only when two hearts pretend they have known each other forever."

Lena's breath caught at the phrasing while her eyes met with Damon's

"I'm not pretending that well," she murmured.

His lips curved faintly. "There's an improvement."

The second turn was smoother; her body began to anticipate his.The distance between them shrank until she could feel the warmth of his breath against her temple.Ruth paced around them, humming. "Do you feel this, ma chère? This... current between you? It is what the camera will see before it hears a word. A waltz without chemistry is like a lie without conviction."

"Then I suppose I should learn to lie better." Lena heard herself say.

"You already have." Damon answered.

She looked up sharply, but he wasn't smiling now. His gaze held hers for a heartbeat too long before he broke the step, releasing her hand.

Ruth sighed. "Non, non, non... You stop too early! They always stop when it begins to work!"

"I think that's enough for today," Damon said,backing away.

Ruth rolled her eyes skyward. "Mon Dieu, you two have the chemistry of thunder and lightning. Beautiful-if only it did not frighten the house."

Lena caught her breath, looking anywhere but him. "Thank you, Ruth," she said softly.

"Tomorrow we dance again!," Ruth replied, already gathering her notes. "And next time, you will not look like you wish to flee when he touches you, d'accord?"

When the door closed behind the woman, silence which could be cut with a knife engulfed the room again.

"Ruth is a good teacher, non?" She said trying to stir up conversation but he left without uttering a word.

---

That night, she couldn't sleep.

The mansion was too silent. Like it had let out it's final exhale it had been holding back all day. She wandered into the hallway, barefoot, wrapped in one of the soft robes Margo had laid out for her.The glass walls glowed faintly under moonlight.

Through the greenhouse doors, she spotted him. Damon, in rolled sleeves, hands deep in soil, tending white roses under the soft hum of grow lights. His expression was different - not his usual cold stoic self. He looked much calmer and at peace but also extremely tired There was a gentleness in the way he pruned each stem, something almost reverent.

She watched quietly from the doorway until he looked up.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, voice lower than usual.

"I couldn't sleep," she said. "I heard... something."

He dusted his hands, and straightened himself. "The house creaks. You'll get used to it."

"I didn't think you liked flowers."

A faint twitch at his mouth. "I don't. It's a hobby."

Lena stared delirious at him, with arms crossed. "A hobby? But you don't like it. Do you understand what a hobby is?"

Damon looked at her with an unreadable expression. "Do you intend to question me till dawn Miss Rowan?"

She stepped closer to where he was crouched. "Hobby or not, I never pegged you for a gardener."

He clipped a stem cleanly. "Someone has to keep them alive. The staff always overwater."

"Seems fitting," she murmured. "A man obsessed with control nurturing something that grows on its own." She paused briefly guaging his expression. "Speaking of which, I never had the chance to thank you for reinstating my brother in a ward."

"I was simply keeping my end of the bargain."

She frowned. "Are you always this closed out to people?"

"Yes," Damon answered unfazed.

"Including Amara?" she had no idea why she mentioned that.

He paused momentarily as if choosing the right words. "I and Amara have a singular understanding with one another. If that's the way to put it."

"I don't understand"

His expression softened barely, but enough that she saw it. "You shouldn't try to understand me,Miss Rowan. It's easier if you don't."

"Maybe," she said "But I think understanding people is what keeps me alive."

He looked down at her then, like really looked as if the conversation had shifted from small talk to something rawer. The wind stirred the roses gently.

"You did well today," he said finally.

She blinked. "It didn't look like I did."

"Well you did. Judging by the fact that you stepped on my foot just once.

"You make that sound like a compliment."

"Believe me it's not." He turned away, rising from the flower bed brushing dirt from his palms. "Goodnight Miss Rowan."

Back in her room, she sat on the edge of the bed scrolling idly on the news blog when she received a pop up notification from an unknown number.

You're not Amara. Leave before he buries you too.