The storm outside hadn't slowed. Rain drummed heavily against the Carter mansion's wide glass panes, streaking the view in silver lines. The sound was relentless, like the past pounding at the door, refusing to be ignored.
At the dining table, Samantha stirred her untouched tea slowly, her eyes fixed on the swirling liquid, though her mind was far away. The room was warm, lit by soft chandeliers that gave everything a golden glow, but inside her chest, the cold she had carried for seven years hadn't faded.
"Are you sure you'll be comfortable here tonight?" Nick asked suddenly, his voice low, almost hesitant. He had his elbows resting lightly on the table, his eyes searching hers.
Samantha lifted her gaze. Calm. Composed. A small smile curved her lips.
"I don't think your mother would forgive you if you sent a guest out into that storm, Nick."
Naomi chuckled from the other end of the table.
"Of course not. This house has always been a place of shelter. You'll stay here as long as you need, Samantha."
Kate, who had just returned from upstairs, pressed her lips tightly together. She picked up her wineglass and sipped, though her hand trembled slightly. Samantha's eyes flickered briefly in her direction — just enough to catch the unease before Kate dropped her gaze.
Still shaken from that call, Samantha thought. And she knows I saw her. What are you hiding, Kate?
The silence that followed was broken by Chloe, who leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm.
"So, Samantha… tell me, how do you make decisions under that kind of pressure? Last night's gala must have been exhausting. The way you handled Shelly Monroe… it's all anyone is talking about online."
A smirk touched the corner of Samantha's lips.
"Pressure is only dangerous when you let emotions lead. I deal in evidence, not rumors. That's the difference between a leader and a follower."
Nick watched her closely. The sharp certainty in her tone, the elegance in her posture — it wasn't just confidence, it was power. Something in him stirred that he hadn't felt in a long time. He quickly looked away, as though the thought itself was betrayal.
Kate noticed his glance and cleared her throat. "Excuse me," she said, her voice a little too sharp. She rose, muttering something about checking on Sophia, and left the table.
Naomi frowned. "She's been restless tonight. I hope everything is fine."
Samantha's gaze followed Kate until she disappeared up the stairs. Restless? That's a soft word for someone carrying secrets heavy enough to bend her shoulders.
Nick stood. "Let me show you to the guest room before it gets too late. You must be tired."
Samantha rose gracefully, she nodded, maintaining her composure, even as memories threatened to claw their way forward — memories of nights in this very house when she was not a guest, but a wife.
*****
---
The guest room was elegant, with soft cream walls and a large canopy bed. A wide window overlooked the storm, lightning briefly illuminating the room. Samantha set her handbag neatly on the dresser and ran her fingers across the edge of the vanity, pausing.
"Thank you," she said simply, turning back to Nick, who lingered at the door.
"You know…" he hesitated, his eyes softening, "there's something about you. You carry yourself as if you've walked through fire and came out unburned."
For a moment, Samantha almost laughed. If only you knew how close you were to the truth. But she only smiled faintly.
"Fire doesn't burn the determined, Nick. It forges them."
His jaw tightened as though he wanted to say more, but instead, he gave a small nod and closed the door quietly behind him.
*****
---
Later, Samantha slipped off her dress and wrapped herself in a towel. Steam curled from the bathroom as she stepped out, her skin glowing faintly from the shower. She tightened the towel around her chest and moved to the dresser to pick her nightwear.
The door suddenly creaked open.
Samantha froze.
Nick stood in the doorway, his hand still on the handle. For a heartbeat, time stopped. His eyes widened, shock flashing across his face, but he couldn't move. His gaze betrayed him — traveling from the damp strands of hair clinging to her shoulders down to the towel wrapped around her.
Samantha's voice cut through the silence, calm and sharp.
"Nick… you've walked into the wrong room."
He blinked, startled, his composure shattering. "I— I thought—" His words tangled. "I didn't realize. I'm sorry." He stepped back quickly, but not fast enough to erase the flush that had risen to his face.
Samantha tilted her head slightly, studying him. "Is this how you treat all your guests?" Her tone was light, teasing, but her eyes held an edge that made him swallow hard.
"No… never." His voice was quieter now, almost hoarse.
For the first time in years, Samantha saw hesitation in him — Nick Carter, the man who once replaced her so easily, now caught like a boy who had walked into fire unprepared.
She turned away, giving him her back as she picked up her nightdress. "Close the door, Nick. And next time… knock."
He lingered one second too long before pulling the door shut, his pulse racing as he leaned against the wall outside. What was that? Why do I… He couldn't finish the thought.
Inside, Samantha slipped into her nightdress, her lips curving faintly. She had seen it — the crack in his armor. The hesitation. The attraction he hadn't intended to show.
She lay on the bed, the storm's rumble echoing her own thoughts. The rain against the windows reminded her of the night she had been cast out, betrayed, left in the cold. But tonight was different. Tonight, she wasn't Ally Miller begging for warmth — she was Samantha Bradley, with the power to make them shiver instead.
Her eyes closed slowly, but her mind was wide awake.
The storm outside raged on. And so did the one inside her.