The afternoon light fell soft and golden across the Sinclair villa, weaving between the vines that framed the garden's white pergola. It was a tranquil kind of day — the kind that made the world seem almost merciful, almost forgiving.
Amara sat quietly on the wooden bench beneath it, tracing the faint grain of the seat with her fingertips. Around her, the garden breathed — roses heavy with scent, the whisper of leaves swaying against the pale sunlight, the soft hum of bees gliding through the air.
It was Friday. Her last weekend before returning to work.
She had just waved goodbye to her parents.
Her mother's smile had been warm, though her eyes glimmered with a familiar kind of worry. Her father had given Damian one last firm handshake, thanking him again for taking care of their daughter. Amara could still see their car disappearing down the tree-lined driveway, sunlight flashing on the windshield.
Her heart felt heavy, but not in a bad way — just full.
She knew why they had left. They wanted her to spend her last few days alone — or maybe, not so alone — before she returned to the city and faced everything she had run from. Her parents had seen through her, as always.
"She's already fine," her mother had said earlier, patting her hand at breakfast.
"We'll go back to the countryside. The crops won't wait."
But Amara knew the truth. They wanted to give her space — and perhaps, a little nudge — to be with Damian without their presence hovering nearby.
She smiled faintly at the thought.
They really liked him.
They had seen how patient, how quietly attentive he'd been — not once leaving her side when she was weak, not once forcing her to speak when her world was still in pieces.
Her parents had always admired humility and sincerity over status. And Damian had both.
But even that warmth couldn't erase the shadow that had been lingering in her chest since that day — the memory of Kael's cold rejection, his cutting words, the way the entire office had looked at her as if she were a joke that had finally been exposed.
A week ago, she couldn't even think about it without her throat tightening.
Now, she could at least breathe.
Still, the thought of returning terrified her.
In two days, she would have to face Kael again. The man she had loved for years — the man who had shattered her heart with a single sentence.
She drew her knees closer, resting her chin on them as the sunlight dimmed slightly behind a passing cloud.
Will I be strong enough this time?
Her eyes stung as she remembered the laughter, the whispers, and the mocking smiles of her co-workers.
She had worked so hard to rebuild herself, to gather the courage to stand in front of them again. But the fear of breaking apart once more, of seeing Kael's indifference, still haunted her.
"Still thinking too much again?"
The voice was soft yet steady, carrying that same grounding warmth that always reached her no matter how far she drifted into thought.
She looked up.
Damian stood at the edge of the pergola, holding a tray with two glasses of fresh lemonade and a small plate of cookies. The sunlight caught the sharpness of his features — his strong jawline, the faint shadow of stubble that framed his mouth, the quiet intensity in his dark eyes.
Amara blinked. She hadn't even heard him approach.
"I brought some snacks," he said, setting the tray down on the small table beside her. "You've been sitting here for hours. You should at least drink something."
Amara smiled softly, her eyes lowering. "You really don't have to do all this for me, Damian."
"I know," he said, taking a seat across from her. "But I want to."
His tone was simple, honest — like always.
They sat in silence for a moment. A breeze swept through the garden, brushing Amara's long hair over her shoulders. Damian watched her quietly, noticing how much she had changed in just a few weeks.
Her face wasn't as pale as before. Her eyes — though still carrying traces of sadness — now had a faint spark in them again. The kind of spark that said she was healing, even if slowly.
He'd seen her crumble, burn with fever, and fall into long silences that lasted for days. But he'd also seen her start smiling again — tiny, fleeting smiles that made all the effort worth it.
Damian placed the tray between them, pouring a drink for her. "You're worried about going back, aren't you?"
Amara froze, her fingers tightening around her glass.
"…A little," she admitted after a pause. "I just— I don't know if I'm ready to see them. To see him."
Her voice trembled faintly on that last word, and Damian's chest tightened.
Kael.
He didn't need her to say the name.
He had promised himself not to hate Kael — not for breaking her, not for rejecting her — but every time he saw the pain in her eyes, the urge to protect her grew stronger.
"If you're not happy working there," he said quietly, leaning back, "then don't."
Amara blinked. "What do you mean?"