The study felt impossibly quiet once Amara's voice broke.
Not loud.
Not sharp.
Just a small, cracked sound—fragile enough to make Mr. Navarro straighten in worry.
Her hands trembled on her lap. Her breath hitched once, then twice, like she was trying to swallow down a storm she no longer had the strength to contain.
"Mr. Navarro…" she whispered, her voice barely holding together.
He leaned slightly forward. "Yes, my dear?"
Amara squeezed her eyes shut. Tears slipped instantly, as if they had been waiting behind her lashes for permission.
"I—I'm sorry," she choked out. "I'm so… so sorry."
Mr. Navarro froze.
"Sorry?" he echoed softly. "For what, Amara?"
She covered her mouth with her hand, shoulders shaking. Her next words spilled in broken pieces.
"I didn't keep my promise… I promised you I would stay in the villa for six months. I told you I would try. But I couldn't stay there anymore. It… It hurts."
Her breath faltered.
"I'm sorry I disappointed you."
Mr. Navarro's chest tightened painfully.
"Amara," he said firmly but gently, "look at me."
She tried… but only managed to lift her gaze halfway.
"None of that," he said. "Not a single bit of what you just said, is your fault."
She blinked, confused through her tears.
He leaned closer, eyes soft but filled with an ache of his own.
"You did not break a promise. My grandson broke something much more important—your heart."
Amara's lips trembled as she pulled her hand away from her mouth.
Mr. Navarro continued, voice steady but thick with regret:
"The fault is mine for ever asking that of you. I thought I understood how close you two were. I thought what I saw between you back then was real enough to guide you both toward a future you would want."
His jaw tightened.
"But I was wrong."
Amara's throat tightened painfully. "You weren't wrong about… about wanting something good for us."
"Perhaps," he said quietly. "But the timing was wrong. Kael was not ready. And you—my dear—you were left to shoulder the consequences of my mistake."
A soft sob escaped her despite her effort to hold it back.
Mr. Navarro reached forward, placing a fatherly hand over hers. Warm. Steady. No pressure. No expectation.
"I am the one who should apologise," he said. "To you."
Her breath caught.
"For pushing you into a situation that caused you pain," he said. "For not protecting you more carefully. And for waiting this long to truly speak about it."
She shook her head, tears falling again. "Mr. Navarro, please… you've always been kind to me. You gave me more than I ever—"
"And yet you suffered," he interrupted gently. "Under my roof. Under my company. Under my grandson's pride."
Silence sat between them, heavy and honest.
Then he inhaled deeply, gathering himself.
"And about what I proposed back then…" he said. "The engagement. I will speak to Kael. It will be cancelled."
Amara stiffened—not because she disagreed, but because the word engagement stabbed at everything raw inside her.
More tears spilled.
She nodded slowly. "I… understand."
Mr. Navarro watched her carefully. "Is there more you wish to say?"
Amara swallowed hard.
"Yes," she whispered. "I… need to apologise for something else."
His brows drew together. "Amara, you owe me no—"
"I can't stay in the company anymore," she blurted out, the words trembling out of her like a confession. "I can't keep working there. Not after everything that's happened. Not with how things feel now. I… I'm sorry. I know this makes things harder for you. I know how much pressure the board is already putting on you and I— I know how important the project is, and—"
"Amara," he cut in softly but firmly, "breathe."
She inhaled shakily, trying to steady herself.
He leaned back slightly, studying her sorrow, her exhaustion, the spirit that had been worn thin over months.
"Losing you would be a tremendous loss," he said honestly. "You are one of the brightest talents I've seen. Anyone can see that."
Her tears fell harder at the sincerity in his voice.
"But…" he continued gently, "if staying means hurting yourself further because of my grandson, then I cannot—will not—ask you to endure that."
Amara covered her trembling lips, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
"I'm sorry," she whispered again.
He shook his head. "You must stop apologising for surviving."
That broke something in her.
Her breath crumpled into another sob.
Mr. Navarro waited until she steadied just slightly.
"But," he said, a reluctant sigh leaving him, "I will ask you for one last favour."
She looked up through wet lashes.
"Can you resign… after finishing the current deal you're handling? Only this one. It would ease the transition. The board, the clients—they trust you. And the project is almost at completion."
Amara nodded slowly, tears still spilling. "Yes… I can do that."
"And…" he added, voice softening to something deeply personal, "after you resign… may I ask for one more thing?"
She blinked.
"Can you still treat me like a grandfather?" he asked softly. "Can we keep this—this bond—outside the office? Outside the company?"
Amara's breath hitched. Her eyes widened, shimmering with a deeper emotion now—one that held love, grief, and gratitude all at once.
"Yes," she whispered, voice breaking. "Of course. You've always been like family to me."
Something gentle melted across his expression. A small, weary smile formed—the kind only someone who had carried too many regrets could make.
"Thank you," he murmured.
They sat like that for a moment—Amara trembling but lighter, Mr. Navarro heavy but relieved—as though years of unspoken pain finally found air.
At last, Mr. Navarro exhaled.
"Come," he said softly, standing. "Let's go downstairs. Your friend looks like he's about ready to tear the house down from worry."
Amara let out a small, watery laugh. It was broken, but real.
She wiped her tears carefully and rose.
They walked out together, the study doors closing behind them with a soft click.
Downstairs
Damian shot to his feet the instant they appeared at the end of the hallway.
His eyes locked immediately on Amara's tear-stained cheeks, her reddened eyes, and the slight tremble in her fingers.
His jaw tightened so sharply that Mr. Navarro almost heard the grind of teeth.
"Amara," Damian said, his voice low, tense—concern wrapped in control.
He took a step forward, muscles coiled, ready to charge toward whoever or whatever had made her cry—
But Amara gave him a tiny, reassuring smile.
Just a small curve of her lips. A whisper of calm.
It stopped him mid-stride.
His shoulders relaxed—barely, but enough. His eyes searched her face, making sure she wasn't hiding pain he needed to respond to.
"I'm okay," she murmured softly.
He exhaled slowly, but his hands were still clenched at his sides.
Mr. Navarro approached them both.
"Would you two like to stay for dinner?" he asked gently.
Amara shook her head politely. "Thank you, but I'd prefer to rest tonight."
He nodded with understanding. "Of course. You've had a long day."
Damian moved closer to Amara, not touching her, but keeping a protective presence at her side as they headed toward the door.
Before they left the foyer, Mr. Navarro reached out and gently rested a hand on Damian's arm.
"Mr. Sinclair," he said quietly.
Damian paused, turning slightly. "Sir?"
Mr. Navarro's eyes, worn and wise, softened with a different kind of plea.
"Take care of her," he said. "She deserves gentleness. She deserves someone who will cherish her."
Damian's expression shifted—steady, resolute, almost fierce in its sincerity.
"You don't need to tell me that," he replied. "I will. Always."
Mr. Navarro studied him for a moment, then nodded.
"Good," he said simply. "I'm trusting you."
"You can," Damian answered.
He stepped back to Amara's side.
She met Mr. Navarro's gaze one last time, offering a quiet, heartbroken but hopeful smile.
"Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Amara," he murmured. "Come back to visit, hm? Not as an employee. As family."
Her eyes glistened, but she nodded.
Damian opened the door for her, letting the cool night air rush in.
Together, they stepped out of the villa.
Mr. Navarro watched them leave—watched the way Damian subtly adjusted his pace so Amara wouldn't have to rush, watched the way her shoulders relaxed near him, watched the way she finally looked like she wasn't carrying everything alone.
And then he exhaled, a man who knew the real storm had only just begun…
…because soon, he would have to face his grandson.
But for tonight—
He was simply grateful that Amara was no longer hurting in silence.