The car was moving through the quiet night, the city lights dimming behind them as Damian guided the vehicle onto the familiar route toward their side of the city. For the first time in hours, neither of them spoke.
The silence wasn't heavy—it felt gentle. A kind of stillness that came after a storm.
Amara leaned her forehead lightly against the cool window. Her eyes were tired, but the tears had finally stopped. The soft hum of the engine felt almost comforting, steady… unlike the emotional chaos she had gone through for the past few months.
Damian kept his eyes on the road, but every few seconds, his gaze flickered toward her. He didn't want to overwhelm her with questions. He didn't want to push. He just wanted her to know he was there.
And he was.
He always seemed to be.
The night wrapped around them like a soft blanket—no traffic, no noise, only the quiet rhythm of the drive.
After several minutes, Amara finally broke the silence.
"Damian…" Her voice was a little hoarse from crying.
He turned slightly. "Yeah?"
She exhaled a long breath, as though letting something go. "I talked to Mr. Navarro about everything."
Damian didn't interrupt—he just waited.
"I apologized to him," she continued, twisting her fingers on her lap. "For not fulfilling the promise I made… to stay at the villa for six months. But he didn't blame me. He said it wasn't my fault. He apologized to me instead."
Damian's brows rose slightly. "He apologized to you?"
Amara nodded. "He admitted the mistake was his… because he forced me into something that caused me so much pain." Her voice softened. "He said he would talk to Kael. He even said he'd cancel the engagement plan he told him about before."
Damian's grip tightened on the steering wheel—not in anger, but in relief. "Good," he muttered. "That should've never been placed on your shoulders."
Amara let out a tiny, trembling laugh. "Honestly… after talking to him, I felt… lighter. Like the weight I've been carrying finally loosened." She pressed a hand to her chest. "I feel at peace, Damian. Really."
He sighed quietly, his shoulders lowering. "I'm glad, Amara. You don't know how relieved I am to hear that."
She smiled faintly. "I know. You sat there looking like you were ready to kick down the study door."
Damian coughed. "I— I was just… concerned."
"You were anxious," she teased gently.
He didn't deny it.
Amara looked out the window again, watching the streetlights blur slightly. "I also told Mr. Navarro something else."
"What is it?"
"I told him… I can't continue working in the company."
Damian's jaw tightened, but he didn't react with shock. "I figured you'd come to that decision."
"He didn't want to let me go at first," Amara whispered. "But after he saw how hurt I was, he agreed. He just asked for two favours."
"Which are?"
"To finish the deal I'm currently handling… and…" She gave a small, emotional laugh. "He asked me to still treat him like a grandfather after I resigned."
Damian's expression softened. "That sounds like him."
"I agreed," she said quietly.
"Good," Damian murmured. "You deserve the freedom to move on. To breathe again."
Amara nodded.
Silence settled again, but this time it was warm, almost peaceful.
After a moment, she said, "Damian… can you drive me to my new apartment? The one you helped me find? I think… I want to sleep there tonight."
Damian nodded. "Of course."
"And…" She hesitated. "You live there too, right? Just next door?"
His lips twitched—something between amusement and something more reserved. "Yeah. Neighbours."
Amara didn't notice the tiny shift in his expression. She simply said, "Good. I like that."
Before Damian could respond, Amara's stomach growled loudly.
Her entire face flamed. "Oh my gosh—please pretend you didn't hear that."
He couldn't help the soft chuckle. "Too late. I definitely heard that."
"Damian—!"
"But that actually works." He flicked his turn signal and changed lanes. "Let's eat first. You haven't had dinner. I haven't either."
Amara fiddled with her seatbelt. "I— I guess I could eat. I didn't want to eat at Mr. Navarro's house because it felt… strange after everything."
"Understandable."
"And I'm really hungry," she admitted quietly.
Damian grinned. "Lucky for you, I know a place that's still open."
Her stomach growled again.
She covered her face. "Damian, please—"
"I'm driving faster," he said, teasing lightly.
Despite her exhaustion, she laughed softly—genuine and warm.
The car rolled through the night, heading toward a small 24-hour restaurant near their building.
But somewhere else in the city…
The atmosphere of the upscale bar was dim, the neon lights reflecting off polished surfaces and half-empty glasses. Music thumped low, though Kael barely seemed aware of it.
He sat slouched at the bar counter, one elbow on the polished wood, his fingers wrapped around a glass of whiskey. His tie was loose, his shirt wrinkled as if he had been pulling at it for hours. His hair was messy, falling over his eyes.
The bartender eyed him with mild concern. Kael looked like a man who had fought himself all night—and lost.
He lifted the glass again with unfocused eyes.
"Sorry…" he muttered.
His voice cracked.
"Amara… I'm sorry…"
He wasn't even speaking to anyone. Just to the ghost of the girl he pushed so far away.
His head hung forward, shoulders slumped, the alcohol saturating his senses until he could barely think straight—except for that one name.
A woman approached the bar, someone Kael didn't know. She was dressed elegantly, clearly a regular in places like this. She glanced at him, tilted her head, and tapped lightly on the counter near him.
"You look like you're drowning," she said with a small, amused smile. "Need company?"
Kael didn't respond.
She slid onto the stool next to him anyway. "Come on… Let me help you out of here. You're too drunk to stay alone."
Kael didn't protest. He didn't even fully register what was happening. His world was spinning, and all he could cling to was the word he kept whispering.
"Amara… sorry…"
The woman placed a steadying hand on his arm.
"Come on," she said softly. "Let's get you out of here."
Kael allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, stumbling.
The bar door closed behind them.
The night swallowed the last echo of his apology.