Amara woke up smiling.
For the first time in months—after endless nights of tension, exhaustion, and the heaviness she carried alone—she felt something she had almost forgotten how to feel.
Lightness.
She lay in bed for a moment, staring at the ceiling of her new apartment. A soft morning glow filtered through the curtains, warm and gentle. And as soon as she remembered why her chest felt so strangely light—
She laughed.
Out loud.
Her hand slapped over her mouth in disbelief, as though she had startled herself.
Because the memory was too clear, too warm, too precious to mistake for a dream.
The restaurant last night.
The food she swore she wouldn't finish but did.
Damian teasing her about her terrible chopstick skills.
Her teasing him back about his teary expression when he tried spicy broth.
The way he kept checking if she was okay without making it uncomfortable.
The ridiculous joke about the waiter mixing up their order that made her laugh until her stomach hurt.
And that moment—the one she remembered most clearly—
when she threw her head back laughing, and Damian just watched her with a soft grin, like seeing her happy was enough for him.
It had been so long since she laughed that freely.
So long since she allowed herself to.
She touched her cheeks; they were warm from just remembering.
"Damian…" she whispered softly.
Her chest fluttered—gentle, not overwhelming. Not confusing. Not painful.
Just… warm.
She moved to get ready, combing her straight, black hair, then humming under her breath as she dressed herself. The whole time, she kept remembering little pieces of their dinner. Her smiles came too easily.
She didn't fight them.
Not today.
Today, her heart felt finally—finally—at ease.
She grabbed her bag and headed to the door—
And froze when the door across the hallway opened at the exact same time.
Damian.
Both of them looked shocked at first.
Then they burst into matching smiles.
"Good morning," Damian greeted, his voice light with surprise.
"Good morning," she answered, slightly breathless.
He took one look at her face—her bright eyes, her relaxed shoulders, the faint blush dusting her cheeks—and let out a small relieved sigh.
"You look… better today," he said, voice soft.
"I feel better today," she admitted.
Their eyes held for a moment—comfortable, warm, and quiet.
Damian cleared his throat lightly. "Shall we go?"
She nodded. "Yeah."
They walked together down the hallway, their footsteps echoing side by side, natural as breathing.
As soon as they settled into the car, Damian adjusted his seatbelt and shot her a quick sideways glance—just a habitual check-in now, though far lighter than before. This time, instead of reading her mood, he caught her smiling to herself for no reason.
He raised an eyebrow. "What's that smile for?"
Amara turned toward him with an embarrassed laugh. "I just remembered you almost crying over that spicy broth last night."
Damian groaned dramatically as he started the engine. "Don't remind me. That broth was not food—it was a weapon."
Amara covered her mouth to hide her laughter.
"And then," Damian pointed at her accusingly, "you handed me the tissue box like you expected me to combust."
"Because you did combust!" she retorted. "Your face turned so red I thought you were going to faint."
He let out a suffering sigh. "In my defence, the waiter said it was 'mild.' I trusted him."
"You shouldn't trust anyone who carries chili oil in their pocket." Amara teased.
Damian barked out a laugh, the sound filling the car."And what about you? Miss 'I—uh—I think my chopsticks are broken.'"
Her eyes widened. "They were broken!"
"They were not." Damian shook his head. "You were holding them like two angry pencils trying to run away from each other."
She laughed so hard her shoulders shook. "Okay, okay! I'm terrible with chopsticks. I admit it."
"At least you're self-aware." He smirked. "Next time, I'm ordering you a fork."
Amara gasped indignantly. "That's insulting!"
"Effective," Damian corrected.
She nudged his arm gently. "Fine. But next time you're drinking the broth again."
"Absolutely not," he said immediately. "My mouth still feels betrayed."
They both burst into laughter again.
The car slipped seamlessly into morning traffic, wrapped in that easy cosiness that came from shared memories—simple, warm, and free of heaviness. The kind of comfort that didn't need effort.
"By the way," Damian added after a moment, "we're eating together at lunch, right? No ditching."
Amara smiled. "I wasn't planning to ditch you."
"Good. Because I already picked a place."
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Does this place involve another deadly broth?"
"No," he said with exaggerated patience. "It involves food that doesn't try to murder people."
"Sounds boring," she teased.
Damian shot her a look. "Do you want me to take you to another spicy place?"
"Nope." She straightened like a soldier. "I take it back. I like safe, non-deadly food."
"Thought so."
Their conversation drifted from complaining about chopstick disasters to teasing each other's morning hairstyles, to laughing about how Damian almost tripped on the way out of his apartment earlier.
They were still joking—Amara calling him dramatic, Damian calling her tiny and chaotic—when the car descended into the underground parking area of Navarro Corporation.
As the headlights swept across the concrete pillars, Amara was still smiling, still warm from laughter, still carrying the glow of last night's dinner.
ARRIVING AT THE COMPANY
They continued talking—light jokes, teasing remarks, shared plans about grabbing lunch together later. The car felt safe, soft, warm; a bubble she didn't want to burst.
But the moment they pulled into the Navarro Corporation parking area—
Her good morning cracked at the edges.
Kael.
He stood beside his car, leaning against it, looking… haggard.
Dark circles beneath his eyes. Dishevelled hair. Clothes wrinkled. Expression tense and lost, as though he had been waiting there far too long.
He looked up when he heard Damian's car.
His eyes fell on her.
Her breath hitched.
Instantly—
A memory sliced through her:
"Don't forget your place."
Her chest tightened.
Her fingers trembled.
Damian noticed immediately.
Without hesitation, he reached out and held her hand—firm, grounding, protective.
No romance.
No implications.
Just support.
"I'm here," he said quietly. "Don't be scared."
Amara breathed out slowly.
And unexpectedly…
She felt okay.
Stronger.
Kael pushed off his car, straightening when he saw her step out.
"Amara," he called, voice hoarse.
She froze only for a second.
Then—
She smiled politely, softly. Not warmly. Not painfully.
Just… politely.
"Good morning, Mr. Navarro."
Her voice was steady.
Kael's eyes widened at the formality—at the fact she wasn't shaking, wasn't crying, and wasn't looking at him like he still had the power to break her.
She turned to leave—
But Kael stepped toward her, panic flickering in his eyes.
"A–Amara, wait—"
She kept walking.
His breath hitched.
And then—
He reached out.
His hand closed gently around her forearm.
No force.
No tightness.
Just a desperate, instinctive stop.
"Please," Kael whispered.
"Don't walk away."
His voice cracked.
Amara went still.
Damian stiffened behind her instantly, but didn't intervene yet—waiting for her reaction, respecting her choice, staying ready if she needed him.
Amara slowly turned her head, her expression unreadable, her heart steady in a way it hadn't been before.
"Let go," she said quietly.
Not angry.
Not trembling.
Just done.
And Kael's fingers loosened—
But they didn't fall away.
Not yet.
Not until she looked up and met his eyes with a calm that shook him more than any tears ever could.
"Kael," she said softly, firmly.
"I'm going to work."
Kael's grip on her arm tightened for a second—not painfully, but enough for Amara to feel But the urgency in it. She froze, her breath catching, heart thudding with a mix of confusion and old hurt.
"Amara—" Kael said, his voice low, strained, almost pleading.
But before he could continue, the sound of footsteps filled the parking area. Employees were beginning to arrive—groups of two, three, four—walking in from the elevators, chatting lightly, and heading toward the entrance.
Kael stiffened.
His eyes flicked around, noticing the people approaching… noticing the way some of them were already glancing in their direction. And just like that, his expression changed. The raw desperation in his face flickered, struggled—then was swallowed by his pride.
That same pride that had always stood between them.
Amara saw it happen in real time.
Kael hesitated… jaw tightening… shoulders straightening as if bracing himself. Then, with a shaky breath he tried to hide, he released her arm.
Just like that.
Amara didn't move at first. She simply looked at him—really looked at him.How he avoided her eyes.How he pretended that nothing happened.How he cared more about what others might think… than about stopping her.
Again.
A hollow ache tugged inside her chest.
Damian, who had been quietly watching from behind her, stepped just slightly closer—not touching her, but close enough that she felt grounded. Supported.
Amara finally pulled her arm fully back, keeping her expression neutral, calm, composed.
"I will head in first, Mr. Navarro," she said softly, politely—nothing more, nothing less.
Kael flinched almost imperceptibly at how formal she sounded.
But he didn't say anything.
He didn't reach out again.
He didn't even meet her eyes.
Because people were watching.
And because his pride still held him by the throat.
Amara swallowed the disappointment stinging her chest, turned away, and walked toward the elevator with Damian beside her—her steps steady even as her heart ached quietly.
Behind her, Kael stood frozen beside his car, hand slowly curling into a fist… but still doing nothing.