Something was wrong.
I felt it before I saw it—before anything actually happened. A shift so small it could've been imagined… except it wasn't. I knew Amara too well. Knew the rhythm of her presence, the quiet way she moved through my days like a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.
And suddenly that rhythm wasn't there.
She didn't stop coming over entirely—no, that would've been easier. Cleaner. But she started hesitating before unlocking my door. Started arriving late, leaving early, curling into herself in ways she hadn't in months. When I touched her, she leaned in… but her mind was somewhere else.
With each passing day, she was slipping through my fingers
and I didn't know why.
I thought maybe she was stressed. Maybe my assistant was riding her too hard again. Maybe she was dealing with one of those nights where her chest got tight and she wouldn't talk about it unless I gently, carefully asked.
But it was more than that.
There was a moment—a small, stupid moment—where I reached for her hand while we watched a movie, and she flinched. Not recoiled. Not rejected. Just… flinched. Like a reflex she didn't want me to see.
That was when the panic started.
A quiet, creeping panic that settled under my skin and refused to leave.
She wasn't leaving me.
But she wasn't with me either.
Not fully.
Not anymore.
And I had no idea what I had done.
The morning I returned to work, I thought seeing her would help. I thought maybe she'd smile at me the way she used to, the way that warmed something inside me I didn't think I deserved.
Instead, the first thing I saw wasn't her.
It was him.
Elias.
Standing in my office like he owned the air in it.
Like he owned everything.
His posture was relaxed, too relaxed—hands in his pockets, eyes wandering over the framed awards on my wall with an expression that wasn't admiration. More like… curiosity. Or calculation.
He didn't look up when I entered.
He didn't need to.
He knew I was there.
"What are you doing in my office?" I forced out, keeping my voice calm. Even. Neutral. In front of him, neutrality was survival.
Finally, he turned.
And the smile he wore wasn't really a smile at all.
"You weren't here," he said simply.
That was all.
Three words that should've meant nothing.
Three words that felt like a blade sliding between my ribs.
But the real hit—the real blow—came the moment his next sentence left his mouth.
"You didn't tell me you hired her."
My stomach dropped. Not fell. Dropped.
Her.
He meant Amara.
I tried to keep my expression still. I tried not to breathe too fast, not to clench my fists, not to give him anything to work with.
"You've met Miss Jazmyne?" I asked quietly.
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he stepped closer, his eyes sharp with something I couldn't read—not suspicion, not interest… something worse. Something dangerous.
"She's very…" He paused. "Interesting."
My jaw locked.
Of course he would say that.
Of course he would notice her.
Of course her name would pass his lips like he owned even that.
I controlled the trembling in my hands. Barely.
"She works here," I managed. "That's all."
"Mm."
A sound that wasn't agreement.
More like amusement.
More like he knew something I didn't.
And then he looked at me—really looked.
The weight of his gaze was enough to freeze every thought in my skull.
"She reminds me of someone," he said softly.
My blood turned cold.
No.
No, no, no.
He couldn't know.
He couldn't know.
But before I could ask, before I could breathe, before I could do anything—
He left.
Just walked out of my office like he hadn't just detonated something in my chest.
The moment he disappeared down the corridor, I felt it.
The dread.
A heavy, suffocating dread that wrapped around my lungs and squeezed until I could barely think.
If Elias had noticed her…
if Elias had remembered anything…
if he had even the faintest suspicion—
Amara wasn't safe.
She didn't even know it.
She didn't know him.
She didn't know what he was capable of.
What he had done.
And she certainly didn't know what he'd do if he discovered
who she really was to me.
But the worst part wasn't the fear.
It was the realization that hit me like a punch:
The reason she was pulling away—
the reason she had been distant, anxious, fragile…
She had seen him.
She had met him.
She knew something was wrong.
Maybe she didn't know the truth.
Maybe she didn't understand why he'd probably looked at her that way — like a predator eyeing it prey.
But she felt it.
She felt the danger before I could warn her.
And I had no idea how to protect her now.
No idea whether I still had the right to.
No idea whether she still trusted me.
For the first time in a long time, I felt the world tilting beneath my feet, threatening to crack open and swallow everything I cared about.
And in that office, alone, shaking, breathless— I whispered her name like a prayer I wasn't sure would ever be answered again.
Amara… please… don't run.