Chapter 32

AMARA'S POV****

The message came in very early this morning.

Ms. Clara (Secretary): Good morning, Amara. Mr Wellington will be attending a dinner meeting this evening. You'll be accompanying him.

A pause. Then another message followed.

Ms Clara: 

Location: The Von Krauss Residence.

Time: 7:30pm.

Dress code: Formal.

I stared at the screen for a long moment, blinking like maybe the words would rearrange themselves into something less irritating.

Dinner meeting.

That meant leaving the office. That meant being beside him for hours. That meant being trapped in his presence, forced to breathe the same air af if we were normal.

I typed a reply with stiff fingers.

Me: Noted.

I dropped my phone on the bed and stood up, suddenly took restless to sit still. I walked to my wardrobe and stared I to it like the right outfit would somehow make this day easier.

It wouldn't. But I still chose carefully.

A crisp white blouse. Clean and fitted, not tight but enough to show I knew exactly what I was doing. A black pencil skirt that hugged my waist like it belonged there. It stopped at below my knees. Heels high enough to make me feel taller than the anxiety crawling under my skin.

I pulled my hair back into a sleek bun, not too harsh, not too soft. Just controlled. Like I was. Like I had to be.

Make-up was minimal. Nothing dramatic. Just enough to make look polished, unbothered and awake.

Even though I was nothing but.

I grabbed my bag and headed out. The office was already alive when I arrived. Phones ringing. Printers humming. Staff moving around like clockwork. The usual.

I walked straight to my office and settled in, going through my tasks like I always did. Clean and precise. No room for emotions.

But I felt the anticipation, because I knew I would be with him again today. And after yesterday… after seeing Jack… I didn't know what version of Dorian I'd walkimg into.

Around late afternoon, j got the confirmation and printed the documents needed for the meeting. I organized them neatly in a file, then checked the time.

It was almost time.

I stood up, smoothed my skirt down, grabbed my bag and walked out of my office. Dorian's door was already open.

He was standing, adjusting his cufflinks, his suit sitting on him like it was stitched into his skin.

He looked up the moment I stepped in. And for a second be didn't say anything. His gaze moved slowly. From my heels, to my skirt, to my top then my face. I pretended not to notice.

“Good evening, Mr wellington,” I said calmly, holding the file out. “Everything is ready.”

“Good,” he said, voice low.

He grabbed his coat.

“Let's go.”

We left the office together.

Outside, his driver was already waiting. We got into the car, and the city moved past us in a blur. Streetlights. Cars. Evening traffic.

Dorian didn't speak much. He just looked out the window, jaw tightened, fingers tapping lightly against his thigh like he had too many thoughts in his head.

I opened my file again and scanned through the notes making sure everything was in order.

“This is a major investor,” he said suddenly.

I looked up.

“He's not easily impressed,” he continued. “He's old fashioned. He likes control. He likes respect.”

“I understand, sir,” I said. 

He glanced at me. “You'll be careful.”

I nodded.

“And you'll speak only when necessary.”

I held his gaze.

“I always do.”

A flicker of something crossed his face. Like he wanted to say more. But he didn't. He looked away again. 

The car turned into a quiet neighborhood filled with gated houses and manicured lawns. The kind of place that smelled like wealth even from the outside.

We pulled up in front of a massive home, all glass windows and stone walls, surrounded by tall hedges. The Von Krauss Residence was massive indeed.

The driver opened the door. Dorian stepped out first. He didn't offer his hand. Good.

I didn't want it.

I stepped out of the car. My heels clicked against the pavement.

As we walked towards the entrance, I could feel his presence behind me. Before we could ring the bell, a maid opened the door and welcomed us in. She led us to the sitting room and assured us that Mr Von Krauss will be down soon. 

The house was warm and expensive– the scent of polished wood and expensive cologne. Everything looked untouched, like nobody lives there, only owned it.

Moments later, a man walked in, older, grey-haired, sharp eyes. Wealth written in his posture. Beside him was a younger man, maybe late twenties or early thirties. Clean-cut. Confident.

We stood up to greet them as courtesy demands.

“Wellington,” the older man said, smiling. “You made it.”

“Mr Krauss,” Dorian replied,shaking his hands. “Thank you for having me.”

They exchanged greetings like men who were used to power.

Then the older man gaze shifted to me.

“And who's this?” he asked.

Dorian's Voice was calm. “This is Amara, my personal assistant.”

I extended my hands to him. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

The old man looked pleased. “I must say, you're a sight for sore eyes.”

“Thank you, sir.” I smiled.

He turned to the man beside him. “This is my son, Erik.”

The young man stepped forward, smiling wider than necessary. 

“I'm Erik,” he said, offering his hand.

I shook it. “Amara.”

His eyes lingered. Too long.

“And I'm Dorian Wellington,” Dorian said, extending his hands to Mr Erik. They shooked hands.

“Let's have dinner before it gets cold,” Mr Krauss said. We followed suit.

We took our seats. 

I sat across Dorian while Erik came to sit beside me.