Chapter 47

AMARA’S POV

By the time I stepped into the office that morning, the workers seemed relaxed and chatty. The first thing I did—without thinking—was glance toward Dorian’s office.

His door was shut.

I walked past my office and went straight to the secretary’s office. Wanting to ask her for clarity on a document.

“Good morning,” I said, dropping my bag on the chair beside me. “Is Mr. Dorian in?”

The secretary didn’t even look up immediately. She was flipping through papers, her brows slightly furrowed, like she’d already been stressed before the day even started.

“No,” she answered. “He won’t be coming in today.”

I blinked. “Why?”

She finally looked up.

“He’s sick.”

I forced my face to remain blank.

“Oh,” I said, nodding slowly. “Okay. Noted.”

Then I asked her about the documents and meetings which she clarified, then I turned away, walking back to my office like my chest hadn’t tightened for absolutely no reason.

Sick. Dorian?

The man looked like he could survive a war with a broken arm and still show up to work. I sat down and opened my laptop, trying to shake off the feeling crawling under my skin.

But the more I tried to focus, the more my mind started wandering.

What kind of sick?

Fever? Stress? Did he collapse? Was he injured?

The thought irritated me. Because it shouldn’t matter. It wasn’t my business.

And the office felt strange without him. Lighter, quieter. And I hated how much I didn’t like that.

But it wasn’t just the fact that he wasn’t there. It was the fact that nobody seemed alarmed. Like everyone had accepted that Dorian could disappear for a day and the world would still spin. That didn’t sit right with me.

I answered emails. Fixed schedules. Printed meeting briefs. Returned calls.

Around noon, I was going through his calendar when the office phone rang.

I picked it up without checking the caller ID.

“Good afternoon, Dorian Wellington’s office.”

There was a pause on the other end.

“Amara.”

I stiffened slightly. “Jayden.”

“You’re answering his line?”

“He’s not around,” I replied, keeping my voice neutral. “How can I help you?”

Another pause.

“He’s not around?” Jayden repeated, like the words didn’t make sense. “What do you mean he’s not around?”

I leaned back in my chair. “He didn’t come in today. He’s sick.”

Jayden didn’t speak for a moment.

“That’s not like him,” he finally said, his voice quieter now.

I swallowed.

“I know.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Jayden exhaled softly. “Okay. I will just call his mobile line.”

“Alright,” I said.

He hesitated like he wanted to say something else, but then he just muttered, “Thanks,” and ended the call.

I stared at the phone for a second after it went silent. My fingers tightened around the receiver. 

That’s not like him.

The same words were now stuck in my head like a song I couldn’t shut off. I opened my contacts list without thinking.

I scrolled then I found his name.

Mr Dorian.

My thumb hovered over it. Just one text.

“Are you okay?”

Simple. Normal. Human.

But my pride rose up like a wall.

Why should I be the one checking on him? After last night?

I locked my phone and shoved it into my drawer, annoyed at myself.

Focus. It was just a day. Dorian could be sick and still be Dorian.

By the time evening came, I was exhausted. Not from work, but from the tension of pretending I didn’t care. I was packing my bag when the secretary walked toward my desk with a brown envelope in her hand.

“Amara,” she called.

I looked up. “Yes?”

She stopped in front of me and placed the envelope on my desk.

“Mr. Dorian wants this delivered to his house today.”

My heart reacted instantly. I stared at the envelope.

Then I looked up at her.

“Okay,” I said calmly. “You can take it.”

“Amara…”

I frowned.

She sighed, already stressed.

“I can’t.”

 “Why not?” I asked.

She looked at her watch. “I have to attend a meeting with the board’s legal rep. They moved it forward. If I don’t go, I’m finished.”

I leaned back slowly, trying to keep my voice even.

“I’m sure you can send the driver.”

She shook her head. “Mr. Dorian said it has to be handed directly. No driver. No courier.”

My stomach twisted slightly.

I swallowed. “Can’t it wait till tomorrow?”

The secretary gave me a look.

“Amara,” she said slowly, like she was talking to a child. “It’s Dorian. If I don’t send it today, he’ll bite my head off tomorrow.”

I scoffed quietly. “He’s sick. Why is he still working?”

She shrugged. “Because he’s him.”

I stared at the envelope again, my throat suddenly tight.

His house. I hadn’t been there before and I didn’t want to go there.

Not after last night. Not after everything.

I stood up and slung my bag over my shoulder, already preparing to leave.

“I don't think I can,” I said.

The secretary’s eyes widened.

“Amara, please.”

I paused.

She stepped closer, lowering her voice like she was begging for her life.

“You’re his PA. It’s literally your job.”

She was right and I didn’t have a real excuse. Not one that wouldn’t sound like feelings.

I exhaled. “Can’t you send it through email?”

“It’s a signed copy,” she insisted. “He needs it tonight.”

I looked at her. She looked genuinely desperate.

Then she added softly, “Please. Just help me.”

I stared at her for a long moment. Then I collected the envelope.

“Fine,” I muttered.

Relief washed over her face instantly.

“Thank you,” she said quickly. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“It's nothing,” I said, smiling.

I walked out of the office building and into the evening air, my heels clicking against the pavement.

The cab I called earlier was parked across the street. Everything around me was normal—traffic, horns, people laughing on the sidewalk.

But my body wasn’t normal. My heartbeat was too loud. I told myself it was work. I was delivering a document. Nothing more.