Chapter 6

AMARA’S POV****

“Amara, you’re late again.”

I peeked around the hospital door and grinned at Mom. Her hair was in that messy bun she swore made her look younger, and her eyes squinted like she was already plotting something.

“Traffic,” I lied. Hospital traffic, sure. And the elevators that take forever. And probably fate conspiring against me. “You know how it is.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Traffic? At ten in the morning? Amara, please.”

I laughed, walking over to her bedside. “Fine. Maybe I left my shoes at the club. You’d understand if you worked in my world.”

Mom huffed. “Don’t even start. I survived raising you; I survived high school gossip. I can survive your club nonsense too.”

I froze mid-step. “Club nonsense?”

She grinned. “I don’t know, maybe the place you keep talking about. The cafe? The restaurant? Whatever it is you said you work at.”

“Oh, that.” I cleared my throat. “Yeah, that.”

She narrowed her eyes, clearly thinking. “You’re hiding something.”

I shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Maybe? That’s your adult answer?” she laughed. “Tell me, or I’ll start guessing. And you know my guesses are terrifying.”

I pulled up a chair beside her bed and sat, pretending to check my phone. “Mom, I’m just working, okay? It’s nothing dangerous. You don’t need to know.”

“Nothing dangerous?” She sat up slightly. “Amara, last week you were gone for eight hours. Eight! I know where you go, you tell me. I need to know. Heart condition, remember?”

“Yeah, I know, Mom,” I said quickly. I hated lying, but she doesn’t need the truth. “I was busy. Extra shifts, you know.”

She shook her head. “You always busy. Are you eating at least?”

I smirked. “I do. I promise.”

“Promise me you’re not hanging out with strange men again.”

I laughed a little too hard. “Mom! I work with adults, not… strangers.”

Her eyes narrowed again, and I swear she could see straight through me. “You’ve got that look,” she said. “The one that says you’re hiding something. Coffee shop girl, right?”

“Coffee shop girl?” I tried not to laugh. “Mom, I told you, it’s just a café. Nothing fancy.”

“Uh-huh.” She tilted her head. “Sure. And maybe one day, you’ll let me in on the secret and tell me why you keep these ‘cafés’ so mysterious.”

I shook my head, grinning. “Nope. That’s classified information.”

“You’re incorrigible.” She laughed, then winced slightly. I reached over and adjusted her pillow.

“Hey, you okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, my back’s just being dramatic. Don’t fuss. You’re supposed to visit, not baby me.”

“I fuss because I care,” I said.

“Fuss, huh? My big, scary girl fussing over me.” She chuckled. “You’re growing up fast, you know that?”

I shrugged, pretending it didn’t mean anything. “Yeah, maybe. Maybe not. Life’s fast.”

She looked at me, eyes softening. “You’re doing fine, kiddo. I know you worry about me, but I’m tougher than I look.”

I laughed, because yeah, she totally was. “Yeah, sure, tough like a marshmallow.”

She hit me lightly on the arm. “Don’t talk back.”

“Who’s talking back?” I asked, smirking.

“Exactly,” she said, smiling.

For a moment, we just sat there. Quiet, the hospital humming around us. I wanted to stay forever, just like this. But reality is harsh, and the club isn’t going to wait. Bills won’t pay themselves. Mom can’t know. Not yet.

I checked my watch. “I should go. Back to work.”

Her face fell slightly, but she didn’t argue. “You’re always working.”

“I know, Mom. I know.”

She reached out and took my hand. “Just… be careful, okay?”

“I am,” I said softly.

She gave me that look, like she could read all my thoughts. “Amara, someday you’ll tell me the whole story. And when that day comes, I want to hear it straight. No pretending.”

I squeezed her hand. “I promise. Someday.”

“Someday.” She nodded, letting go.

I stood, adjusting my jacket, and glanced at her. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Don’t make me wait too long,” she said, smiling faintly.

I walked out, my steps echoing in the hospital corridor. The air outside the room felt heavier than usual. I tried not to think about Dorian, not to think about the pull he had over me, even though he wasn’t here. My mind kept replaying that moment on stage—the way he had looked at me. Not like the others. Not judging. Just… watching.

I shook my head, trying to shake off the tension. Work. That’s all that mattered now. The club needed me. Bills needed me. Mom needed me. And I couldn’t let anything else interfere.

But even as I walked, my chest still felt tight. That pull, that unexplainable tension, lingered. I couldn’t ignore it.

I reached the car, climbing in and starting the engine. The city blurred past as I drove toward the familiar glow of neon signs. Work. That’s all. Nothing more.

Except I couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d looked at me. That calm, unreadable expression that made me feel like I was standing in a spotlight and yet completely invisible at the same time.

I pushed the thought down. It’s just curiosity, I told myself. Nothing more.

The club doors loomed ahead. I took a deep breath, adjusted my outfit, and walked inside. The music hit me instantly, the bass vibrating in my chest. A familiar rhythm. Familiar faces. And yet… something had changed.