Mag-log inAmara Blake’s life is simple on paper: double shifts at a café, overdue notices tucked under a refrigerator magnet, a mother who needs more than hope can buy. Then she collides with Damian Cole - ruthless, revered, and impossible to ignore - and is pulled into a world of crystal chandeliers, whispered wars, and rules written by men who never hear the word no. What begins as a temporary job becomes a tightrope walk between pride and survival. With a socialite who smiles like a blade watching for her to fall, and an ex-fiancée returning to reopen old wounds, Amara learns that in Damian’s orbit, truth is currency and secrets are weapons. The closer she gets, the more his polished mask fractures - revealing a man built on control, haunted by betrayal, and drawn to the one thing he can’t command: her honesty. This is a slow-burn, high-stakes romance about power and vulnerability, the cost of desire, and the dangerous mercy of telling the truth - especially to someone who doesn’t know how to receive it. What will Amara sacrifice to keep her dignity - and her heart - intact? Will Damian choose control or the woman who unravels it? Can two people built on opposite truths survive the shadows they create together? Read on to find out.
view moreThe safe house wasn’t what she expected.It wasn’t steel and glass like everything else Damian owned. It was wood - old, dark, and quiet. The kind of place that swallowed sound. The walls creaked when the wind leaned against them, and somewhere in the distance, water moved - a stream or maybe rain slipping down the roof.Amara sat by the window, the thin curtain brushing her arm, watching the forest pulse with shadow. Night had teeth out here.Behind her, Damian spoke low into his phone. His voice was calm, but his shoulders were too tight, his tone clipped - the kind of control that wasn’t peace, only pressure.“Two days,” he said. “No signals. I don’t want anyone knowing we’re here.”A pause. Then softer, colder: “If they find this location, you’ll know someone inside gave it up.”He ended the call and turned toward her. For a moment, silence hung between them, heavy and unspoken.“You shouldn’t sit so close to the window,” he said.“I like knowing what’s outside,” Amara murmured.“
AmaraHospitals always smelled the same - disinfectant, metal, and the faint trace of fear that clung to the walls. It should’ve felt familiar by now. But this time, it wasn’t my mother lying behind the glass.It was Caroline.Dead.The word still felt impossible. She’d been too sharp, too alive, too venomous to simply stop. Yet there she was - a body covered by a white sheet, her red coat folded neatly on a chair, as if she’d planned her own ending.A detective’s voice cut through the hum of machines. “Miss Reyes?”I turned. He was tall, mid-forties, with a voice too polite to trust. His badge caught the light. “Detective Monroe. We’ll need your statement again.”I swallowed. “I already told the officers everything.”“I know,” he said. “But the details matter.” His gaze flicked to the door, where Damian stood a few feet away, speaking to another officer. “Especially when one of the witnesses is Damian Cole.”I followed his gaze. Damian looked like a ghost wearing an expensive suit. B
AmaraThe streets bled silver under the rain. I could taste the cold on my tongue as the cab sped through the wet city. Every traffic light flickered red like a warning, but I couldn’t stop now.The address from the message led to the industrial docks - the kind of place where no one asked questions. Piles of shipping containers stood like silent witnesses, their paint chipped, their names fading under rust.I should’ve turned back the moment I saw the water, the abandoned cranes, the shadows moving where no one should be. But my mother’s face haunted me - pale, fragile, fighting to breathe - and the message had been clear: If you want to save her, don’t let him come alone.I owed her everything. Even if it meant walking straight into the fire.I stepped out of the cab, my shoes sinking into puddles. My phone had no signal. The world felt too quiet.“Amara.”The voice came from behind me - smooth, familiar, deadly.Caroline stepped out from the shadows, draped in a raincoat, hair slic
AmaraThe rain didn’t stop all night. It battered the villa like the sky was trying to wash it clean - but some stains weren’t meant to fade.Damian and I stood over the folder Caroline left behind. Beside it sat a sleek black drive, no label except one word etched into the casing: TRUTH.It felt heavier than metal. Heavier than the silence stretching between us.“Do you want to see what’s inside?” I asked.His jaw flexed. “No.”I frowned. “Then why keep it?”He didn’t answer right away. His fingers hovered over the drive like it might bite. Finally, he said quietly, “Because not knowing doesn’t make it disappear.”There was something in his voice - tired, haunted.“Then let’s find out,” I said.He gave me a look. “Amara, once this starts, you can’t unsee it.”“I’ve already seen the worst of you,” I whispered. “Haven’t I?”For a second, I thought he’d walk away. Instead, he connected the drive to his laptop. The screen flickered, then a folder opened - files upon files, names, dates,












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