CHAPTER FIVE - CRACKS IN THE GLASS

The gala loomed like a storm cloud over the Cole estate. Every corner of the mansion buzzed with preparations - caterers unloading crates of crystal, decorators balancing ladders beneath chandeliers, florists drowning tables in white roses. The air was heavy with anticipation, and Amara felt like she was standing at the center of a stage she didn’t belong to.

Marissa barked orders from the foyer, her heels striking marble like gunfire. “Blake, confirm the guest RSVPs. No errors. Mr. Cole despises errors.”

Amara swallowed the retort on her tongue and bent over the tablet, scrolling through names she didn’t recognize but knew carried weight: senators, CEOs, the kind of people who lived in headlines, not neighborhoods.

Her phone buzzed. Clara. How’s the palace? Do you have a crown yet?

Amara smiled faintly before typing back: No crown. Just headaches.

She slid the phone into her pocket, trying to ignore the knot in her stomach. Something about this gala felt less like a party and more like a battle.

That evening, Damian summoned her to his office again. He stood at the window, city lights glittering in the distance like scattered jewels. His reflection in the glass looked almost fragile, as though he were made of shadows and sharp edges.

“You’ve been listening,” he said without turning.

Amara froze. “Listening?”

“To whisper. To things that don’t concern you.”

Her pulse kicked. “Maybe they should concern me. If I’m going to do this job—”

“You’re here to take notes. Do not involve yourself.”

Anger flared, hot and sudden. “Then why hire me at all? You have assistants, staff - people who know how to walk in your world. You don’t need me.”

Finally, he turned. His eyes were steel, but there was something frayed beneath them. “Exactly. I don’t need you. That’s what makes you useful.”

Amara blinked. The words landed like a riddle. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“You’re not part of the machine. You’re not tainted by it. Which means…” His voice trailed, jaw tightening. He looked away. “Never mind.”

Her chest tightened. She wanted to demand more, but before she could, a soft knock interrupted.

The door opened without waiting for permission. Vanessa glided in, a file in her hand. Her eyes flicked between them, sharp with suspicion.

“I need you to review the guest list, Damian.” Her voice was sugar. “There’s… a complication.”

He took the file, flipping it open. His expression hardened. “She’s not invited.”

Vanessa’s lips curved. “She sent confirmation. What do you suggest I do? Throw her out in front of half the city?”

“Don’t test me,” Damian warned, his voice low, dangerous.

Amara’s gaze darted between them. “Who?” she asked before she could stop herself.

Both turned to her. Vanessa’s smile was a knife. “Curious little thing, isn’t she?”

Damian shut the file with a snap. “It’s none of your concern, Miss Blake.”

But Amara saw it then - the flicker in his eyes, the way Vanessa’s smirk sharpened like a blade. Whoever “she” was, her presence rattled him. And Vanessa knew it.

Later that night, as Amara passed through the dim corridor outside the study, she heard raised voices. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but the words were sharp enough to slice through the wood.

“…you can’t bury the past forever, Damian,” Vanessa hissed.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I know exactly. And when she walks through those doors tomorrow, so will everyone else.”

Silence. Heavy. Then Damian’s voice, rougher than she’d ever heard it: “If you do anything—”

“Relax.” Vanessa’s tone turned cool, almost amused. “I won’t need to lift a finger. Secrets have a way of clawing themselves into the light.”

Amara’s blood chilled. She stumbled back, heart pounding. She didn’t know what secret bound Damian and Vanessa together, but she knew one thing with certainty: she had just stepped into a world built on glass. And the cracks were already spreading.

She lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, Clara’s voice echoing in her mind - temporary humiliation with benefits. This was no humiliation. This was dangerous.

And as much as Amara told herself she wanted no part of it, she couldn’t shake the truth pressing against her chest:

She wanted to know.

She needed to know.

Because Damian Cole was hiding something.

And Vanessa King was going to use it to burn them all.