4

(Amara’s POV)

The house was unnervingly quiet when I padded down the hallway the next morning, my bare feet soundless against the thick rugs.

I clutched the note to my chest like a shield, heart hammering against my ribs.

Part of me still screamed that I was making a mistake — that trusting anyone, especially a man like Rafael Moretti, would only lead to another cage, another betrayal.

But another part — a softer, stubborn whisper — urged me to try.

Just once.

To believe that maybe someone could be kind without expecting anything in return.

I found him in a small study near the back of the mansion, the door half-open, the scent of coffee rich in the air.

Rafael sat behind a desk littered with papers, his dark hair a little messy, like he’d been running his hand through it all morning.

He looked up as I hovered in the doorway, and something unreadable flickered across his face — something almost… gentle.

Quickly hidden.

I forced my voice to work.

“Um… thank you,” I whispered, so soft I wasn’t sure he even heard.

His expression didn’t change.

No smirk, no mocking.

Just that same stillness, like he was waiting for me to bolt.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said quietly, the low rumble of his voice oddly comforting. “You don’t have to thank me.”

I fidgeted, feeling foolish, but pressed on.

“The food. The… note. It meant a lot.”

For a beat, I thought he might smile — a real one.

But then he looked away, fixing his gaze on the papers spread before him like they mattered more.

“I told you,” Rafael said, his voice cool now. “You’re free to stay. Or leave. No one will stop you.”

A tiny, stupid ache opened up in my chest.

Why was he pushing me away?

Wasn’t kindness supposed to come with strings attached?

Wasn’t there supposed to be a catch?

Instead, Rafael was handing me a choice and acting like he didn’t care either way.

And somehow, that hurt worse than anything.

I swallowed the lump rising in my throat and took a step back.

“Right,” I mumbled. “Okay.”

He didn’t stop me when I turned to leave.

(Rafael’s POV)

The second she disappeared down the hall, I closed my eyes and swore under my breath.

You’re a goddamn coward, a voice inside me sneered.

But it was safer this way.

Better she hated me now, before things got tangled.

Before I ruined her like I’d ruined everything else.

I was about to force myself back into the endless stack of paperwork when my phone buzzed sharply across the desk.

Dominic.

I answered immediately.

“Talk.”

His voice was grim.

“We’ve got a problem.”

Of course we did.

I leaned back in the chair, pinching the bridge of my nose.

“How bad?”

“Bad enough. Her old man — Blake — he’s moving faster than we thought. Put out word last night to some of the nastier crews in town. Offering a payout for whoever brings her back alive.”

I went still.

Alive.

Not unharmed.

Not safe.

Just breathing.

I felt the slow, dark flood of rage start to rise — the same violence I tried so goddamn hard to keep chained.

“How much?” I asked.

“Enough to get desperate men interested,” Dominic muttered. “And one of our boys spotted a black sedan casing your property early this morning.”

I exhaled slowly, the weight of it all pressing down on my chest.

They wouldn’t care what they did to her.

They wouldn’t stop.

And she was still so fragile, still trying to find her footing.

She didn’t even realize how much danger she was in.

I glanced down the hall where she’d disappeared, clutching my stupid note like it meant something.

It did.

I couldn’t afford to stay distant much longer.

Not if I wanted to keep her alive.

“Double security,” I ordered. “No one gets near this house without going through hell first.”

“You got it, boss,” Dominic said grimly.

He hesitated.

“You sure about this? About her?”

I stared at the empty doorway, where echoes of soft footsteps lingered.

“Yeah,” I said quietly.

“I’m sure.”

(Amara’s POV)

The house was too big.

Too quiet.

It made the loneliness echo louder inside me, bouncing against old scars.

I wandered down the hallways like a ghost, trailing my fingers along the polished walls, feeling more like an intruder than a guest.

I should have left.

I should have run, just like I always did when things got scary.

But something stubborn kept me anchored here — something I didn’t understand yet.

In the library, I found Rafael.

He was standing near the window, his broad frame tense, shoulders hunched like he was carrying a weight too heavy to name.

I cleared my throat, awkward.

“I… I don’t want to be a burden,” I blurted, wishing I sounded braver. “If staying here is dangerous for you, I can go.”

He turned slowly, eyes darker than I’d ever seen them.

“You think you’re a burden?” His voice was soft, but there was something rough underneath, like broken glass.

“I don’t know what to think,” I whispered.

For a long moment, he just stared at me — like he was weighing a thousand choices in the space between us.

Then, without warning, he crossed the room in three strides and pressed something into my hand.

A key.

I looked up at him, confused.

“You’re not a prisoner, Amara,” Rafael said.

His voice was lower now, almost aching.

“You want to leave? You leave. You want to stay? You stay. No locks. No cages.”

The key trembled in my fingers.

“But why?” I asked before I could stop myself. “Why help me?”

He exhaled slowly and raked a hand through his hair.

“Because I know what it’s like,” he said finally. “To belong to people who don’t deserve you.”

I stared at him, stunned silent.

And for the first time since I met him, I realized — Rafael Moretti wasn’t just dangerous.

He was hurt.

Just like me.

Before I could find the courage to say anything else, a sharp buzz split the moment — his phone vibrating violently against his belt.

His entire body went rigid.

Rafael snatched up the call, his voice clipped and lethal.

“Talk.”

I couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but I saw the change in him — a cold, vicious anger snapping into place.

He glanced at me once — just once — before striding to the window.

“…You sure it’s them?” he growled into the phone.

A pause.

His fists clenched at his sides.

“Lock it down,” Rafael ordered. “No one gets close.”

Another pause, then:

“If they make a move, we bury them.”

The call ended.

He turned back to me, and though his face was carefully blank, the storm in his eyes betrayed him.

“Go to your room, Amara,” he said quietly. “And stay there until I come for you.”

Panic clawed up my spine.

“What’s happening?” I demanded, my voice trembling.

“They’re getting closer,” he said simply.

“No one’s going to hurt you.”

I opened my mouth to argue, to demand more answers — but he was already moving, shouting for Dominic down the hall.

I stood there, clutching the key he gave me, heart hammering in my chest.

Freedom was still in my hand.

But something deep inside me whispered that running now wouldn’t save me.

Not anymore.

Because for better or worse…

I trusted him.