Tangled Promises

Ethan guided her away from the reporters’ flashing cameras, his hand resting firmly at the small of her back.

The gesture was protective, but also claiming. For once, Amara didn’t shrug him off.

The heat of the lights outside, the weight of the headlines—all of it pressed too heavily on her shoulders.

They slipped into a quieter wing of the hospital.

The hum of machines replaced the chaos from outside, though the storm still churned in her chest.

Ethan stopped, turning her gently to face him. “Look at me.”

She hesitated, then lifted her gaze.

His eyes were sharp, but there was a warmth in them she hadn’t expected, a steady kind of focus that made it impossible to look away.

“You don’t deserve this,” he said firmly. “Not the whispers, not the headlines, not the way he treats you like you’re nothing but a contract.”

Amara’s throat tightened.

“It’s not that simple, Ethan.”

“It is.” His voice was low, cutting, certain.

“You’ve been surviving in his world, playing by his rules. But you don’t belong in his cage.

You belong with someone who doesn’t hide you. Someone who would fight the whole damn world just to keep your name from being dragged through the mud.”

Her pulse quickened. She hated how tempting his words sounded.

“You’re ruthless too,” she whispered, almost accusing.

He smiled faintly, leaning closer. “Yes. But I’d be ruthless for you, Amara. Not against you.”

Her breath caught.

He reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face, his touch deliberate, lingering.

“You think he’ll stand by you when the pressure builds? He won’t.

Lucian Hale only stands by himself. But me…” His eyes locked onto hers, unwavering.

“I’ll stand by you even when it costs me everything.”

Amara’s lips parted, a protest on her tongue, but nothing came out.

Her body betrayed her, leaning slightly into his warmth before she caught herself and stepped back.

“I can’t,” she said softly, shaking her head. “Not like this.”

Ethan didn’t move away.

His smile curved, knowing, dangerous.

“You don’t have to decide now. But the world’s already watching, Amara.

When it comes crashing down, you’ll see who truly stands in your corner.”

His words lingered in the air long after a nurse interrupted, asking if Amara wanted to return to her mother’s room.

She nodded quickly, grateful for the escape.

As she walked away, Ethan’s voice followed her, low but certain.

“Remember, Amara. He may own the contract. But I see the woman.”

Her steps faltered, her chest aching, but she didn’t look back.

Because even if she didn’t want to admit it, part of her already knew—Ethan wasn’t offering safety.

He was offering temptation.

Amara sat beside her mother’s bed, the rhythm of the monitors steady in the quiet night.

She had dozed off in the chair, her hand wrapped protectively around her mother’s frail fingers, when a soft knock startled her awake.

She turned, expecting a nurse.

Instead, Ethan stepped in, a takeout bag in hand and a smile that was far too easy for the hour.

Her brow furrowed. “What are you doing here? Visiting hours are over.”

“I have a way with rules,” he said lightly, holding up the bag. “And I thought you could use real food instead of the hospital’s poor excuse for soup.”

Amara opened her mouth to protest, but her stomach betrayed her with a low growl. She pressed her lips together, embarrassed.

Ethan’s smile deepened, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he pulled a chair beside hers and unpacked containers, the smell of warm rice and seasoned chicken filling the room.

“You don’t have to—” she began.

“I know,” he interrupted, handing her a fork. “That’s why I want to.”

Against her better judgment, she accepted. The first bite nearly made her sigh. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until now.

Ethan didn’t gloat. He simply ate quietly beside her, his presence steady, unhurried, as though he belonged here.

Her mother stirred in her sleep, murmuring softly. Amara brushed her hair back gently, whispering soothing words until she settled again.

When she glanced sideways, Ethan was watching her—not with pity, but with something sharper.

“You’re stronger than you realize,” he said quietly.

She shook her head. “I don’t feel strong. I feel… tired. Frustrated. Confused.”

“That’s strength,” Ethan countered.

“Still standing, still fighting, even when you’re tired. That’s what makes you different from Lucian.

He confuses control with strength. You…” He leaned in slightly, his voice soft but firm. “…you fight with heart.”