The Space Between

Lucian looked down at the bed, his expression softening for the briefest moment.

Then he turned back to Amara, his voice quieter but no less intense. “Don’t read the papers. Don’t watch the reports. I’ve already buried it.”

And with that, he moved to the door, his back rigid, his silence carrying the weight of everything he refused to say.

When he was gone, Amara sat frozen in the chair, her heart pounding.

He had fought for her. Defended her. Protected her name before the world.

But not once had he said what she truly needed to hear.

Amara sat in the dim hospital room long after Lucian left, the silence pressing on her like a weight.

Her mother slept peacefully beside her, but inside, Amara’s thoughts churned.

She had watched the clip of him at the press conference earlier.

The way he had stood before the world, immovable and merciless, shielding her name as if no one dared touch it.

Then he had come here, standing in front of her with the same fire, claiming she was under his protection.

She pressed a trembling hand to her chest. Protection.

That was the word he’d chosen. Not love. Not care. Not need. Just protection.

The ache of it was sharp, cruel.

Because she had seen it in his eyes—something more, something deeper clawing to get out—but he refused to give it voice.

She stood and crossed to the small window, her reflection faint in the glass.

Outside, the city pulsed with life, lights glowing against the night sky.

Somewhere out there, Lucian Hale was probably pacing his study again, drowning himself in whiskey and silence.

Her lips pressed together. “Why won’t you just say it?” she whispered to the empty room.

Her mother stirred, her voice faint. “Say what, my girl?”

Amara turned quickly, guilt flooding her chest.

She crossed the room, smoothing her mother’s blanket. “Nothing, Mama. Go back to sleep.”

But her mother’s eyes, weak yet perceptive, lingered on her. “It’s about him, isn’t it? Your husband.”

Amara froze. Her mother gave a faint smile, her voice barely above a breath.

“He looks at you like a man carrying a weight he can’t set down. And you look at him like you’re afraid to pick it up.”

Her throat tightened. “Mama…”

Her mother squeezed her hand weakly. “Don’t let fear keep you from seeing the truth. Not his fear. Not yours.”

Amara bit her lip hard, holding back tears.

She wanted to believe there was truth to find. But all she had were walls. His. Hers.

She stayed by her mother’s side until the soft rhythm of sleep returned.

Then, sinking into the chair, she hugged her knees to her chest, her eyes burning.

Lucian had fought the world for her today.

He had silenced the press, defended her honor, drawn a line in the sand that no one dared cross.

And yet…

Her heart still ached with the silence of the words he wouldn’t speak.

Ethan watched the news clip again on his phone, the glow of the screen reflecting in his eyes.

Lucian Hale stood before a sea of reporters, his voice sharp, his presence commanding, silencing a room that usually devoured men whole.

Most would have been impressed. Some, even intimidated. Ethan wasn’t either.

Instead, he smiled.

“Protective, are we?” he murmured, leaning back in his chair.

The glass of red wine in his hand caught the city lights spilling through the penthouse windows. “Good.

That means I’ve struck the right nerve.”

Lucian’s words echoed through the speakers. ‘Amara is not your scandal. She is my wife.’

Ethan’s jaw tightened briefly, then relaxed.

Lucian claimed her like property, like another acquisition on his balance sheet.

That arrogance was the opening Ethan needed.

He knew Amara well enough now.

She bristled at possession, rebelled against control. Every time Lucian tightened his grip, she pulled further away.

Ethan didn’t need to drag her—he only needed to wait, to be there when she reached for air.

And she would.

He swirled the wine in his glass, his thoughts sharpening. “So you’ll fight the press, Lucian.

You’ll fight the vultures at your gates. But will you fight the cracks in your own marriage? The silence between you?”

A notification pinged on his phone—an article, speculative and sensational, showing grainy pictures of Amara leaving the hospital, Lucian arriving hours later, never together.

The press was already weaving their story, already feeding on the distance between husband and wife.

Perfect.