The Storm Inside

Amara’s pulse thundered in her ears as Lucian’s grip tightened around her wrist. His eyes bore into hers, dark and demanding, every breath between them charged with heat.

“Tell me,” he said again, his voice rough, almost breaking. “Do you want him… or me?”

Her lips parted, but no words came. She didn’t know the answer herself. Ethan’s kindness had been like sunlight after endless nights, but Lucian—Lucian was fire. He burned her, consumed her, frightened her, yet she couldn’t look away.

Her silence only fueled him. His jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling rapidly as though he was fighting himself. His face lowered, inch by inch, until she could feel his breath against her skin.

Amara’s body trembled. Her mind screamed to push him away, to remind herself this was nothing but a cruel arrangement. But her heart betrayed her, fluttering wildly as though it recognized something in him—something he refused to admit.

“Lucian…” Her whisper cracked, a plea, a warning.

His grip loosened suddenly, as if the sound of his name shattered the spell. He stepped back, running a hand through his hair with frustration. His mask returned, hard and unyielding, but his eyes… they still burned with something he couldn’t disguise.

“You drive me insane,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to her.

Amara pressed her hand against her chest, trying to steady her breathing. “Then stop,” she said softly, though her voice shook. “Stop pretending you don’t care, then treating me like I’m yours the next moment. You can’t have it both ways.”

His head snapped toward her, his gaze sharp. “Careful, Amara.”

She lifted her chin, summoning a strength she didn’t know she had. “No. You’re careful. Because one day, your coldness won’t scare me anymore. And when that day comes… you won’t have control over me.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and tense.

For the first time, Lucian looked unsettled. Not angry, not cruel—unsettled. As though her words had struck deeper than she was meant to.

A knock at the door broke the moment.

Lucian’s butler stepped in, bowing slightly. “Sir, you have a late call with the Tokyo office. They’re waiting.”

Lucian’s jaw flexed. His eyes lingered on Amara for a long, unreadable moment before he turned sharply and walked away without another word.

The door closed behind him, leaving Amara alone in the vast, silent hall.

Her knees gave way, and she sank onto the edge of the chaise, her hands trembling. Her lips still tingled from how close he’d been, her heart still racing from the storm in his eyes.

She hated him. She hated how he confused her, how he held her in a cage and yet made her feel more alive than she wanted to admit.

Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them back. No more crying.

Not for him.

Somewhere deep inside, a spark of defiance ignited. If Lucian Hale thought she would remain his silent puppet forever, he was wrong.

Very wrong.

Amara couldn’t sleep that night.

She lay in the smaller room adjoining the master bedroom, staring at the ceiling while the city lights spilled in faint streaks through the curtains.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him—his burning gaze, the nearness of his mouth, the way his voice had broken when he said she drove him insane.

Her heart thudded all over again, making it impossible to rest.

Frustrated, she slipped out of bed and padded quietly into the hallway. The house was dark and silent, the kind of silence that pressed down on her shoulders. She wandered aimlessly, trying to clear her head.

That’s when she heard it.

A muffled voice. Lucian’s voice.

She froze, pressing herself against the wall just outside his study. The door was ajar, a sliver of light spilling into the corridor.

“I don’t care about appearances,” Lucian said, his tone low but sharp. “This marriage is temporary. You’ll get what you want in the end.”

Amara’s breath caught. He was on the phone. With who?

A pause. Then the unmistakable purr of a woman’s voice filtered through the crack. “You say that, Lucian, but every time I see her by your side, I wonder if you’re losing sight of who you belong to.”

Her. The ex. The woman in crimson.

Amara’s stomach twisted painfully.

Lucian’s reply came quick, firm. “Don’t test me. You know where my loyalties lie.”

Silence stretched, then the woman laughed—a soft, mocking sound. “Good. Then prove it.”