The Wolf At The Door

Her chest was constricted.

Her mother stirred, whispering faintly, “What’s wrong, my girl?”

Amara forced the paper behind her back, her voice gentle. “Nothing, Mama. Rest.”

But inside, panic clawed at her.

She excused herself, stepping into the hallway.

Her phone buzzed before she could breathe.

Harris’s voice came through, urgent but calm.

“Mrs. Hale, there’s been a… development.

The media has taken an interest in your marriage. Reporters are gathering outside the mansion as we speak.”

Her blood ran cold. “They know about me.”

“Yes, ma’am. And they’re digging.”

Before she could answer, another voice broke through the chaos—Lucian’s, sharp and commanding. “Amara.”

She turned.

He was striding down the corridor, his presence as imposing as ever, but his eyes burned with something more volatile than usual—fury laced with worry.

He held up a tablet, the article glaring on the screen. “Did you see this?”

Amara swallowed hard. “I did.”

Lucian’s jaw tightened, his gaze sweeping the hallway before settling on her.

“This isn’t gossip—it’s a declaration of war. And they’ve made you a weapon.”

Her chest ached, but she forced herself to stand tall. “Then maybe they’ve only written the truth.”

His eyes darkened. “Careful, Amara.”

She met his gaze unflinchingly. “No. For once, maybe you should be careful.

Because if they’re going to drag my name through the mud, I won’t let you be the one to bury me too.”

The tension between them crackled, louder than the beeping machines behind the door.

Neither noticed Ethan at the far end of the hall, his eyes fixed on the paper in his hand, a smile curving his lips.

For him, the scandal wasn’t chaos.

It was an opportunity.

Amara stepped out of the hospital room hours later, her mind a storm.

Every phone call, every glance from a passing nurse reminded her of the headlines screaming her name.

Reporters had begun circling outside the hospital too, their cameras flashing through the glass doors.

She pulled her coat tighter, wishing she could disappear.

“Amara.”

Her head snapped up. Ethan stood at the end of the corridor, dressed in black, his posture calm but commanding.

Unlike the chaos buzzing around them, he seemed untouched—controlled, certain, dangerous in a way

Lucian never hid but Ethan wore like a second skin.

Her chest tightened. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“And yet I am,” he said smoothly, striding toward her. His eyes flicked to the window where photographers pressed against the glass.

“You need someone who isn’t afraid of the fire.”

Her lips pressed together. “I don’t need saving, Ethan.”

He stopped in front of her, his voice dropping low. “This isn’t about saving. It’s about surviving.

Do you really think Lucian will protect you now that the world is tearing your name apart? To him, this marriage was a business deal.

You were a piece of paper. A role to play. And roles are replaceable.”

The words stung because they sounded like truth.

Amara swallowed, her voice barely above a whisper. “And what am I to you?”

His gaze sharpened, ruthless and unwavering. “Not replaceable. Never replaceable.”

Her breath caught.

He leaned closer, his tone softening, though the edge of calculation never left it.

“Let me help you. Let me be the one standing by your side when the vultures come. Because they will, Amara.

They’ll dig until there’s nothing left. And when they do, you’ll need someone who isn’t ashamed to fight for you.”

She looked away, her throat burning.

A part of her wanted to believe him, to let the warmth of his words drown out the cold ache

Lucian left in her. But another part of her—stronger now—whispered caution.

“You make it sound so easy,” she murmured.

“It is,” Ethan replied smoothly.

“You just have to stop waiting for Lucian Hale to treat you like more than a pawn. You’re more than that, Amara. I see it. I’ve always seen it.”

His words pressed against the cracks in her armor, tempting her, drawing her closer to the edge.

But before she could answer, a camera flash exploded through the glass doors. Reporters shouted her name, the sound muffled but relentless.

Ethan’s jaw tightened.

He slipped off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders in one swift motion, shielding her from view.

His voice was calm, firm, and possessive. “Stay close to me. If Lucian won’t stand in front of you, I will.”

Amara’s heart raced. She didn’t pull away.

And for the first time, she realized Ethan wasn’t just circling like a friend.

He was circling like a wolf, waiting for the moment to strike.