Chapter Five

Morning spilled into the room in bands of white light. It crawled up the floorboards and caught on the glass vials and silver trays scattered across the vanity table. Lena sat in the same chair as the day before, hair pinned, collarbones dusted with translucent powder. The stylists were already at work — one adjusting the nape of her cream suit, another pressing concealer into the hollow beneath her eyes. She barely got enough sleep last night despite the enormous queen size bed and she couldn't tell whether it was due to guilt or the fact that she had left home on bad terms with her brother.

“Hold still,” murmured the makeup artist. “We’re almost done with the eyes.”

She nodded faintly. Her phone sat on the edge of the table idle as she waited for a call back from Eli.When the woman turned to fetch a brush, she reached for it.The stylists’ chatter soon dissolved into a low hum as she barely heard them the moment she pressed call.

No answer.

She tried again.

“Eli, it’s me,” she whispered into her phone when his voicemail caught her again. “I just— I need to know you’re okay. Please.”

She swallowed the wave of nausea and pressed her thumb against the phone again,this time searching for the hospital’s number.

A nurse answered after a long ring. “Riverside General, endocrinology wing.”

“Hi,” Lena said, her voice catching on the first syllable. “I’m trying to reach Eli Rowan. He was undergoing treatment there. I’ve been trying to call him but he’s not—”

“One moment, please,” the nurse cut in, “Let me check.”

Lena pressed the phone tighter to her ear, staring at the mirror. Her reflection didn’t move.She could hear the faint tap of a keyboard,the muffled static of hospital air and the distinct chatter of people.

Then “And are you by chance a relative of the patient?” Lena nodded even though the woman couldn't see her.

“He’s my brother”

“Well, according to the file,his account was recently cleared of all outstanding debts. He’s been reassigned to the in-patient wing for resumed treatment.”

Lena blinked. “Cleared? What—how?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have that information. It says ‘anonymous payment processed directly to administration.’”

Her stomach dropped. Anonymous.

It didn’t take much realization to know who that meant.

“Can I speak to him? Just for a minute?”

“I’m sorry, not at the moment. He’s receiving treatment. You’ll be notified when he’s available for calls.” The line clicked. Lena sat there, hand still clutching the phone as the dial tone hummed in her ear. For a moment she thought she might be sick.

Someone cleared their throat behind her. It was Clara.

“Miss Wren,” she said gently. “We need to go over the event schedule.”

---

The stylists moved around her again like a porcelain doll; pins, cuffs, lipstick, a quick spray of perfume.Clara held out a small jewelry box to her.Inside was a delicate silver chain with a diamond pendant that caught the light just so.

“Wear this,” Clara said. “It was one of her favorites.”

“Does he approve of everything?” Lena asked without thinking.

Clara’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “You want this to go well don't you?”

A few minutes later, Damon entered. He was dressed in a dark tailored suit, tie perfectly knotted, watch glinting at his wrist and his hair gelled to perfection.

“Ready?” he asked.

Lena rose, smoothing her dress of invisible lint “As I’ll ever be.”

His gaze swept over her. “Don’t speak unless you’re asked to. Keep your answers short. I’ll handle the statements.”

“Statements?” she repeated.

“The board’s lawyers will want a visual confirmation of our—” his pause was deliberate,“—union.” His tone gave the word a hard edge. “Don’t forget to smile.”

---

The car waited at the front steps and Damon gestured for her to enter first,his hand hovering just enough to imply courtesy, not warmth.

Inside, the air smelled faintly of leather and cedar polish.The partition was up; the driver’s voice came through muted. Lena sat with her hands folded on her lap, pulse still trembling beneath her skin.

For a while, they said nothing. The estate gates swung open, and the car rolled onto the road.

“You’ll take my arm when we enter. If any questions are thrown at you, look at me for a signal on whether you should answer or not. If cameras are present, you’ll look at me when I speak as though you trust me.”

“I don’t,” she murmured but he caught it.

“Good. That makes it easier to fake devotion.”

She turned to face her own side of the window, swallowing the rising ache in her throat. “And what shouldn’t I do?”

“Don’t improvise. Don’t touch me unless I do first. Don’t look uncertain when they mention her.”

The car slowed as the hospital gates opened. Even from inside, Lena could see the row of cameras lined up along the barricade — long lenses glinting under the afternoon light, the eager crowd already buzzing. The first time she stepped in this hospital was as Lena, a victim of circumstance and a villain under the public eye. And now she had returned this time as Amara, sabotaged heiress and People’s princess. How fast things can change.

“They’re early,” Clara muttered from the front seat, tapping her earpiece. “They’ve been camped out since dawn.”

Damon leaned forward and pressed a button on the intercom. “We’re here.”

Lena’s eyes traced the scene outside—the reporters shifting, security holding the line, flashes waiting to ignite.She exhaled quietly, then glanced at Damon.

“Keep your chin up,” Clara instructed. “You’ll step out first, left foot forward. Walk slowly.The cameras need some time to adjust.”

“Ready?” Damon asked, already halfway out, adjusting his cufflinks.

“I don’t— I don’t think—”

“Now!” Clara said gently but firmly. “Step out. Right foot first. Don’t look at the cameras. Don’t look at them. Look at him.”

Lena hesitated for one heartbeat too long. Then she opened the door.Reporters shouted her name or Amara’s.She couldn’t tell which. Several hands shot forward with microphones almost touching her lips

“Miss Wren! Is it true the accident was staged?”

“Mr. Hale, are you confirming the marriage?”

“Who’s footing the hospital bills—”

“Eyes forward,” Clara muttered behind her teeth. Damon reached a hand towards Lena’s elbow and she almost didn’t take but the flashes blinded her, and instinct made her reach back.

“Smile,” he murmured. She tried but it felt wrong on her face.

“Good morning,” Damon said to the crowd, in a calm and steady voice.“We appreciate your patience. A brief statement would be made, after which we would proceed inside.”

The reporters surged forward.

“Mr. Hale, is she staying with you at the Hale estate?”

“Miss Wren, were you driving?”

“Who paid for the—”

“That’s enough.” Damon’s tone didn’t rise, but it cut through the noise. The crowd went quiet.“There will be no commentary on rumors or personal details.Thank you.”

He turned slightly toward Lena. “Walk.”

She followed, heels clicking against the pavement, camera flashes strobing against her skin. The sound of her heartbeat mixed with the machine-gun rhythm of shutters was almost impalpable.

“I can’t feel my hands,” she muttered under her breath.

“Good,”Damon said. “Means you won’t fidget.”

They reached the doors. Security opened them quickly, ushering the pair into the hospital’s bright marble lobby. The noise dulled down automatically but the flash of the cameras was still evident. When they entered the room, a small team of hospital administrators and legal representatives were already seated, waiting. Cameras flashed again. This time smaller, official ones which had been set up as documentary evidence. A neat folder sat at the center of the table, flanked by silver pens.

“Mr. Hale, Miss Wren,” the head administrator greeted,extending a hand. “We’re grateful you could make it. This helps put a lot of questions to rest.”

“Of course,” Damon replied smoothly. “We all want what’s best for Amara’s recovery.”

Lena smiled faintly, keeping her voice even. “I’m just glad to be out of bed.”

There were polite laughs around the room, though none of which met the other’s eyes.The lawyer gestured toward the folder. “If you’ll both sign here and here, we’ll finalize the legal continuation of the foundation’s funding and the press release.”

Lena hesitated for a heartbeat, then took the pen. One of the reasons she had been unable to sleep the previous night boiled down to this particular moment. She had to ace the signature. Damon’s gaze stayed fixed on her as he watched her dawdle with the italics.

When she was done, she pushed the pen forward. “There.”

She could feel Damon exhale lightly in relief as he injured his own signature.

“Excellent,” the lawyer said, stacking the papers neatly. “The statement goes out at four.”

As they walked back toward the lobby, Clara leaned close and whispered, “You did well. They bought it.”

“Good for them,” Lena said softly. As they turned toward the exit, the reporters outside surged again like bees drawn to honey.

“Miss Wren! Look this way!”

“Mr. Hale! One photo together!”

“Just one!”

Damon paused just short of the door. “We should honor this request,” he said quietly.

“I don’t want to.”

“It’s not about what you want.”

He turned, placing a careful hand on her waist. “Breathe,” he murmured.

She did, shallowly. “This was not necessary and you know it” she said under her breath.

“No,” he said. “But it was enough conviction”

They reached the car and a guard opened the door. The cameras screamed for another picture but Damon didn’t stop this time. He let her slide inside first, then followed.