Chapter seven: Distance between us

The silence after their argument followed Amara into the night.

She lay awake long after the apartment lights dimmed, staring at the ceiling as the echo of Lucas’s words replayed in her mind. Don’t test me. The warning had been quiet, controlled—and far more frightening because of it.

Amara turned onto her side, her heart heavy. She had spoken up, defended herself, drawn a line. And yet, instead of relief, she felt exposed, as though she’d stepped onto unstable ground.

Sometime near dawn, she finally slept.

She woke to movement.

Lucas stood at the foot of the bed, jacket already on, his expression unreadable.

“We’re leaving,” he said.

Amara pushed herself upright, confusion cutting through her fatigue. “Where?”

“My parents’ estate,” Lucas replied. “They requested to see us.”

Us. The word sounded strange coming from him.

“When?” she asked.

“Now.”

The drive was quiet, the city slowly fading into wide stretches of land and tall iron gates. Amara watched the scenery change, her thoughts racing. She’d heard stories about the Harrington estate—about expectations, legacy, and control.

None of them were comforting.

The house was enormous, older than the city itself, its stone walls heavy with history. Staff moved quietly as Lucas led Amara inside, his hand briefly resting at her back before dropping away.

His mother was the first to greet them.

Margaret Harrington was elegant in a way that demanded attention—graceful posture, sharp eyes, and a presence that filled the room without effort. She studied Amara carefully, her gaze lingering just long enough to make her aware of every flaw she imagined she had.

“So,” Margaret said calmly, “this is my son’s wife.”

Amara inclined her head respectfully. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Margaret nodded once. “We’ll see.”

Lucas stiffened beside her.

Lunch was served in a long dining room lined with portraits of Harrington men—powerful, stern, unyielding. Amara felt their silent judgment pressing in on her.

Conversation was polite but distant.

“Marriage suits you,” Margaret said to Lucas. “Though the circumstances were… unconventional.”

“They were necessary,” Lucas replied.

Margaret turned her gaze back to Amara. “Do you understand what it means to carry this name?”

“Yes,” Amara said. “And I take it seriously.”

Margaret studied her for a long moment. “Good. Because weakness has no place in this family.”

The words landed like a challenge.

After lunch, Lucas was called away for a private discussion with his father. Amara was left alone in the sitting room with Margaret.

“You’re quieter than I expected,” Margaret said.

“I listen more than I speak,” Amara replied.

“Smart,” Margaret said. “Tell me—why did you marry my son?”

Amara hesitated only briefly. “Because I was asked to. And because it mattered.”

Margaret’s lips curved slightly. “Honest. I appreciate that.”

She stood and walked toward the window. “Lucas has always been difficult. He doesn’t forgive easily.”

“I’ve noticed,” Amara said gently.

Margaret turned back to her. “If you intend to stay his wife, you’ll need more than patience. You’ll need strength.”

“I have it,” Amara said quietly.

Margaret studied her again—this time with something closer to interest.

That evening, as they prepared to leave, Amara overheard raised voices down the hall.

Lucas and his father.

“You rushed into this,” his father said sharply. “She’s untested.”

“She’s capable,” Lucas replied.

“Capable isn’t enough.”

Amara stepped back before she was noticed.

On the drive home, Lucas finally spoke. “You handled yourself well today.”

The words startled her.

“Thank you,” she said.

He glanced at her briefly. “My mother rarely approves of anyone.”

“That doesn’t sound reassuring.”

“It is,” Lucas replied quietly.

When they reached the apartment, Amara paused at the door. “Lucas… why did you defend me?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

“Because you’re my wife,” he said finally.

It wasn’t affection—but it wasn’t nothing.

Later that night, Amara’s phone vibrated.

A message.

Selene: Enjoy the illusion while it lasts. Even his family knows you don’t belong.

Amara stared at the screen, her pulse quickening.

Then she looked up to find Lucas standing in the doorway, his gaze fixed on her phone.

“Who’s messaging you?” he asked.

Amara met his eyes.

“The past,” she said.

And for the first time, Lucas Harrington looked genuinely concerned.