Chapter 7: The Mask She Wore

Musk Estate Amara’s Private Wing at 12:47 A.M.

The room was still.

Outside, the world slept under a velvet night sky, stars glittering like silent witnesses to secrets too old to name. But inside the farthest wing of the Musk estate past the long-gilded hallways and behind the heavy carved doors Amara was wide awake.

She sat cross-legged on her bed, her back resting against a mountain of down pillows, wrapped in a loose dark gray robe that hung off one shoulder. A glow bathed her face from the sleek, glowing surface of her improvised laptop. It looked like nothing on the market.... smaller, sleeker, customized beyond belief. Her fingers moved fluidly across the touch sensitive hologram keys, her nails tapping in rhythmic precision.

Across the screen, a live recording replayed for the fourth time that hour.

"To whoever can cure my mother... a reward of ten million pesos, no questions asked. I don't care if you're licensed or not. I don't care if you've disappeared off the grid. If you can heal her, come forward. You'll be protected. Paid. Respected."

 Zogo Walton, heir to Walton Global.

The camera had caught him standing at the podium of his company's press hall. Clean-cut, powerful, tailored in steel gray with no tie, only cold resolution. Every word he said was clipped, careful, yet heavy with something raw beneath it.... desperation.

Amara's dark lashes lowered as she leaned in closer, her thoughts spinning fast.

Zogo Walton.

She knew the name. Anyone involved in the underground intel did.

But tonight......tonight she recognized the man.

He was the stranger in her house last night.

She remembered now the way he moved, his presence like shadow forging from steel. One of the three men who appeared during the gunfire on the street. He hadn't spoken much, but she hadn't needed him to. His eyes said everything. Untrusting. Sharp. Unforgiving. 

But now... she realized who he was.

Zogo Walton had been hunting her.

In every corner of the underworld.

Through whispers, shadows, black-market networks.

Using legal channels, illegal favors. He had chased the myth of a doctor who didn't exist on paper.

Her.

And now he'd gone public. Because time was running out.

Because he was losing hope.

Because the woman he wanted to save.... the mother everyone adored....was slipping away from this world.

So now, the entire country knew he was desperate.

And that desperation was wearing her name.

Amara sat in silence, letting the tension settle over her skin like a second robe. She could feel it know everything changing.

He didn't know her name.

Didn't know her face.

Didn't even know she was a woman.

But still... he needed her.

And Amara never ignored power when it knocked on her door.

A wry, slow smirk ghosted on her lips as she stood from the bed, the silk robe brushing against her ankles. She padded across the floor to her tall window. From there, she could see the distant mountains, quiet and ancient, like they too were waiting to see what she would do next.

She wasn't a kind person.

She had no interest in saving lives out of charity.

But... ten million pesos?

That was useful.

But it wasn't money that made her heartbeat faster.

It was the possibility.

Zogo Walton had influence. Power. Reach. Fearlessness.

And he wanted something only she could give.

That made him... interesting.

Her smirk widened just a little. For years, she had been hiding behind the Musk name, behind the retard heiress persona, behind cold silence. But now?

Now... the game was shifting.

She turned back to the desk, pulled a delicate silver chain from under her robe and removed the tiny, encrypted data chip she always wore. She slid it into her laptop port. Instantly, a black screen opened. A secure system of her own making.

No IPs. No fingerprints. No trace.

Amara's fingers hovered above the keys for a moment before she began typing.

No greeting.

No introduction.

Just truth cloaked in shadows.

[ENCRYPTED ANONYMOUS MESSAGE SENT TO ZW_CORP | 01:16 A.M.]

"Your voice is loud, Walton."

"Too loud for someone searching in the dark."

"She's watching."

She stared at the screen, her pulse steady.

This was how you built empires...not with promises, but with leverage.

Zogo needed her to save his mother. And she needed someone who could stand on her level....no, someone who could give her a stage big enough to dominate.

Marriage?

She laughed under her breath.

It was crazy. Reckless.

And maybe... exactly what she needed.

After all, her grandfather had made it clear that if she wanted full control of the Musk legacy, she needed to marry.

Why not pick a man powerful enough to keep up?

Why not Zogo?

Of course, she would never let him know... not yet. For now, he would think she was a ghost. A rumor. A savior cloaked in mystery.

Because that's how she liked it.

From the shadows... pulling strings no one could see.

She hit SEND.

Then she stood from her seat, stretching like a cat, and walked toward the mirror.

The girl staring back at her wore an old robe, her hair a mess, no makeup, bare feet. But her eyes... her eyes held worlds of fire and frost.

Amara Musk.

Healer. Hacker. Heiress.

But more than anything...

The player who always moved first.

The morning sun filtered through sheer curtains, casting a soft glow across the Musk estate.

Amara yawned loudly, stretching like a cat as she shuffled into the breakfast room in fuzzy slippers and a loose robe. A bright smile was plastered on her face, sleepy, lips humming a tune no one could name.

"Morning!" she chirped cheerfully, dropping into her seat at the long dining table.

Her sudden enthusiasm made a few heads turn. One maid nearly dropped the tray she was carrying.

Ayah, seated across the table with a cup of tea in hand, gave her a long look.

"...You're in a good mood," she said slowly.

Amara grinned and reached for a pancake. "Why wouldn't I be? It's a beautiful day. The birds are chirping. The air smells like syrup."

Ayah said nothing, but her eyes narrowed slightly.

It wasn't like Amara to be this... bubbly.

Not since her return.

Cristy walked in a few minutes later…. calm, professional, carrying a small garment bag with careful hands.

"Miss Amara," she said, leaning down slightly to speak close to her ear.

"Your outfit for the Page family gathering is ready. Mr. Musk asked me to help you prepare."

"Ohhh, perfect." Amara took a loud sip of her orange juice.

 "Let's hope it's not itchy."

Cristy smiled politely. "It won't be."

"Wait," Ayah cut in, folding her napkin with precise fingers.

"You're going to the Page celebration?"

Cristy answered calmly, "The Musk family was invited. Mr. Musk said Miss Amara should attend. It's Mr. Edgar Page's 65th birthday."

Ayah blinked once, her expression controlled.

"Hmm. I hadn't heard that."

Cristy smiled faintly, like she already expected that response. "Maybe the invitation arrived after your walk this morning."

There was a small pause. Amara didn't miss the way Ayah's fingers twitched against her teacup.

After breakfast, Cristy led Amara back to her room.

As she unzipped the bag to reveal the elegant navy-blue dress inside, Amara chuckled.

"She's going to try something later," she said casually, pulling her hair into a messy bun. "I can see it on her face."

Cristy didn't look surprised. "Would you like me to keep an eye on her?"

Amara shrugged. "No need. I'm used to it."

Then she tilted her head and smiled slightly.

"But if she does try something stupid... just make sure my dress stays clean."