Semua Bab The Vows We Fake : Bab 51 - Bab 60

Slowly, Zane’s fingers began to explore upward. I felt every inch of that climb. They skimmed along the curve of my spine, rising until he found the side of my ribs, then paused. His touch trembled just slightly as it ghosted over the swell of my breast. It wasn’t groping or greedy. It was almost reverent, a careful, teasing brush against the edge of something intimate. My body stiffened, heat pooling low in my belly, and I could tell he felt it. But still, Zane didn’t go further. He let his hand settle there, half on my ribs, half on the edge of my side boob, while his lips hovered near the nape of my neck. My pulse roared in my ears. I both loved and hated him for it. The credits rolled. He didn’t say a word, didn’t even move at first. Then, without warning, he shifted slightly, guiding me to turn my face just enough. His lips found mine, softly, warmly. His tongue grazed my teeth, his teeth bit my lips. It was a kiss with certainty, one that said, I see you. I want you. But

“Did you ever think about this when we started getting closer?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper. Zane and I were lounging on the couch watching a movie. He turned slightly, watching me. “Think about what?” “This. Us. Being together somewhere like this. Just… being.” He was quiet for a beat too long. “Every damn day.” My breath caught. His gaze dropped to my hand. Slowly, almost without thought, he reached over, grazing his fingers over mine. Not a full touch. Just a suggestion. A question. And I didn’t pull away. “You’ve changed, Amara,” he said, voice low. “You’re still fire, but you’ve learned how to carry it.” I looked down, letting silence speak the things I didn’t know how to. That I still ached when I looked at him, that his touch still undid me in seconds. That I wasn’t sure how to love him without losing myself. The quiet stretched, heavy with everything we weren’t saying. “I’m going to walk a bit,” I murmured, needing space to breathe. He didn’t stop me. The

I woke up wrapped in heartache. Sunlight filtered in through the hotel room blinds, slicing the darkness into narrow beams that crawled across the sheets tangled around my legs. My body felt sore in a non-physical way, as if my soul had been wrung out, left to dry in the cold air. The weekend clung to my skin like a second scent. Zane. That cabin. Zane. His body. His mouth on mine, the weight of his stare, the heat in his voice when he said my name like it was both a curse and a promise. My skin ached with the absence of his touch, the ghost of his body heat retreating like a tide. The cabin had been another world. This, here, was my reality: a cold bed and the haunting emptiness of a man who wasn’t mine. I closed my eyes, trying to will it away: the way he’d watched me like he couldn’t help himself, the tension humming beneath every accidental brush of skin. The memories didn’t leave. I stared at the ceiling, heavy-limbed, too drained to move. My heart thudded dully beneath my ri

Sera's message came in the morning, all sunshine and sweetness, like the sharp edge of a blade dipped in honey. Sera: Join me for my final gown fitting, Amara? It would mean so much. You’ve been such a big part of this journey. I stared at the text a second longer than necessary, rereading it as if I might find something genuine between the lines. But no, every word shimmered with polished venom. “You’ve been such a big part of this journey?” Please. The worst part? I couldn’t say no, not without raising questions. And I was tired of the eyes on me, the speculation that danced on everyone’s lips but never quite reached their tongues. By noon, I found myself seated in the private bridal salon of the most exclusive atelier in the city, surrounded by lace and silk. The boutique smelled like roses and silk, the kind of place that whispered money and legacy. I shouldn’t have come. But a small, masochistic part of me wanted to see what kind of dress she would wear to marry the man who o

“I’m not yours to burn anymore,” I said, voice shaking. “You chose someone else. Remember?” The room felt too stuffy, too hot. His gaze on me wasn’t helping, either. I had to leave. I turned around and headed for the door. I was done. Done being played like some fragile piece on Zane Blackwood’s twisted chessboard. Before I got to the door, Zane’s fingers closed tightly around my wrist. “Amara,” he said, low and even. “You need to stop walking away from every damn conversation.” I spun on my heels. “Oh, I’m sorry. Do you remember how I prefer my arguments? Or did you just hear about that too?” His jaw flexed, something unreadable flashing across his face. “I don’t remember you.” I sucked in a sharp breath, that old familiar sting pricking behind my eyes. “I’ve told you,” he continued, voice quieter now, “I don’t remember the past. Not us. Not what we were. But I heard things: about who you were, what you meant to me. What you… endured. I hired you because I needed answers. I ne