Billionaire's Chase For His Thorned Rose

Amara’s POV

The air felt electric as I sat across from Mr. Tower in the pristine conference room of Daven Technologies. The morning sunlight streamed through the floortoceiling windows, casting a soft glow on the sleek chrome furniture. My heart pounded in anticipation. After weeks of effort, sleepless nights, and countless trips to this company, this moment was everything.

“Your presentation has caught me,” Mr. Tower said, his voice steady but warm.

I blinked, unsure if I had heard him correctly. The edges of his mouth curled into a faint smile as he reached into his briefcase and retrieved a document file.

“You can pass the contract to Damon McCain,” he said, sliding the papers across the table. “I hope his company and mine get to do great things together.”

A gasp escaped my lips before I could catch it. My fingers trembled slightly as I reached for the file, the cool texture of the folder grounding me. This was it. The reward for all my hard work. I rose to my feet, holding the file close to my chest as though it were the most precious thing in the world.

“Thank you, Mr. Tower,” I said, my voice steady but filled with gratitude. “I promise you won’t regret this decision.”

He gave me a nod of approval, and I turned to leave, my heels clicking against the marble floor. Outside the building, the crisp air hit my face, but it felt refreshing, like a new beginning.

I flagged down a taxi, clutching the file as though it might disappear. “To McCain Enterprises,” I instructed the driver.

The ride was a blur of anticipation. Damon had mentioned how elusive this contract had been, how his company had tried and failed multiple times. Now, here it was, secured and ready to be delivered—on our seventh anniversary, no less. My chest swelled with pride at the thought of his reaction.

“You did it, Amara,” I whispered to myself as the taxi pulled up to McCain Enterprises.

Inside the lavish lobby, I approached the desk, my smile wide. “Hello. I’m here to see my fiancé,” I said, my tone light and cheerful.

The secretary barely looked up, her gaze sharp as she scanned me from head to toe. “Who are you?”

I stiffened, narrowing my eyes. “I’m your boss’s fiancée. Is Damon in?”

She tilted her head, a mocking smirk playing on her lips. “You look nothing like his fiancée,” she muttered under her breath, loud enough for me to hear.

“What the heck?” I arched a brow, my tone icy.

She sighed, waving me off dismissively. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know you, and I don’t think you’re in any way related to my boss. You also don’t seem to have an appointment, so kindly leave.”

Heat flared in my chest. “Call him,” I demanded, my voice sharper now.

“I can’t do that,” she replied flatly, refusing to even glance my way.

My patience snapped. I slammed my palm against the desk, the sound echoing through the lobby. “You will call him now, or I’ll make sure he knows how incompetent you are!”

“Amara?”

The voice made me freeze. Slowly, I turned to see Tasha, Damon’s sister, standing a few feet away. She regarded me with thinly veiled disdain as she strutted forward, her heels clicking with deliberate arrogance.

“Hello, Amara,” she said, her tone syrupy with mockery. “What are you doing here?”

“To see Damon,” I replied joyfully, meeting her gaze.

“Right. And ruin his perfectly good day?” she huffed, folding her arms.

The secretary chimed in, her voice cold. “Ms., please leave and don’t cause a scene, or I’ll call security.”

“Watch it,” I hissed, glaring at her. “I’ll have my fiancé fire you for this disrespect.”

Tasha snorted, brushing past me to address the secretary. “Don’t bother, Lola. Just let her go see him. She’s an unwanted guest anyway.”

Her words stung like a slap, but I masked the hurt with a glare. My fists clenched at my sides as I watched her turn and saunter away. If she weren’t going to be my future sisterinlaw, I’d have yanked her perfectly styled hair right then.

Regaining my composure, I gave the secretary one last icy look and strode to the elevator. As the doors opened and I stepped onto Damon’s floor, I forced a smile, pushing aside the bitterness. This was a big moment, and I wouldn’t let anyone ruin it.

The elevator doors slid open, and my breath caught in my throat. Damon stood in the center of his office, his broad shoulders tense but relaxed enough to lean toward someone sitting in his chair. My heart stuttered when I saw who it was—Miranda. Her face, all too familiar, broke into laughter as Damon rested his hand on the back of her chair. Their closeness was undeniable, intimate in a way that sent sharp pangs through my chest.

The contract in my hand felt heavier, my grip on it tightening as my palms grew clammy.

“Damon?” My voice cracked, barely rising above a whisper.

He turned sharply, his easy smile faltering the moment his eyes—strikingly cerulean and sharp—met mine.

“Amara?” His voice carried a hint of surprise, but it was restrained, too measured. He took a step forward, hesitating at first, and then closed the space between us. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

I swallowed hard, glancing at Miranda, who lounged back in the chair as though she owned it. “Right,” I said, my voice laced with bitterness. “How could you?”

Damon frowned. “Meaning?”

I gestured slightly toward Miranda. She stood, brushing nonexistent dust from her pencil skirt, and offered me a smile so sweet it turned my stomach. “Hi, Ama.”

“It’s Amara,” I said curtly, my fingers tightening around the edges of the file.

Damon’s brows pinched. “Hey, don’t be like that,” he said lightly, a subtle reprimand that made my blood simmer.

I turned back to him, my heart pounding. “Why doesn’t your staff know who I am? Why has no one in your office ever heard of me?” My voice rose despite my best efforts to stay composed. “I’m your fiancée, Damon. Why haven’t you told them about me?”

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. “Come on, Amara. It wasn’t necessary.”

“Not necessary?” My voice trembled as I glanced at Miranda, who smirked faintly. “Even your secretary was disrespectful. She wouldn’t let me see you.”

Damon shrugged. “She doesn’t know you.”

“Exactly my point!” I snapped. “She should know me. I’m not some random stranger.”

Miranda chuckled softly, drawing my attention back to her. “Oh, come on, Amara. It’s not a big deal. I know you—doesn’t that count for something?”

My eyes narrowed. “Of course, you do. You’re Damon’s socalled best friend, after all.”

Her expression turned wounded, a deliberate pull of her lips and widening of her eyes that screamed theatrics. Damon turned to me, his tone sharp. “Amara, that’s enough. You don’t have to be rude.”

“She’s—” I started, but Miranda cut me off, her voice feigning remorse.

“I shouldn’t have intervened. I’m sorry, Amara. Truly. I’ll head to my office now.” She picked up a file from the desk, her movements slow and deliberate as she turned back to Damon. “See you later, Damon.”

Before she could leave, her heel caught on the carpet, and she yelped, crumpling to the floor. Damon rushed to her side, concern flooding his face as he knelt beside her.

“Miranda, are you okay?” His voice was soft, tender.

She winced, gripping his arm dramatically. “No, I think I sprained my ankle.”

Damon gently removed her shoe, inspecting her foot as she clung to him. She whimpered, casting a quick, triumphant glance in my direction. My stomach churned as I stood frozen, invisible in the room where I should’ve been the most significant person.

“I’ll help you to your office,” Damon said, slipping an arm around her waist as he helped her stand.

“Damon,” I called softly, stepping forward, holding up the contract. “I’ve got—”

“Let’s talk later at home, Amara,” he said without looking at me. Then, with Miranda leaning heavily on him, he walked away, leaving me standing there alone.

For an hour, I waited. I paced his office, the contract burning in my hands, the seconds ticking by like thunderclaps in my ears. He didn’t return. My chest ached as I set the file on his desk, the culmination of weeks of effort discarded like an afterthought. Again, he had chosen her. Again, I was left behind.

The ride home was a blur of tears and muted pain. The living room greeted me with silence, its vast emptiness amplifying the ache in my chest. I called Damon’s number, but it went unanswered.

“It’s our anniversary,” I whispered to the void. Seven years together, and this was how it felt—like nothing.

I closed my eyes, memories of our fifth anniversary flooding back. He had planned a candlelit dinner on the rooftop, complete with fairy lights and music. We had danced under the stars, his arms wrapped around me as he whispered promises of forever. But tonight, those promises felt like distant echoes.

The clock ticked on, dragging me toward despair, until my phone buzzed. I grabbed it quickly, hope flaring. It was a message from Damon.

{Hello, babe. Happy anniversary. Let’s celebrate it at Le Château Étoilé. I’ve booked the restaurant for the whole night for us.}

A small, hesitant smile crept onto my face. Le Château Étoilé was one of California’s finest restaurants, a place I’d begged Damon to take me for weeks. Maybe he hadn’t forgotten after all. Maybe this was his way of making things right.

I hurried upstairs, my heart lighter. There was no need for extravagant makeup or dresses—Damon loved me best in my simplicity. By the time I arrived at the restaurant, the grand exterior gleamed under the moonlight. It was everything I’d imagined—luxurious, elegant, and perfect.

I approached the entrance, excitement bubbling in my chest. Two welcoming staff members stood by the door, their polished smiles faltering as they saw me.

“Good evening,” I said, my voice warm. “I have a reservation. My fiancé, Damon McCain, booked the entire night.”

Their eyes met, amusement flickering before one stifled a laugh. “You? Damon McCain’s fiancée?”

I straightened. “Yes.”

The other scoffed, shaking her head. “It’s not every day women roll off the street claiming to be Mr. McCain’s fiancée.”

“Excuse me?” My voice sharpened, anger bubbling beneath the surface.

The blonde staff member smirked. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. But no, you’re not on the list.”

“Check again,” I demanded, my patience fraying.

She disappeared, returning with an older woman who introduced herself as the restaurant's Manager.

“I think there’s been a mistake,” I explained. “Damon McCain made a reservation here for tonight—for our anniversary.”

The manager’s expression hardened. “We’ve checked thoroughly. Mr. McCain hasn’t made any reservations.”

“You’re lying,” I said, desperation creeping into my tone. “It’s our anniversary. He told me—”

The blonde interrupted with a sneer. “It’s either you’re trying to scam your way into this establishment, or you’re delusional. Either way, leave now, or we’ll call security.”

My world tilted, their words ringing louder than they should. This couldn’t be happening. Not tonight. Not Damon.

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. My thoughts tangled and unraveled like threads pulled too tightly. Why was things turning out like this ? Was he pulling some cruel prank? No, that wasn’t like him—or at least, it hadn’t been. But then again, so much about him had changed lately.

The cold bit into my skin as I stepped out of the restaurant’s warm glow and into the frosty night. I stopped by the security post, the dim light overhead casting a harsh glare. My fingers trembled as I dialed Damon’s number. The line rang, over and over, until I heard his voice.

“Oh, Amara,” he said, his tone light, distracted. “What’s up?”

“Damon.” My voice cracked despite my effort to sound composed. “Where are you? I’m at the restaurant. I wasn’t let in because…” I hesitated, shame tightening around me like a noose. “Because they said you didn’t make a reservation.”

“Ah, damn.” He let out a soft laugh, like I’d reminded him of something insignificant. “I forgot to make it.”

“What?” My chest constricted, disbelief mingling with hurt. “But you messaged me. You told me to come here. You should be here.”

“I know, I know,” he said, as if pacifying a child. “I’ll make it up to you. I’m at a meeting. I’ll be there soon.”

Before I could respond, a soft, feminine voice echoed faintly through the phone. “Damon, do you like crabs or grilled salmon better?”

It was Miranda.

My heart sank. He didn’t even bother to hide it anymore. There was a shuffle, as though he had cupped the phone, but her voice had already done its damage.

“Damon.” My throat felt dry. “You’re with Miranda?”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes, okay?” His words were hurried, dismissive. Then the line went dead.

I stared at my phone, disbelief freezing me in place. Damon had just lied to me—for the first time, at least outright—and it was for her. A jagged pain tore through my chest, but I held onto that fragile sliver of hope. Maybe he’d show up, make it right. He had to.

Ten minutes turned into twenty, then an hour. My hands, bare and exposed, trembled from the biting cold. I cursed myself for leaving the house without gloves. Snow began to fall, light flakes landing on my hair and lashes. My breath came out in puffs of frost as I stood there, stiff and unmoving.

The staff at the entrance stole glances at me, their expressions filled with disdain and poorly concealed amusement. They muttered amongst themselves, and though I couldn’t hear their words, their derision was obvious.

I checked my phone again. No messages, no calls. Could he be stuck in traffic? Was something holding him up? But if that were the case, why hadn’t he called or texted to let me know?

Time crawled, each minute dragging my hope further into the ground. People streamed out of the restaurant, some glancing at me curiously as I stood, a frozen statue under the falling snow. My eyes stung with unshed tears, but I refused to let them fall.

At 10 p.m., the restaurant began to close. The staff started clearing the entrance, their mocking gazes landing on me as they stepped outside.

“You claim to know him. How pathetic,” one of them sneered, her voice sharp enough to cut through the night air.

The blonde among them smirked, holding up her phone. “He’s actually having a good time with his woman right now. And here’s this poor imposter.”

Their laughter was muffled as they walked away, but their words echoed in my mind, each one a stab to my chest.

His woman?

What were they talking about?

My legs felt like lead, rooted to the icy ground as snow soaked through my shoes and numbed my toes. The cold wasn’t just on my skin; it burrowed into my bones, wrapping me in a chill that went far beyond the weather. My breath rose in wisps of frost, the night closing in around me. Then, a faint chime broke the silence. I pulled my phone from my pocket, the harsh light of the screen momentarily blinding me.

It was a notification from Instagram.

My fingers, trembling from the cold and something far deeper, swiped across the screen. The wind howled around me, but I barely noticed. My breath hitched as Miranda’s profile popped up, her latest reel sitting proudly at the top of my feed. My thumb hesitated, hovering over the video. I didn’t want to watch it, but some masochistic part of me pressed play.

The reel began with an aweinspiring view of the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway, the tram gliding smoothly up the mountainside. Miranda’s voice filled the air, cheerful and highpitched. “Oh my God, I can’t believe I’m doing this! It’s so scary, but so exciting!”

The camera panned, and there he was—Damon. His familiar, striking features etched with ease and laughter, his arm draped protectively over Miranda’s shoulder. My heart plummeted. He chuckled as she clung to him, whispering something close to her ear. She laughed, leaning into him as the tram rotated, the two of them framed by a picturesque sunset.

I gripped my phone tighter, my knuckles whitening. This wasn’t just a reel. This was my nightmare laid bare for everyone to see.

The reel transitioned to the observation deck at the Mountain Station, a golden sunset painting the horizon behind them. Miranda’s voice trembled with awe. “The view is incredible! I’ve never seen anything like it!” Damon was by her side, pointing out landmarks in the distance. His hand, so familiar, steadied her waist as she leaned forward, her smile bright and carefree.

This was the trip I’d begged Damon to take me on for years. He always had an excuse: work was too hectic, or the timing wasn’t right. I’d held onto hope, thinking one day he’d follow through. But here he was, giving her my dream. My stomach churned with a mixture of disbelief and heartbreak.

As the reel ended, Miranda’s caption caught my eye, its words searing into my brain:

"Thought I’d never experience true happiness, but my true love proved me wrong. I’m in the moon."

The ache in my chest spread, sharp and unforgiving. My frozen fingers hovered over the screen before I dropped my hand to my side. My phone dangled limply, as though it carried the weight of my crumbling world.

Snow continued to fall, delicate flakes landing on my cheeks, melting into tiny rivulets that mixed with tears I refused to shed. Not here. Not in front of these people, these mocking eyes that had seen enough of my humiliation. My legs moved on their own, carrying me away from the restaurant, away from the whispers of strangers and the cold silence of betrayal.

By the time I got home, the silence felt deafening. The warmth of the apartment was supposed to be comforting, but it wasn’t. My coat hung limp in my hand as I stood in the entryway, unable to summon the energy to do anything more. Then, my phone buzzed. And buzzed again. It wouldn’t stop.

Each notification carried the same sting, dragging me back to Miranda’s Instagram. Another post. Another glowing comment section. I slumped onto the couch, the cushions swallowing me as I opened my phone.

The first post showed a photo of Damon holding a plate of seafood, his grin wide and dazzling. The caption read: “Dinner with the best company. ️” Comments rolled in beneath it like a tide, each one a blow:

“You two look so perfect together!”

“Couple goals ”

“Finally found someone who matches your vibe!”

I scrolled past it, only to find another post—a video of Damon and Miranda laughing at a joke, their faces so close they might as well have been one. The caption beneath it was worse: “Finding your soulmate feels like this…”

A sickening realization clawed its way to the forefront of my mind. Miranda hadn’t just replaced me in Damon’s life. She was flaunting it for the world to see—and I had a frontrow seat because I’d been naive enough to accept her friend request.

Back then, Damon had spoken so highly of her when she’d returned from her long absence. “Miranda’s like family,” he’d said. “She’s been through a lot. Let’s make her feel welcome.” And I, blind and trusting, had believed him.

Now, I scrolled through her posts, each one more painful than the last. The comments were relentless, praising her beauty, their connection, their obvious chemistry. My fingers itched to type something—anything—but what could I say? That I was the one he’d promised to marry? That I was the one left standing in the snow while they lived out a fantasy?

The phone slipped from my hands onto the couch. My chest felt heavy, my breaths shallow. Each buzz of a new notification was a reminder of what I’d lost—or maybe what I’d never truly had.

I curled up on the couch, the weight of it all pressing down on me. Somewhere deep inside, a spark of anger flickered, but it was drowned by the overwhelming wave of heartbreak. Damon had given her everything he’d denied me. And now, the whole world was watching.

As I stared blankly at the ceiling, a single thought echoed through my mind: What happens now?

My chest burned as the tears I’d fought so hard to suppress finally flowed freely. The weight of the day pressed against me, sharp and unrelenting. Every moment, every betrayal played in an endless loop in my mind, slicing through me. The snow, the Instagram posts, the waiting, and the realization that I had been discarded for Miranda—they all came crashing down like an avalanche.

A sharp buzz snapped me out of my torment. My phone lit up with another notification. My fingers hesitated over the screen, trembling with a mixture of rage and anguish. I wanted to hurl the device across the room, shatter it against the wall. But instead, I opened the app and stared, numb, at the latest post Miranda had shared.

She was resting her head on Damon’s chest, her eyes closed in serene bliss while his face was angled away, as though he was sleeping. He looked peaceful, untouched by guilt or shame. The caption beneath it stung like salt on a wound:

"True love is the calm after the storm. #Blessed #HappinessFound"

I let out a bitter laugh that quickly turned into a sob. My chest heaved as I clutched the phone tighter. “Look at me,” I whispered to no one. “Sitting here, hoping he’d come back, while he’s there. With her.”

The night blurred into a fog of tears and exhaustion, and I hadn’t realized when I finally drifted off, my phone still clutched in my hand.

“Amara!”

I jerked awake to the sound of Damon’s voice, loud and intrusive. My heart raced as I blinked against the morning light streaming through the curtains. My body stiffened when I saw him standing before me. His hair was disheveled, his tie loosened, but he still looked infuriatingly composed.

He leaned down, his hands braced on either side of me as if to kiss me, but I flinched and leaned back. My voice came out cold. “What are you doing here?”

His brows furrowed. “You slept on the couch?”

I didn’t bother answering, pushing the blanket off as I stood. I kept my gaze steady on him, taking in the faint crease of annoyance on his forehead. For a fleeting moment, I thought about confronting him outright, demanding answers, but I decided against it. What was the point?

I turned to leave, but his hand shot out, gripping mine. “Hey, what’s going on?” His voice carried an edge of confusion, as if he were the victim in this mess.

I yanked my hand free, glaring at him. “Where were you last night?”

He sighed heavily, his fingers running through his hair. “At the company. I was working my ass off, as always.”

I scoffed. “Oh, I see. And Miranda? Has she suddenly become part of your work schedule now?”

His head snapped up, his expression shifting. “What are you talking about?”

“You went with her to Palm Springs Aerial Tramway,” I spat, my voice shaking. “Then you spent the night at her place. And now you have the guts to stand here and lie to me.”

His jaw tightened, his gaze hardening. “Were you spying on me?”

A sharp, incredulous laugh escaped me. “Spying? Are you serious?”

“You know I hate that,” he said, his tone low and accusatory.

“Oh, and I love being shamed and kept waiting outside Le Château Étoilé for three hours in the freezing cold!” I stepped closer, poking his chest with every word. “Three hours, Damon. I stood there, eating snow and feeling like a fool.”

His expression softened for a moment, as if realizing his mistake, but it quickly hardened again. He waved dismissively. “Three hours? Come on, you’re exaggerating. I’m sure you left after ten minutes.”

I stared at him, my disbelief giving way to fury. “Really?”

“Yes,” he said, exhaling sharply. “About Miranda—she needed me yesterday. She’s my best friend. I couldn’t just ignore her after all she’s gone through.”

“And me?” My voice cracked, my eyes stinging as tears threatened to spill again. “You made her happy at my expense. It was our seventh anniversary, Damon. Seven years. But to you, it was just another day. You sidelined me and turned me into a laughingstock. All for Miranda.”

“Come on, Amara.” He reached out as if to console me, but I stepped back. “I thought you’d understand. She was recalling bad moments, and I just wanted to lighten her mood.”

“And I’m supposed to just accept that?” My voice rose, thick with anger and hurt. “The last three months, you’ve done more for her than you’ve done for me in years. You don’t even talk about our wedding anymore.”

He waved a hand dismissively, his expression indifferent. “Is that what you’re upset about? We can postpone it.”

My jaw dropped. “Wwhat?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, as if it were a simple decision. “Miranda’s been going through a lot. You can’t imagine how hard her life’s been since her breakup. She feels shattered.”

“She’s pretending,” I hissed. “She came back because you’re successful now, and she wants to ruin what we have.”

“Stop it, Amara.” His voice was sharp now. “She’s not vile. She means well—for both of us.”

“No,” I snapped. “She only means well for herself.”

“You’re wrong,” he said firmly. “Yesterday, she helped me secure the Daven Technologies contract. That’s huge for my company.”

“She…” I faltered, my heart sinking. “No. That wasn’t her.”

“It was,” he insisted. “Tasha said she saw her dropping the contract documents on my desk. She didn’t even tell me about it until after closing hours. She’s so humble.” He paused, his expression almost reverent. “The last two months she’s worked for my company, we’ve flourished.”

My stomach churned as I stared at him. “You’ve got it wrong, Damon. That contract—I got it for you.”

His head tilted, his gaze doubtful. “Look, I know you’ve helped us bag some deals, but this is different.”

“What are you trying to say?”

He shrugged, his voice casual but cutting. “It can’t be you. You dropped out of college. You’re not as experienced as she is at convincing top companies.”

My vision blurred as the words sank in. “You…” My voice trembled.

He stepped closer, taking my hand. “Let’s forget about yesterday, okay? I’ll make it up to you.”

I stared at Damon, his words echoing in my mind like a hammer striking fragile glass. It can’t be you. My knees wobbled as a sharp ache spread through my chest. Those words weakened me, carving deep into my soul. How could he so easily dismiss me, the woman who had stood by him through every storm?

Before I could muster a response, Damon cupped my face, his touch warm yet distant. "Tonight’s a great night," he said, his voice laced with anticipation. "There’s an annual event hosted by one of my business partners. Some of my friends will be there."

I parted my lips to speak, to ask if this was his way of patching things up or avoiding the cracks entirely, but he silenced me with a kiss. It wasn’t tender; it was possessive, commanding. I stood frozen as his lips moved against mine, robbing me of the words I so desperately wanted to scream. When he pulled back, I turned and headed upstairs to our room, moving like a lifeless puppet.

That evening, we arrived at the event. The venue was lavish, sparkling with chandeliers and the murmur of expensive conversations. I tried to focus on the grandeur, the soft hum of music, but my attention wavered the moment Miranda came into view.

She wore a crimson dress, fitted perfectly to her body, with a plunging neckline that left little to the imagination. The fabric shimmered under the light, drawing all eyes to her. She moved with an air of confidence, her lips painted in the same shade as her dress. My chest tightened, and a wave of inadequacy washed over me. I felt invisible in my simple black gown, standing in her radiant shadow.

Miranda greeted Damon with a hug, her arms lingering around his neck, followed by a kiss on his cheek that seemed too familiar for comfort. He didn’t pull away; instead, his lips curved into a faint smile.

She turned to me, her eyes sparkling with feigned sincerity. "Hey, Amara. I found out yesterday it was your seventh anniversary…"

Her voice was sweet, too sweet. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. "Mine and Damon’s anniversary," I corrected, the sarcasm dripping from my words. "And thanks to you, it went so well."

Damon shot me a sharp look, his jaw tightening, but I didn’t care.

Miranda, unbothered, laughed lightly. "Congratulations to you both." She stretched out a wrapped box. "Please, accept my gift."

I stared at the box, then at her, rolling my eyes before turning on my heel. Without a word, I headed for the restroom, the air around me heavy with tension.

Damon caught up with me just as I reached the hallway, his hand gripping my arm. "Amara, what was that? That’s not like you."

I yanked my arm free, glaring at him. "You wouldn’t know what I’m like anymore." With that, I stormed off, leaving him standing there.

The evening dragged on painfully. I stood on the sidelines, watching Damon and Miranda move through the crowd like a power couple. Every time I tried to approach him, she’d swoop in with her practiced charm, guiding him toward someone else under the guise of polite introductions. It was as if I wasn’t even there.

I swallowed the lump in my throat as I watched her lay a hand on his arm, leaning in to whisper something that made him chuckle. My chest burned, jealousy and despair battling for dominance.

Finally, I’d had enough. I marched toward Damon, determined to tell him I was leaving. But before I could reach him, his voice stopped me.

"Miranda, you shouldn’t drink. Forgotten?"

I froze, my steps faltering.

A woman in their circle exchanged a glance with her partner. "Why, Mr. McCain? Is she sick?"

Miranda subtly glanced my way, a small, calculated smile playing on her lips. "I’m pregnant."

Gasps rippled through the group. My heart pounded, the word echoing in my ears. Pregnant?

The woman’s partner raised an eyebrow. "Really? Is it your unborn child, Damon?"

Damon smiled faintly, glancing at Miranda, who returned his gaze with a soft smile.

"So, she’s carrying your baby," the woman said, looking impressed. "I’ve heard rumors about you two. They said she’s captured your heart."

The man beside her chimed in, his tone curious. "If she’s your woman, then who’s that?" He gestured toward me. "I clearly remember meeting you with her once, Damon."

I waited, my breath caught in my throat, as Damon turned to me. His expression was distant, his voice low as he muttered, "Uh… she’s my… like a close friend."

The world tilted beneath me. A close friend? That’s all I was to him?

Before Damon could approach me, I turned and walked away, tears blurring my vision.

I couldn’t believe he’d said it. Just a close friend. The words played on repeat in my mind, sharp as broken glass. Seven years. Seven years of my life, my sacrifices, my love—and all it took was Miranda to erase it. I wasn’t even angry about her pregnancy, not entirely. It was his disregard for me that ripped me apart. His inability to defend me, to even acknowledge what we were. Was she the reason for his growing distance, his excuses, his lies? How long had I been blind?

The second I stepped into the house, I flung my purse onto the couch, its contents scattering. Tears blurred my vision, but I didn’t care. A sob broke from my throat as I sank onto the cold, unforgiving leather. My chest heaved, and each breath felt like a struggle. I had loved Damon with everything I had, but tonight, he’d made me feel like nothing.

Time passed in a blur before I heard the door click open. Damon’s familiar scent filled the room as he stepped inside, his voice laced with irritation.

“What’s wrong with you, Amara? You shouldn’t have left like that.”

I lifted my head and met his gaze, bitterness coating my words. “Really? I was supposed to stay and take in all the humiliation? That’s what you wanted?”

His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

I stood, my legs trembling beneath me. “So I’m just a close friend, huh? That’s what I mean.”

He sighed, stepping closer, his hands raised like a man trying to tame a storm. “No, Amara. You’re the woman I love.”

I pushed him back, anger bubbling to the surface. “Then why couldn’t you say that at the event? Why did you embarrass me like that in front of everyone?”

“Amara…” His voice was soft, pleading.

I didn’t let him finish. “Miranda is carrying your child, and you didn’t even have the decency to tell me!”

His head snapped up, his eyes wide. “No. It’s not mine.”

“What?” My heart faltered.

“It’s her ex’s unborn child.”

“You’re kidding me.” My voice rose with disbelief. “You let them believe it was yours. You smiled. You didn’t deny it.”

“I didn’t say anything!” His tone was defensive now. “I just… I wanted to protect her dignity, like a good friend would.”

“And what about me?” My voice cracked. “You didn’t want her humiliated, but you didn’t care about humiliating me. It was so easy for you.”

“Why can’t you seem to understand?” he said, frustration lining his face.

“Why can’t you see how you’re crushing me, Damon?!” My voice broke on his name, the weight of my emotions finally breaking free.

His hands ran through his hair as he stepped closer again, his eyes scanning my face. “You don’t look good,” he muttered, his gaze dropping to my hand. He reached for it, his expression softening. “How did you get hurt?”

A bitter laugh escaped my lips as I pulled my hand away. “You just noticed it now? After everything?”

“I’m sorry.”

I shook my head, tears stinging my eyes again. “Why are you doing this to me, Damon? If I mean something to you, if you value what we share, why have you been disregarding me like this?”

He sighed heavily, taking my hands again despite my resistance. His touch was warm, but it didn’t soothe the cold ache in my chest. “I don’t mean to. It’s just… the circumstances. You shouldn’t take it to heart.”

Before I could protest, he cupped my face and pressed his lips to mine. The kiss was hot, demanding, and I wanted to push him away, but my body betrayed me. My head spun, my heart pounding as I lost myself in the moment. His touch, his scent, his presence—it was allconsuming, pulling me under.

Before I realized it, we were on the couch, our lips locked, his hands tracing my body. But then, the shrill ring of his phone shattered the moment.

He pulled away, fishing the device from his pocket. “Yes, Miranda?”

My chest tightened at her name.

“Hello, Damon. I just got home. I’ve got a splitting headache,” I overheard her say, her voice weak.

His brows knitted together in concern. “Really?”

“Yes. It’s not serious, but…” She coughed lightly, and Damon sighed.

“I’ll be there ASAP.” He ended the call and stood, his movements hurried.

“Damon.” My voice was quiet, shaky. I sat up, stopping him before he could leave. “I don’t feel well.”

He glanced at me, his expression distracted. “Come on, I’ll call my family doctor to come check up on you. Miranda needs me now.”

And with that, he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him without so much as a backward glance.

I collapsed back onto the couch, the ache in my chest spreading through my entire body.

An hour passed, and the doctor still hadn’t arrived. I managed to grab my phone, my hands trembling as I dialed Damon’s number. It rang and rang, but he didn’t answer.

A chime interrupted the silence, and I glanced at the screen. A message from Damon.

{Try to get better, Amara. I had picked the doctor to come check up on Miranda. I don’t want to risk anything with her.}

The words blurred as tears filled my eyes. My hand fell limply to my lap, the phone slipping from my grasp. My heart felt like it had been ripped out, stomped on, and discarded.

Risk anything with her? What about me?

I stared at the door, hoping, praying he’d walk back in, that he’d realize what he was doing to me. But deep down, I knew he wouldn’t.

The room felt colder than ever as the reality of it all settled over me. I was alone.

I stared at my phone countless times, willing it to ring, to vibrate, to do something that would prove Damon cared enough to call back. With trembling hands, I took it and dialed his number again. The ringing seemed louder in the oppressive silence of the room. When it cut to voicemail, my heart sank even deeper

I needed air. Anything to escape the suffocating weight pressing down on my chest. Wrapping myself in a coat, I stepped outside, the cold biting my fevered skin.

I clung to the hope that Damon might appear, that he’d realize his mistake and come for me, like he always did in the past. But the streets were empty. Only the crunch of snow under my boots accompanied me as I shuffled weakly forward.

My vision blurred, and my steps faltered.The ground rushed toward me, but before I hit it, strong hands gripped my arms, steadying me.

“Damon?” I whispered weakly, clinging to the hope it was him.

But when I looked up, I met a pair of steelgray eyes—not Damon’s striking cerulean ones.

“Are you okay?” The man’s voice was deep, commanding, laced with concern that resonated in my ears as my vision darkened.

I tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. My body sagged against his hold.

“Hey, stay with me!” His sharp tone demanded my attention, but I couldn’t fight it anymore. My eyelids fluttered shut, and the world faded away, leaving only the echo of his voice ringing in my ears.

The antiseptic scent hit me the moment my eyes fluttered open. The sterile white walls and soft hum of machines confirmed I was in a hospital. Blinking against the fluorescent light, I turned my head and froze. A slightly familiar, strikingly handsome face was watching me.

“Hey, you’re awake,” he said, his voice softer than I expected.

I swallowed, my throat dry and scratchy. “Who are you?”

His lips curled into a small smile. “I brought you here.”

My mind raced to piece together the fragments of my memory. “Oh... thanks for that.” I nodded, realizing my manners had slipped. “You are?”

“Tyler. Kennedy,” he said, tilting his head as if expecting recognition.

“Tyler Kennedy?” I repeated, squinting at him. His name tugged at a distant memory.

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Goodness, you’ve forgotten me, Amara.”

The smile on his face sparked clarity, and my breath caught. “Tyler. You’re my brother’s friend.”

“Took you forever to remember me,” he teased. “Meanwhile, I never forgot you.”

Heat rose to my cheeks. “I’m sorry,” I muttered, feeling a mix of embarrassment and nostalgia. He had attended high school with Aaron, my brother. I remembered him as the quiet but sharpwitted guy who was always over at our house during study sessions.

He studied me, his gaze laced with curiosity. “You should be in Dallas with your family. What are you doing here in California?”

I stiffened, the question slicing through me. What could I say? That I’d run away from home seven years ago because my father rejected my relationship with Damon? That my father despised Damon, comparing him to his own conniving father and accusing him of insincerity? No. I couldn’t tell Tyler all that.

“I just needed a change of scenery,” I said lightly, hoping the smile I forced would sell the lie.

He nodded, seemingly convinced. “Still, I wasn’t expecting to find you collapsing on the street. What happened?”

“I’ve been under the weather lately,” I mumbled. “Guess it caught up with me.”

The door creaked open, and the doctor walked in. After a brief examination, he explained that I had the flu and needed to rest, take my medication, and be more cautious about overexerting myself. “You’re free to leave after collecting your prescription from the pharmacy.”

Tyler held up a small paper bag, shaking it gently. “Already taken care of.”

Surprised, I glanced at him. “Thank you.”

As we left the hospital, I stopped outside the main entrance, turning to him. “About the medication... I’ll pay you back.”

He shook his head, his lips curving into an easy smile. “It’s not necessary, darling.”

“Thank you,” I said again, unsure of what else to say. “Where have you been all these years?”

“Paris,” he replied. “Just got back recently. Thought I’d settle down here for a while.”

I hesitated, then said, “Um, about my family…”

“Aaron said they’ve been looking for you,” he said, his voice gentle but firm.

I sighed, my chest tightening at the thought of my brother. We barely talk. And my father, I haven’t spoken to him in over five years, not since I asked him to let me live my life with the one I love.

Regaining my voice, I asked, “Please,can you keep our encounter a secret?"

Tyler’s gaze softened, but he didn’t push. “Sure, Amara,” he said after a pause, though the flicker of surprise in his eyes didn’t escape me.

He drove me home in silence, and as we pulled into the driveway, my stomach churned. Damon’s car was parked outside. My heart sank. So he was back.

Inside, I found him pacing in the living room. The moment he saw me, his expression shifted to one of annoyance and concern. “Where were you? I was worried.”

I dropped my bag by the door and crossed my arms. “Were you worried, or is this just for show?”

His jaw tightened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” I said, stepping closer, “you’re good at pretending. Like when you left me last night, barely breathing, to rush to Miranda.”

He bristled, his hands clenching at his sides. “That’s not fair. I saw you today, Amara. In another man’s arms.”

I froze. “So you’re keeping an eye on me now, Damon?”

“Yes,” he said bluntly, his eyes darkening. “What happened? Did he touch you? You probably enjoyed it, considering we couldn’t finish what we started last night.”

The audacity of his words stung, and I yanked my arm from his grasp. “You’ve got some nerve,” I hissed, turning to leave.

Before I could take a step, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me back, pressing me against his chest. “You always walk away when things get hard,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous.

“That’s not my habit,” I shot back, my voice trembling with anger. “It’s yours.”

His grip on me tightened. His touch burned, and despite myself, I flinched. His gaze softened momentarily, guilt flickering in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

I shook my head, my voice breaking. “You left me... while I was ebbing out of life. And for what? Miranda?”

“It’s complicated,” he muttered, his voice heavy with excuses.

I stared at him, waiting for more, but his silence only deepened the rift between us.

I watched him as he stepped closer, his face softening, an expression of regret etched deeply into his features. “Amara,” he said, his voice low, almost pleading. “I messed up. I shouldn’t have left you like that. I was... scared and confused, but I promise—” His hand grazed mine, his touch warm yet tentative. “I’ll never do that again. I swear.”

His sincerity made my heart ache, but skepticism tugged at the edges of my thoughts. I wanted to believe him, to let his words soothe the gnawing doubt, but I’d learned the hard way that promises could break just as easily as they were made.

“Let me make it up to you,” he continued, his eyes searching mine. “I’ll spend the day with you. No distractions, no interruptions. Just us.”

I hesitated but nodded. “Alright.”

He smiled, relief flashing across his face. “Good. Let’s start with lunch.” He was already moving toward the kitchen, his steps quick and determined.

I leaned against the counter as he worked, watching his movements. Damon had always been confident in the kitchen, and it was one of the things I used to admire about him. Pots clanged and the scent of spices filled the air. He glanced back at me, his boyish grin peeking through as he chopped, stirred, and tasted.

“You’re still the showoff chef, I see,” I teased lightly.

“And still the best,” he quipped, throwing me a wink.

When he finally called me to the table, the spread looked incredible. Plates of vibrant dishes sat steaming, evidence of his skill. But as he started dishing out the food, I froze. The distinct shape and scent of crabs hit me, and my stomach churned.

“Why crabs?” I asked, my voice sharp. “You know I’m allergic to them.”

He blinked, caught off guard, then recovered quickly. “Oh, right. Sorry about that.” He set the plate down, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Miranda loves crabs. She introduced me to them, and now I can’t get enough. Did you know she likes them cooked in this special garlic butter sauce? It’s her favorite. She always does this cute thing where she—”

“Stop,” I snapped, my voice trembling with barely contained frustration. His words felt like stabs, each one twisting deeper. I could barely keep my composure as he rambled on about her.

“Amara,” he started, his tone still too light, too oblivious to the storm brewing inside me.

I slammed my hands on the table, cutting him off. “But I’m not Miranda.” My voice echoed, heavy with anger and hurt.

His expression faltered, the reality of my words finally sinking in.

Damon's face fell when he saw my reaction, and the remorse in his eyes softened the sharp edges of my anger. “Amara,” he said, his voice low and thick with regret. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

I crossed my arms, still fuming, but his apology slowed the fire burning in my chest. He took a step closer, his hands reaching out like he wanted to touch me but wasn’t sure if he should. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he murmured. “I’ll be more thoughtful next time. I promise.”

Before I could respond, his phone buzzed on the counter. Damon glanced at the screen, his lips pressing into a tight line. Without a word, he turned away, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair.

When he returned, he held the small paper bag of my medication. “Is this yours?” he asked, his tone neutral.

I nodded. “Yes, it’s mine.”

He shrugged casually and placed it on the table. He didn’t ask why I had them or even look at me longer than a few seconds. The weight of his indifference felt heavier than I expected.

“I need to leave,” he said, pulling his jacket over his broad shoulders. “Duty calls. Sorry, love.”

Before I could ask what was so important, he leaned in and pressed a quick peck to my temple. The gesture was warm, yet fleeting, like an afterthought. “I’ll order some nice food for you,” he added as he straightened, already halfway to the door. “You can have it when it gets here.”

I stood frozen, staring at his retreating figure. The sound of the door clicking shut echoed in the quiet room, leaving me alone with a whirlwind of thoughts. My eyes darted to the bag of drugs sitting idly on the table. It felt like a symbol of something more—a wedge, a reminder of how far apart we’d grown.

The warmth of his apology had barely settled before his swift departure left a hollow ache in its place. He didn’t even ask why I had the medication. No probing questions, no curiosity, no concern. I couldn’t tell if he genuinely trusted me or if he simply didn’t care enough to dig deeper.

I let out a heavy sigh and sank into the nearest chair. The crabs, the dismissive shrug, the fleeting kiss—all of it painted a picture I didn’t want to see but couldn’t ignore. Was this what love had become for us? A series of halfhearted gestures and unspoken disappointments?

The silence in the room wrapped around me, and I realized I wasn’t sure if I wanted the food he’d ordered or if I wanted to scream. Maybe both.

The next day, Damon came home from work earlier than usual. He walked in, loosened his tie, and looked at me with a strange mix of anticipation and nervousness. “Get ready,” he said as he sank into the couch.

“For what?” I asked, my voice laced with wariness.

“Miranda’s housewarming party is tonight,” he replied, leaning forward. “I want you to come with me. I want everyone to know you’re my woman.”

The words should have made me feel special, but they didn’t. Instead, I felt a gnawing reluctance. “I don’t know,” I muttered, avoiding his eyes. “Maybe I should just stay home.”

He stood, closing the space between us. “Come on, Amara,” he said softly, his hands lightly brushing my arms. “It’ll mean a lot to me.”

It took some convincing, but I finally agreed. Later, as I dressed, Damon walked into the room and came up behind me, his hands sliding around my waist. I froze, feeling the warmth of his breath against my neck.

“You look nice,” he whispered, his voice low and intimate.

I managed a small smile, my heart betraying me with a flutter I didn’t want to feel. Then he pulled something from his pocket and held it up—a pair of silver earrings with tiny teardrop crystals. They sparkled delicately under the light, though they weren’t quite my style.

“They’ll suit you perfectly,” he said, carefully helping me put them on. His fingers were gentle, his touch lingering just a moment too long. I didn’t have the heart to tell him they weren’t my preference, so I smiled faintly and accepted them. After all, he gave them with love.

We arrived at Miranda’s place, a sleek, modern house with perfectly manicured lawns and an air of opulence. Inside, the space was just as extravagant, filled with polished floors and a crowd of equally polished people. Damon led me through the room until we came across his friends, Sam and Jody.

“Amara,” Sam said with a tightlipped smile that barely masked his disdain. “Nice to see you.”

Jody gave me a quick onceover before offering an insincere, “You look...nice.”

Their fake niceties grated on me, especially when they exchanged smirks the moment Damon turned his attention elsewhere.

Then Miranda strutted over, her newly dyed hair bouncing with every step. She threw her arms around me in an exaggerated hug. “Amara! You look lovely tonight,” she cooed.

I forced a smile. “Thanks.”

Sam, ever the charmer, practically drooled over her. “Miranda, that hair color is stunning on you. You’re glowing.”

Damon chuckled, nodding in agreement. “It suits her, doesn’t it?”

“Absolutely,” Jody added, her voice tinged with a subtle jab. “Only someone with Miranda’s confidence could pull that off.”

Miranda tilted her head modestly. “Oh, stop it,” she giggled. “Damon, thank you again for coming over yesterday to help with the preparations. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

My stomach dropped. Yesterday? While I thought he had left for work?

“Duty calls,” Damon said smoothly, his face unreadable. Those were the same words he has said yesterday and I was foolish to have thought he was going to the company. She was the duty he could never give up on fulfilling.