AMARA POV
The morning air feels heavy, like it knows something I don't.
I haven't slept every time I close my eyes, I see those ocean-blue eyes, feel the heat of his skin, the whisper of his voice saying my name.
Only now, I know that voice belongs to Alexander Voss — the man my father wants me to marry.
The man I gave myself to.
The man who doesn't even know my name.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. A message from my father's assistant:
"Mr. Voss requests your presence at his company headquarters. 12 noon. Dress appropriately."
Requests.
He doesn't request anything — it's an order, just like my father.
I stare at the mirror as I get dressed, applying light makeup, trying to look composed, but my reflection trembles.
I don't know if I'm ready to see him again.
What do I even say? Hi, remember me? I was your mistake, and now I'm your fiancée?
---
Voss Enterprises Headquarters
The building itself is intimidating — all glass and sharp lines, the kind of place that makes you feel small before you even step in.
The receptionist greets me politely and leads me to the private elevator that goes straight to the top floor.
When the doors open, he's there.
Alexander Voss.
Standing by the window in a dark tailored suit, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a file.
He turns slowly when I enter, and for a second, the air disappears from the room.
His expression doesn't change. Not even a flicker.
Just those same piercing eyes — calm, assessing, unreadable.
"Miss Stone," he says smoothly, as if we're strangers.
His voice is steady, deep, almost cruelly composed.
My throat tightens. "Mr. Voss."
He gestures for me to sit. "Your father told me you'd be arriving."
I sit across from him, forcing myself to breathe. The silence between us is suffocating — a battlefield of memories and denial.
He studies me for a long moment, then leans back in his chair.
"You don't seem surprised," he says finally.
"I… found out yesterday," I reply quietly. "About the marriage."
He nods, gaze steady. "Then you know it's already decided."
My hands clench on my lap. "You don't even know me."
A faint smirk touches his lips. "I know enough."
My heart skips. Does he remember?
Does he know?
"Do you?" I whisper.
He tilts his head slightly, like he's measuring me. "You're Richard Stone's daughter. That's all that matters."
The words hit harder than I expect.
So he's pretending. Acting like that night never happened.
Like I never happened.
I swallow the ache building in my chest. "And what if I refuse?"
His gaze hardens, voice dropping low. "You won't."
"Why?"
"Because your father needs this. And whether you realize it or not, so do you."
Silence. The kind that burns.
He rises, walks around the desk until he's standing in front of me. The space between us shrinks, and suddenly, I can smell his cologne dark, clean, expensive.
He leans down slightly, eyes locked on mine.
"I suggest you get used to me, Miss Stone. You're going to be wearing my name soon."
And just like that, he turns away, dismissing me with the same cold control that terrifies and fascinates me all at once.
As I leave the office, my heart is pounding so hard it hurts.
Because the worst part isn't that I hate him.
It's that I still feel that same pull, that same heat that ruined me once already.