AMARA POV
The afternoon sun spills through the tall glass windows, coating everything in gold — too perfect, too still.
I stare at the counter, debating whether to order takeout or try to cook something again.
Cooking keeps me sane. It reminds me I still have control over something — even if it's just salt and boiling water.
Alexander's been gone for three days.
Three long, quiet, suffocating days.
No calls. No messages. Nothing but the faint scent of his cologne left clinging to the hallway and the memory of his voice.
Sometimes, I catch myself listening for his footsteps — the sharp, measured rhythm that turns the air thick.
But today, there's only silence.
I open the fridge, sighing. "Maybe pasta again…"
The sound of the elevator hums.
My body tenses.
He's back.
I quickly run a hand through my hair, glance at my reflection in the microwave door — not because I care, but because I don't want him to think I've been… waiting.
The elevator doors slide open.
But the man who steps out isn't Alexander.
He's tall, dressed in a cream sweater and dark jeans — casual, relaxed, a complete contrast to the cold perfection I'm used to. His hair is a little messy, his smile easy.
"Oh," I breathe out. "You're not—"
"Alexander?" he finishes for me, amused. "No. Thankfully."
He grins, eyes crinkling at the edges. "You must be Amara."
I blink. "Do I know you?"
He steps closer, but his tone stays warm. "Lucas Voss. Alexander's brother."
Brother.
The word hits like a soft shock.
I never even knew he had one.
Lucas notices my expression and chuckles. "Yeah, he doesn't talk about me much. I'm the 'unpredictable one.' His words, not mine."
He sets down a paper bag on the counter. "Relax, I'm not here to cause trouble. I just thought I'd drop by. You look like you could use some company — or at least some lunch."
I hesitate, eyeing the bag. "You brought food?"
"Of course. My brother forgets humans need to eat when he's busy playing king."
A small laugh escapes before I can stop it.
There's something disarming about Lucas — like he knows how to make a room breathe again.
He starts unpacking the containers, talking casually. "He's been at the main office these past few days. Big merger. The kind that makes him forget everyone else exists."
"That sounds… accurate," I mutter, earning another amused look.
"So how are you holding up?" Lucas asks. "Adjusting to life in the ice palace?"
"I'm surviving."
"Good answer."
For a moment, it's easy to talk — he asks about food, travel, music — all the things Alexander never bothers to ask.
But then the elevator hums again.
Lucas smiles faintly. "Speak of the devil."
My pulse quickens.
Alexander steps out — sharp suit, tie loose, eyes immediately locking on us. The air shifts.
"Lucas," he says, voice low but not hostile. "You're early."
"I was hungry," Lucas says easily, handing him a takeout box. "Thought I'd share with your lovely wife before you starved her to death."
Alexander's gaze flicks to me. "You're feeding her now?"
"Someone has to." Lucas smirks, ignoring the bite in his tone. "You really don't make this easy for her, do you?"
"I didn't ask for your opinion."
Lucas sighs and leans back on the counter. "Still allergic to conversation, I see."
I shift slightly, unsure if I should excuse myself or stay. But Lucas turns to me with a wink. "Don't mind him. He's always like this. Even as a kid, he used to organize his toy cars by emotional trauma level."
Alexander's glare could melt glass. "Lucas."
"What? I'm just saying you've always been dramatic about control."
I can't help it — a soft laugh escapes me.
Alexander's head turns instantly, eyes narrowing on me.
For a heartbeat, the room freezes.
Lucas grins. "See? She laughs. She's already more expressive than half your board members."
Alexander exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. "You came to eat. Eat. Then leave."
Lucas just shrugs, unfazed. "Fine. But you could at least try to act like a husband, Alex. The world doesn't revolve around your company."
Alexander looks at him, then at me — his expression unreadable, colder, sharper. "It does," he says quietly. "For both of us."
Something in my chest twists.
Lucas studies him, then sighs. "Still the same." He glances at me, his tone softening. "If you ever need anything, Amara — someone to talk to, or just a meal that doesn't come with an NDA — I'm around."
Alexander's jaw tightens. "Lucas."
He raises his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I'm leaving. Try not to freeze her before dinner."
He heads toward the elevator, flashing me one last warm smile before the doors close behind him.
The silence that follows feels heavier than before.
Alexander moves past me, placing the takeout bag in the fridge without looking up. "Stay away from him," he says quietly.
My voice comes out soft but firm. "He's your brother."
"Yes," he replies. "And that's exactly why I know what he's capable of."
He turns away, walking toward his study, and the door clicks shut behind him.
I stand there for a long time, staring at the closed door, my heartbeat loud in my chest.
Lucas's warmth lingers in the air — but so does Alexander's warning.
For the first time, I realize just how many ghosts live between these brothers.
And somehow… I've just stepped into the middle of them.