Damian's gaze flicked to her — brief, steady, and wordless. A silent reassurance only she seemed to understand.
Kael saw it.
He saw the way Damian stood just close enough to anchor her, the way his presence wrapped around her like quiet armour.
And it seared through Kael like acid — not loud, not violent, but slow and merciless.
Because once, that used to be him.
He tried to speak, to ask more, but Amara turned away slightly, her eyes landing on the villa instead.
"Everything looks the same," she murmured. "Almost like I never left."
Kael forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Things don't change that easily."
"Maybe they should," Damian said suddenly. His tone was mild, but his meaning wasn't.
Kael's gaze snapped to him — sharp, cold. "Excuse me?"
Damian met it evenly, unfazed. "Sometimes people need change to heal. Stagnation only reminds them of pain."
The air thickened. Even the night breeze felt heavy.
Amara looked between them, sensing the rising current beneath their words. "Please—" she began softly, but Kael's voice cut through.
"I didn't realize she needed someone to teach her how to heal."
"Maybe not," Damian replied calmly. "But sometimes, she just needed someone who didn't keep breaking her first."
That landed.
Kael's breath faltered. For a second, he looked at Damian as though he might hit him — the same impulse that had driven him that day, the one he barely understood himself. But this time, he didn't move. His pride kept him still, even as his anger simmered beneath the surface.
Amara placed a hand on Damian's arm — a gentle, wordless plea for restraint. He glanced at her and exhaled quietly, letting the tension dissipate.
Kael's gaze fell to that touch — her hand on another man's sleeve — and the world inside him cracked a little more.
"Thank you for bringing her back," Kael said finally, his voice tight. "You can go now."
Damian didn't move. "I will, once she's settled."
"She doesn't need—"
"Kael."
Amara's voice stopped him. She met his eyes, steady but not cold. Just… tired. "Please. Don't do this."
Something in her tone disarmed him completely. She wasn't pleading or soft — she was simply asking him to stop, and that alone was enough to still him.
Damian turned to her, his voice quiet. "I'll wait in the car."
She nodded once.
Kael watched him retreat to the driveway, the sound of his footsteps fading into the still air. The moment he was gone, silence descended again — sharp, fragile.
Amara stood there, suitcase by her side, her gaze fixed on the threshold as if unsure whether she should cross it.
He wanted to reach out, to say something that could undo everything. But when he finally spoke, the words came out wrong.
"You didn't call."
Amara looked at him, her expression unreadable. "Would it have mattered?"
"Yes." The answer slipped out before he could stop it.
Her eyes softened — pitying, almost — and that stung worse than anger. "You made it clear, Kael. I'm just your staff's daughter. So tell me… why would I think you needed to know where I went?"
Kael's chest tightened. He wanted to tell her that everything he'd said that day was born of pride, of fear, of his own inability to face how much she mattered. But his throat closed around the confession.
Instead, Kael said the only thing his pride allowed. "You should've told me where you went."
Amara's lips parted, just slightly. "Why?"
He hesitated. "People talk."
She let out a faint, hollow laugh — the kind that didn't reach her eyes. "They always do. With or without me."
The words sliced deeper than she knew.
Kael took a slow step forward. "What is he to you?"
She didn't flinch. Didn't blink.
Her voice was quiet. Precise.
"Someone who saw me."
A pause. Then, softer — colder:
"When you didn't."
Silence fell like ash between them.
Kael stood there, the weight of her words pressing into every breath. And for the first time, he had nothing left to say.
That simple truth cut him open.
For a long time, neither moved. The air between them pulsed with everything unspoken — regret, longing, guilt, and that bitter ache of what might have been.
Amara finally exhaled, her voice quiet but firm. "I'm tired, Kael. Let's not do this tonight."
He wanted to stop her. To apologize. To say her name like a prayer. But the words wouldn't come.
She stepped past him, her perfume brushing faintly against his sleeve — that same scent that had haunted his room for weeks after she left. It lingered as she walked through the doorway, heading toward her room.
And just like that, she was gone again.
Kael stood frozen by the open door, staring at the space she'd left behind. The quiet of the villa pressed in around him, heavier than before. His pulse still thundered from the sight of her — the sound of her voice, the steady way she had looked at him.
She was different now.
And he hated how much he wanted her.
Outside, the sound of Damian's car engine came alive — smooth, low, fading slowly down the drive. Kael's eyes followed the glow of the headlights until they disappeared beyond the gate.
He didn't realize he was holding his breath until it left him in a long, unsteady exhale.
He turned back toward the empty hall — the faint echo of her footsteps already fading upstairs.
Everything he'd told himself — that she'd come back, that nothing had changed, that she'd still be waiting for him — all of it began to crumble.
Because when he saw her just now, he knew:
He wasn't the centre of her world anymore.
He wasn't even sure he belonged in it.
Kael pressed a hand against the doorframe, his knuckles whitening. His reflection in the glass looked foreign — a man unmoored, lost in his own silence.
And then, from somewhere deep inside that storm of guilt and longing, her name slipped out — rough, unguarded, barely a whisper.
"Amara…"
The word broke the quiet like a confession.
But she didn't answer.
Amara stood by the window of her old room, staring at the garden bathed in moonlight. Her chest felt hollow, but her mind was calm.
It was over. Truly, this time.
She pressed her palm against the cool glass and closed her eyes.
"No more tears, Amara. No more waiting."
Her heart still hurt. But the pain was clean now — not the suffocating ache of longing, but the kind that came with acceptance.
She didn't know what tomorrow would bring. But for the first time, she wasn't afraid.
Because this time, she was walking forward — not for Kael.
Not for anyone else.
But for herself.
You've loved him long enough, Amara.
It's time to love yourself instead.
Her thoughts drifted to Damian — his steady presence, his quiet concern, the way he never asked for anything in return.
She didn't love him. Not yet.
But she trusted him.
And maybe… someday, when the pieces of her heart finally fit together again, she could.
For now, she just wanted peace.
She had already decided — after fulfilling her obligation to Mr. Navarro, she would resign from the corporation. She would leave everything that reminded her of Kael behind and start anew in Sinclair Holdings.
Damian had offered her a place not out of pity, but out of belief.
She smiled faintly. Maybe that's the difference.
Kael had never believed in her. He had only ever tolerated her.
But Damian saw her.