Sleep didn't come easily that night.
Amara lay awake, staring at the ceiling of her guest room, the echo of Luca's voice still playing in her mind. Forget what you saw. But how could she? The flash of the gun, the men in black, the way he shifted from calm to dangerous in a heartbeat — it replayed like a scene she couldn't pause.
She turned to the side, pulling the sheets tighter around her. The mansion was too quiet, every sound amplified — the ticking of the clock, the soft rustle of trees outside, even her heartbeat.
Finally, she sat up. She needed air.
Slipping on a thin sweater, she stepped into the hallway. The house was dimly lit, shadows stretching across the marble floors. She moved quietly, her bare feet making almost no sound as she made her way toward the staircase.
Then she heard it — voices. Low, urgent, coming from Luca's study down the hall.
She froze.
Her instincts screamed to turn back, but her curiosity won. Slowly, she moved closer, stopping just outside the half-open door.
"…they shouldn't have found the shipment," a man's voice said. "Someone's leaking information."
Amara's pulse quickened.
Luca's voice came next — colder than she'd ever heard it. "Then find them. I don't care who it is. If they're inside this house, they're dead."
Her breath caught. She pressed her back to the wall, every nerve alive with fear.
Another voice spoke. "There's also the issue of the chef."
Silence. Then Luca said, quietly, "Leave her out of this."
"She's new, boss. You don't really know her yet."
"I said leave her." His tone left no room for argument.
Amara's heart pounded. They were talking about her.
She backed away, careful not to make a sound, but the floorboard creaked under her foot. Her stomach twisted.
Inside the study, the voices stopped.
Then — footsteps.
She turned and hurried down the hall, forcing herself not to run. Her mind was racing, her breath shallow. Just as she reached the stairs, she heard Luca's voice behind her.
"Amara?"
She froze.
He was standing a few feet away, his shirt sleeves rolled up, his expression unreadable. The dim light cast sharp shadows across his face.
"What are you doing up?" he asked softly.
"I—couldn't sleep," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "I was just… getting some water."
He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, studying her. For a moment, she thought he knew she'd been listening. But instead of accusing her, he sighed quietly.
"You shouldn't wander around at night," he said. "Not in this house."
Something in his tone wasn't just protective — it was warning.
"I'll remember that," she whispered.
Luca's eyes lingered on her for a moment longer, then softened. "Goodnight, Amara."
The sound of her name on his lips made her pause. He had always called her Miss Cole — distant, formal, professional. But now, her name came out low and personal, almost tender.
She blinked, unsure if she'd imagined it. "Goodnight," she replied, her voice barely a whisper.
He turned and walked back toward his study. But before closing the door, he looked over his shoulder — and their eyes met for just a second too long.
When he finally disappeared inside, Amara stood there, frozen in the dark corridor. She knew then that she was in the middle of something dangerous, something much bigger than her.
But what scared her most wasn't the danger.
It was that even after everything she'd seen, part of her still trusted him.