Chapter 69 – Amber's Armor Cracks
Amber didn't go home after the interview.
She told Alex she needed air. Space. Silence. He didn't argue—just nodded once, that same controlled acceptance that somehow felt heavier than resistance.
So she drove.
No destination. No music. Just the hum of the engine and the echo of her own thoughts pressing in from all sides.
The interview replayed in her mind in sharp, unwanted fragments.
Love isn't loud for everyone…
Choosing each other when it would be easier not to…
She had meant it. That was the problem.
Amber pulled into an empty parking lot overlooking the city and cut the engine. The skyline glowed ahead of her, distant and impersonal. Powerful. Untouchable.
Just like him.
She leaned her forehead against the steering wheel and laughed under her breath. A soft, brittle sound.
"This is stupid," she whispered to no one.
She had survived worse than this. She had walked away from love once with nothing but scars and stubborn pride, rebuilt herself piece by piece, sworn never to be reduced to longing again.
And yet here she was—unraveling because a man had held her hand in front of cameras.
Her phone buzzed.
She ignored it.
It buzzed again.
With a sigh, she glanced at the screen.
Camila.
Amber hesitated, then answered. "If you're calling to say you saw the interview, congratulations. So did half the planet."
Camila didn't joke back. "Where are you?"
"Out."
"Amber."
That tone. The one Camila used only when she was worried—and when Amber was lying badly.
"I'm fine," Amber said automatically.
"Bullshit," Camila replied. "You don't sound fine. You sound like you're two seconds away from doing something reckless or emotional. Or both."
Amber closed her eyes. "I don't do emotional."
"You're married."
"That's contractual."
"You're human."
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, Camila spoke more gently. "Did you mean what you said?"
Amber's throat tightened. "Which part?"
"All of it."
She exhaled slowly. "I don't know anymore."
"That's not nothing," Camila said. "That's you feeling something and being terrified of it."
Amber scoffed. "You make it sound poetic."
"I make it sound honest."
The word landed harder than Amber expected.
"I'm tired," Amber said quietly. "I'm tired of pretending this doesn't affect me. Of pretending I don't care who he was before me—or who he might still care about."
Camila didn't interrupt.
"And the worst part?" Amber continued, voice lowering. "I don't even know when it happened. I didn't agree to fall. I didn't choose this."
"No one ever does."
Amber swallowed. "What if I'm just… convenient? A solution. A replacement."
Camila sighed. "Then why does he look at you like he's bracing for impact?"
Amber frowned. "What?"
"Didn't you notice?" Camila pressed. "Every time you speak, he's watching you like you might say something that changes everything."
Amber ended the call shortly after, her chest tight with thoughts she wasn't ready to face.
When she finally returned to the penthouse, night had settled fully.
The lights were dim. The staff gone. The space felt too large for just one person.
Alex stood by the window again.
Of course he did.
"You didn't answer your phone," he said without turning.
"I needed space."
"You usually take it without disappearing."
She dropped her keys onto the counter. "You monitoring my habits now?"
He turned then, expression unreadable. "I was concerned."
The word hung between them.
Amber crossed her arms. "You don't need to be."
"I disagree."
She laughed softly. "There it is again."
"What?"
"That thing you do," she said. "Where you act like this matters more than it should."
His gaze sharpened. "Maybe it does."
The honesty startled them both.
Amber looked away first. "This is getting messy."
"Yes."
"That's not acceptable," she said. "Messy leads to expectations."
"And expectations lead to disappointment," he finished.
She nodded. "Exactly."
They stood in silence, the distance between them filled with too many unsaid things.
"I won't humiliate you," Alex said suddenly. "Not with Isabella. Not with anyone."
Amber's breath caught. "That's not what this is about."
"Then what is it about?"
She hesitated.
This was the armor. The last layer. The one she never removed.
"I don't want to care," she admitted quietly. "Because caring makes you weak. And I've been weak before."
Alex stepped closer—but stopped himself.
"Weakness isn't the same as vulnerability," he said.
She met his eyes. "It feels the same when it breaks you."
Something in his expression softened—just slightly.
"I won't break you," he said.
She shook her head. "You don't get to promise that."
"You're right," he replied. "I don't."
Another silence. Different this time. Less sharp. More dangerous.
Amber turned toward her room. "I need sleep."
"So do I."
She paused at her door, hand on the handle. "Alex?"
"Yes."
"If this stops being an arrangement… if it turns into something else…"
He waited.
"…I need to know you won't treat me like a solution to a problem."
His answer came without hesitation. "I never have."
She searched his face for a lie.
Found none.
Amber went inside and closed the door.
But for the first time in years, she didn't feel fully protected by the walls she'd built.
Her armor hadn't shattered.
But it had cracked.
And both of them knew—once that happened, there was no going back to pretending.
Chapter 69 – Amber's Armor Cracks
Amber didn't go home after the interview.
She told Alex she needed air. Space. Silence. He didn't argue—just nodded once, that same controlled acceptance that somehow felt heavier than resistance.
So she drove.
No destination. No music. Just the hum of the engine and the echo of her own thoughts pressing in from all sides.
The interview replayed in her mind in sharp, unwanted fragments.
Love isn't loud for everyone…
Choosing each other when it would be easier not to…
She had meant it. That was the problem.
Amber pulled into an empty parking lot overlooking the city and cut the engine. The skyline glowed ahead of her, distant and impersonal. Powerful. Untouchable.
Just like him.
She leaned her forehead against the steering wheel and laughed under her breath. A soft, brittle sound.
"This is stupid," she whispered to no one.
She had survived worse than this. She had walked away from love once with nothing but scars and stubborn pride, rebuilt herself piece by piece, sworn never to be reduced to longing again.
And yet here she was—unraveling because a man had held her hand in front of cameras.
Her phone buzzed.
She ignored it.
It buzzed again.
With a sigh, she glanced at the screen.
Camila.
Amber hesitated, then answered. "If you're calling to say you saw the interview, congratulations. So did half the planet."
Camila didn't joke back. "Where are you?"
"Out."
"Amber."
That tone. The one Camila used only when she was worried—and when Amber was lying badly.
"I'm fine," Amber said automatically.
"Bullshit," Camila replied. "You don't sound fine. You sound like you're two seconds away from doing something reckless or emotional. Or both."
Amber closed her eyes. "I don't do emotional."
"You're married."
"That's contractual."
"You're human."
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, Camila spoke more gently. "Did you mean what you said?"
Amber's throat tightened. "Which part?"
"All of it."
She exhaled slowly. "I don't know anymore."
"That's not nothing," Camila said. "That's you feeling something and being terrified of it."
Amber scoffed. "You make it sound poetic."
"I make it sound honest."
The word landed harder than Amber expected.
"I'm tired," Amber said quietly. "I'm tired of pretending this doesn't affect me. Of pretending I don't care who he was before me—or who he might still care about."
Camila didn't interrupt.
"And the worst part?" Amber continued, voice lowering. "I don't even know when it happened. I didn't agree to fall. I didn't choose this."
"No one ever does."
Amber swallowed. "What if I'm just… convenient? A solution. A replacement."
Camila sighed. "Then why does he look at you like he's bracing for impact?"
Amber frowned. "What?"
"Didn't you notice?" Camila pressed. "Every time you speak, he's watching you like you might say something that changes everything."
Amber ended the call shortly after, her chest tight with thoughts she wasn't ready to face.
When she finally returned to the penthouse, night had settled fully.
The lights were dim. The staff gone. The space felt too large for just one person.
Alex stood by the window again.
Of course he did.
"You didn't answer your phone," he said without turning.
"I needed space."
"You usually take it without disappearing."
She dropped her keys onto the counter. "You monitoring my habits now?"
He turned then, expression unreadable. "I was concerned."
The word hung between them.
Amber crossed her arms. "You don't need to be."
"I disagree."
She laughed softly. "There it is again."
"What?"
"That thing you do," she said. "Where you act like this matters more than it should."
His gaze sharpened. "Maybe it does."
The honesty startled them both.
Amber looked away first. "This is getting messy."
"Yes."
"That's not acceptable," she said. "Messy leads to expectations."
"And expectations lead to disappointment," he finished.
She nodded. "Exactly."
They stood in silence, the distance between them filled with too many unsaid things.
"I won't humiliate you," Alex said suddenly. "Not with Isabella. Not with anyone."
Amber's breath caught. "That's not what this is about."
"Then what is it about?"
She hesitated.
This was the armor. The last layer. The one she never removed.
"I don't want to care," she admitted quietly. "Because caring makes you weak. And I've been weak before."
Alex stepped closer—but stopped himself.
"Weakness isn't the same as vulnerability," he said.
She met his eyes. "It feels the same when it breaks you."
Something in his expression softened—just slightly.
"I won't break you," he said.
She shook her head. "You don't get to promise that."
"You're right," he replied. "I don't."
Another silence. Different this time. Less sharp. More dangerous.
Amber turned toward her room. "I need sleep."
"So do I."
She paused at her door, hand on the handle. "Alex?"
"Yes."
"If this stops being an arrangement… if it turns into something else…"
He waited.
"…I need to know you won't treat me like a solution to a problem."
His answer came without hesitation. "I never have."
She searched his face for a lie.
Found none.
Amber went inside and closed the door.
But for the first time in years, she didn't feel fully protected by the walls she'd built.
Her armor hadn't shattered.
But it had cracked.
And both of them knew—once that happened, there was no going back to pretending.