Amara (POV)
I didn't stop walking until the doors closed behind me.
The music swallowed me whole—violins, laughter, glasses clinking like nothing had fractured on the terrace. Like I hadn't just seen the most controlled man I knew come undone.
My hands were shaking.
I curled my fingers into my palms, grounding myself as I moved through the crowd. People smiled at me now. Nodded. Whispered my name like it carried weight.
Amara Blackwood.
The name pressed down on my chest.
I slipped into a quiet corridor near the east wing, leaning against the cool wall. My breath came unevenly, betraying me.
He had grabbed my wrist.
Not violently.
Not cruelly.
But instinctively.
And that terrified me more than anger ever could.
Because for one split second… I'd felt it.
Not fear.
Something darker. Something that curled low in my stomach and stole my breath.
I hated myself for that.
"Pull yourself together," I whispered.
I wasn't a girl being swept into some billionaire fantasy. I was a woman being bargained like property—and Lucian Blackwood was the sharpest cage I'd ever stepped into.
Yet—
When he'd said I don't know how to fight that…
My heart had stuttered.
I pushed away from the wall, smoothing my dress, forcing my face back into calm. Cassandra appeared almost instantly, eyes sharp.
"Hey," she said softly. "I saw you leave. What happened?"
I shook my head. "Not here."
She studied me for a long second, then nodded. "Bathroom. Now."
Inside the marble-lined room, the silence finally cracked me open.
"He lost control," I whispered.
Cassandra froze. "How?"
"He grabbed my wrist. Then let go. Like he realized what he was doing."
"That's… not good," she said carefully.
"I know." I swallowed. "But it wasn't nothing either."
She frowned. "Amara."
"I pulled away," I said, staring at my reflection. "And it was like I'd taken something from him. Like space offended him."
"That's possession," Cassandra said. "Not love."
"I know," I said again. But my voice lacked conviction.
Because love didn't scare me like that.
Love didn't feel like standing too close to fire, knowing it could warm you—or burn you alive.
I thought of the way Lucian had looked at Serena. Cold. Final. Untouchable.
Then the way he'd looked at me when I stepped back.
Not cold.
Unsteady.
That was worse.
"He scares me," I admitted. "Not because he's cruel. But because I don't think he knows where his limits are with me."
Cassandra took my hands. "Then you set them. Loudly. Repeatedly. You do not let a man like that decide how close he gets."
I nodded.
But even as I promised myself that, one truth whispered through me like a betrayal.
When he let go of my wrist—
I'd missed the warmth almost instantly.
The realization made my stomach twist.
I left the bathroom a few minutes later, composure restored, mask back in place. The engagement wasn't over yet. Eyes were still watching.
And somewhere in this estate, Lucian Blackwood was recalibrating.
So was I.
Because no matter how much I told myself I was resisting him—
My heart was already learning his rhythm.
And that frightened me more than anything he'd done tonight