Amara halted just outside the grand dining hall, her breath steadying as she took in the scene before her. Victor lounged at the head of the polished mahogany table, his fingers tapping an idle rhythm against his glass. Across from him, Lucas sat rigid, his father beside him, both men tense yet composed. The weight of their request hung in the air, but Victor, ever the opportunist, was in no hurry to make this easy for them.
Lucas's father cleared his throat, his voice measured. "Victor, we are prepared to offer you full support in business. Our resources, our contacts—you will have access to everything."
Victor tilted his head, the smirk playing on his lips revealing his amusement. "Interesting," he mused, swirling the whiskey in his glass. "And what exactly do you need from me in return?"
Lucas's jaw tightened, frustration evident, but his father placed a calming hand on his arm before answering. "Your influence, your reach. There are certain… obstacles in our way. If you agree, we'll handle the logistics, but we need you to clear the path."
Victor exhaled, his dark eyes gleaming with intrigue. He tapped his fingers against the table before leaning forward. "Tempting. But why should I believe you'll hold up your end of the bargain?"
Lucas straightened, his voice firm. "Because we don't make empty promises. And you know that."
A long silence stretched between them before Victor finally nodded. "Fine. You have a deal."
Just as Victor spoke, Amara's attention wavered. She caught sight of Rafael entering the room, his presence commanding instant attention. He had clearly just returned from a date; his tailored shirt slightly unbuttoned, his dark hair effortlessly tousled. His sharp gaze swept over the table before he strolled toward them, exuding a quiet, dangerous confidence.
The atmosphere shifted. Even Victor, who rarely acknowledged competition, regarded Rafael with a careful gaze. Lucas's hands curled into fists, his animosity toward Rafael barely concealed. But Rafael, ever indifferent to the hostility he evoked, simply took a seat, his fingers lazily picking up the glass Victor had been drinking from. He took a slow sip, unbothered, unchallenged.
Amara knew this was her moment.
While the tension at the table thickened, she slipped away, her movements silent as she glided down the dimly lit corridor. Her destination was the library. The thought of finding those research papers kept her focused, her pulse quickening with anticipation.
She reached the heavy wooden doors and hesitated. Pushing them open, she stepped inside. The scent of aged books and polished wood filled her senses, wrapping around her like a comforting shroud. The dim glow of the chandeliers cast long shadows across the towering shelves. She took a slow breath before making her way deeper inside.
Amara ran her fingers along the bookshelves, feeling the worn spines beneath her fingertips as she searched for any hidden compartments. Moving to the large desk in the center of the room, she pulled open drawers, sifting through neatly stacked papers, flipping through documents, her hands trembling slightly.
Nothing.
Her stomach twisted. Frustration surged through her veins, the weight of failure pressing against her chest. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, trying to think. If they weren't here, then…
Rafael's room.
The realization sent a shiver down her spine. It was risky—too risky—but she had no choice.
Steeling herself, she left the library, moving carefully through the corridors. Every creak of the floorboards sent her heart racing, but she kept going. Finally, she reached his door. It loomed before her, dark and imposing, as if warning her to turn back.
But she didn't.
She pushed the door open and slipped inside. The moment she did, she felt it—the essence of him. His scent, dark and intoxicating, wrapped around her like an invisible force. It was a mix of expensive cologne, smoke, and something distinctly Rafael. The room itself was elegant yet minimal, the furniture sleek and dark. A faint amber glow from the bedside lamp cast soft shadows against the walls.
For a moment, she felt lightheaded, as if drunk on the sheer presence of him. Shaking off the sensation, she moved carefully, her gaze sweeping across the room. The large desk against the far wall was her first stop. Her fingers trailed over its smooth surface before she began opening drawers, scanning through neatly organized papers.
Nothing.
Her breath came faster. Where else? She turned, her eyes landing on the nightstand beside his bed. Moving swiftly, she pulled open the drawer, but again, there was nothing useful. She bit her lip, frustration clawing at her. Maybe they were hidden elsewhere—maybe—
A sound made her freeze.
The sharp click of a door unlocking.
Her heart stopped.
Before she could react, the bathroom door burst open, steam rolling out like a slow wave. And then—
Rafael.
He stepped out, bare feet soundless against the floor, a white towel slung low on his hips. Water dripped from his damp, tousled hair, trailing down the sharp lines of his toned chest, glistening against his tanned skin. His sharp gaze locked onto hers, freezing her in place.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
The air thickened. Amara's throat tightened, her mind racing for an escape, but her body refused to obey. Heat rushed to her cheeks, but she held his gaze, refusing to look away.
Rafael arched a brow, his lips curving slightly. "You're in my room."
His voice, low and smooth, sent a shiver down her spine.
She swallowed hard, willing herself to stay calm. "I—I was just—"
He took a slow step forward, his presence overwhelming. "Looking for something?"
Her pulse quickened. She needed an excuse, a way out, but the sight of him—bare, powerful, dangerously close—made forming words nearly impossible.
Rafael smirked. "Didn't anyone tell you breaking into someone's room is dangerous?"
The distance between them vanished in an instant, his heat seeping into her skin. She should run, should push past him, but she remained frozen, caught in the trap of his gaze.
He reached up, his fingers barely grazing her chin, tilting her face up to meet his eyes fully. "Tell me," he murmured, his voice like silk, "what exactly were you hoping to find?"
Amara's breath hitched, her thoughts scrambling for an answer, but the only thing she could focus on was the steady rise and fall of his chest, the intoxicating scent of him, the undeniable pull between them.
And the knowledge that she was trapped.
Amara's breath hitched, her mind spinning in frantic circles as Rafael stood before her, his body damp from the shower, his presence suffocating. Her heart pounded against her ribs, a desperate drumbeat of fear and anticipation. The steam curling from the bathroom behind him only made him seem more unreal—like something out of a fevered nightmare.
She had been caught.
Rafael's piercing gaze locked onto hers, his lips barely curved in something too sharp to be amusement. Her body tensed, her muscles coiled, but her feet remained rooted to the ground. She couldn't look away—not from him, and not from the jagged, angry wounds slashing across his chest and side.
Fresh.
Raw.
A sharp gasp slipped past her lips before she could stop it.
Rafael's expression darkened, and the air between them thickened, pressing down on her.
"What the hell are you doing in my room, Amara?" His voice was dangerously quiet, the kind of quiet that sent ice crawling up her spine.
She swallowed hard, her throat dry. "I—"
She had nothing. No excuse, no lie that would hold under his scrutiny. Her gaze darted again to the gashes along his torso, and a chill slithered through her veins. She had seen wounds before—fights, accidents—but these weren't from something mundane. They were deliberate.
"What happened to you?" she whispered before she could stop herself.
Something in Rafael shifted. The tension in his frame tightened, the loose grip of the towel at his waist the only indication of movement. His jaw clenched, and the moment stretched between them, brittle and dangerous.
Then, like a storm breaking, he moved.
Before she could react, he closed the distance between them, his hand wrapping around her wrist in a vice-like grip.
"It's none of your business," he said, voice as cold as steel.
Amara flinched, the heat of his palm against her skin in stark contrast to the icy chill in his tone. "Rafael—"
His fingers tightened, enough to make her wince. "You don't get to ask questions," he bit out. "Not when you're sneaking around like a little thief."
She jerked against his hold, her pulse hammering in her ears. "Let me go."
His grip didn't loosen. If anything, he pulled her closer, until she could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the scent of his soap mingling with something darker, something primal. His gaze burned into hers, filled with something she couldn't decipher.
"Do you know what happens to people who get caught where they shouldn't be?" he murmured, his voice a low threat against her skin.
Her breath stuttered. She wanted to scream, to shove him away, but the words died in her throat. The air in the room was too thick, suffocating her with every passing second.
Then, suddenly, he let her go. The abrupt loss of contact made her stumble back, and she barely managed to stay upright.
Rafael turned away from her, his hands running through his damp hair as if forcing himself to calm down. But she wasn't fooled. The tension in his shoulders, the barely leashed fury in his movements—it was all still there, simmering just beneath the surface.
Amara swallowed, forcing her voice to stay steady. "You're hurt," she said, quieter this time.
Rafael let out a dark chuckle, shaking his head before fixing her with a look so devoid of warmth it made her stomach twist. "And what? You think you can fix me?"
She didn't answer. Because the truth was, she didn't know. She had no idea what she thought, what she wanted, standing there in his room, drowning in his presence. But those wounds—
They weren't just physical.
Before she could press him further, Rafael moved toward the desk at the far side of the room. He pulled open a drawer, his movements precise, controlled, and then withdrew something.
A stack of papers.
Her breath caught.
Her father's research.
Desperation flooded her veins, her legs moving before her mind could catch up. "No—"
But Rafael was already one step ahead. His eyes met hers, something unreadable flickering in their depths, before he turned and strode toward the fireplace.
"No—Rafael, stop!" Amara lunged forward, but he was faster. The flames crackled as he threw the papers into the fire, and in an instant, the edges curled, darkening, the ink bleeding into nothingness.
"No!" A raw, broken scream tore from her throat as she reached for them, but Rafael was there, his arms wrapping around her from behind, holding her back as she thrashed against him. "You bastard! You had no right!"
She fought, every ounce of grief and fury pouring out of her, but he didn't let go. His grip was unyielding, his breath hot against her ear.
"This is what you wanted?" His voice was low, taunting. "This is what you were willing to steal for?"
Tears blurred her vision, her chest heaving with ragged breaths. "It was all I had left of him," she choked out, her voice breaking. "You—"
Rafael finally released her, pushing her away from the fire. She stumbled, her legs weak, her entire body shaking. She turned to face him, her vision clouded by fury and heartbreak.
He stood there, shirtless, his wounds stark against his skin, his expression unreadable. But there was something in his eyes, something she couldn't quite grasp.
Regret?
No. Not Rafael.
Never Rafael.
Her hands curled into fists, nails biting into her palms. "I hate you," she whispered, voice trembling.
Rafael tilted his head, watching her with an almost bored expression. "Good," he murmured. "That makes two of us."
Amara staggered back, the weight of his words slamming into her like a physical blow. The heat of the fire licked at her skin, the scent of burning paper filling the air like a funeral pyre.
Her last hope, gone.
Rafael watched her break, and for the first time, she thought she saw something flicker behind his mask of indifference.
But it didn't matter.
Not anymore.