I didn't hear him come in last night. Or leave.
When I opened my eyes, the side of the bed next to mine was untouched. Still smooth, still perfect—like he never even considered sharing it.
Not that I expected him to. I barely knew the man. And I'd married him.
My stomach turned.
After a shower and a second silent breakfast, I wandered the halls like a ghost. Every room felt too clean, too polished. Like no one actually lived here.
It wasn't until I passed a set of double doors that I stopped.
The office.
I hesitated, then turned the knob slowly.
He was there.
Damian sat behind the desk, tie loosened, jacket off, reading through paperwork. He looked up just once, eyes cool and unreadable.
"I was wondering when you'd start exploring," he said.
"I wasn't," I replied. "I got lost."
He leaned back slightly. "You'll get used to it."
"Do you want me to?"
A flicker passed across his face—almost emotion, but it vanished before I could name it.
"This marriage won't work if you hide in your room," he said. "So yes. I want you to adjust."
"To pretending?"
"To surviving."
His words landed like a slap. I almost laughed....almost, but it caught in my throat.
"I found a letter," I said instead, quietly.
His eyes narrowed. "What kind of letter?"
"One from Amara."
Silence.
I watched him, waiting for a reaction. But Damian Cole didn't flinch. His jaw stayed tight, his posture still.
"What did it say?" he asked.
"That I shouldn't trust you."
He leaned forward now, fingers steepled.
"Do you?"
"No," I said honestly.
He nodded like that was the right answer. "Good."
He stood and walked past me to the window, hands in his pockets.
"Amara was a complicated person, Zara. She liked secrets. And she loved control. That letter...whatever it said was probably written weeks before she left. Maybe months."
"And if it wasn't?" I asked. "What if she was trying to warn me?"
He turned his head slowly toward me, eyes cold.
"Then maybe you should ask yourself why she didn't leave it for you directly."
My breath caught.
He was right.
The letter was hidden deep in a drawer, buried behind books. Not handed to me. Not addressed. Found by accident. Or maybe not meant to be found at all.
Still, something inside me screamed that it mattered.
"Why did she leave, Damian?" I asked. "Really."
He didn't answer. Just looked out the window like he could see something I couldn't.
"She didn't want this life," he said finally. "But she didn't know how to say it."
"And I do?"
He looked at me then, softer—just slightly.
"No," he said. "But you're already living it."
There was nothing else to say.
I left the office, heart pounding, and walked back to the library. I needed quiet. I needed air.
But as I reached for a book on the far shelf, something slipped from between the pages.
Another letter.
This time, it wasn't in Amara's handwriting.
It was in his, the handwriting was clean. Neat. Cold.
Just like him.
I stared at the letter in my hand, my fingers trembling slightly as I unfolded it. The paper smelled faintly of cologne [Damian's cologne].
The note was short.
Amara,
This arrangement is bigger than you and me. If you want out, say it. But know that your silence doesn't change anything.
You were chosen for a reason.
Don't forget that.
There was no date. No signature. Just that calm, commanding tone that I now recognized as his.
I read it again. And again. And something in my chest tightened.
He knew.
He knew she was unhappy. That she might leave. That she didn't want this. And still… he married me without hesitation.
What kind of man does that?
I tucked the letter into my pocket and backed away from the shelf, feeling the weight of both letters now hers and his.
Truth and silence.
As I turned to leave, Elise the housekeeper appeared at the doorway, startling me.
"Sorry," she said gently. "Didn't mean to sneak up on you."
"It's okay," I replied quickly, forcing a smile.
She looked at me carefully, like she wanted to say something more..
"You remind me of her," she said finally.
"Amara?"
She nodded. "You walk like her. Same way of holding your breath when you're upset. But your eyes... you've seen more."
I didn't know what to say to that.
"She spent a lot of time in this room," Elise added. "Reading. Thinking. Sometimes just staring at the fireplace. Like she wanted to burn it all down."
I swallowed. "Did she ever say anything? Before she left?"
Elise hesitated. Her lips parted, then closed again.
"No," she said. "Nothing I understood, anyway."
And just like that, she walked away.
I stood alone in the library for a long time after that, holding onto two pieces of paper that felt like puzzle pieces from different worlds.
One from a sister I no longer recognized.
One from a husband I didn't know how to trust.
That night, I tucked both letters inside a hardcover book and slid it back into the shelf—one no one would think to open.
Little Women.
Amara's favorite.
As I lay in bed that night, the silence felt heavier than before. Like it was pressing against my chest, waiting to see if I'd break.
And just before I closed my eyes, a soft knock came at the door.
I sat up quickly..
"Zara," Damian's voice came through again—low, calm, controlled. "Open the door."
I sat there, the duvet clutched in my hands like armor.
What did he want to say now? Another business-like arrangement? Another carefully crafted truth?
Still, I stood and walked to the door—not because I trusted him, but because part of me needed to look him in the eye and know he was real. That I wasn't going insane.
When I opened it, he was standing there in a black T-shirt and slacks, no shoes, no watch. For the first time, he looked less like a CEO and more like a man who couldn't sleep.
He didn't ask to come in. He simply said, "I owe you the truth."
I crossed my arms. "Now you do?"
He exhaled slowly. "I never wanted Amara."
Silence.
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"She was… assigned to me," he said. "Our families—our companies—had been planning the merger for years. Her father wanted control, and my father wanted access. The engagement was just the ribbon to tie it all up."
"So you proposed for business," I said. "Not love."
"I didn't propose at all," he said evenly. "Her father did. I accepted."
I stared at him, stunned.
"Amara never told me that."
"She didn't know at first. When she found out, she threatened to leave. Twice. Her father talked her out of it both times."
"And the third time?" I asked.
He looked down. "She didn't tell anyone. She just disappeared."
I stepped back, folding my arms tighter.
"Why didn't you look for her?" I asked. "Why didn't you stop the wedding?"
He looked at me for a long moment. "Because I was already in too deep. Too many investors. Too much press. Too much risk."
"So you just replaced her?"
His jaw clenched.
"I married the only other person who could keep the story clean," he said. "You."
I laughed. It wasn't a nice sound.
"Wow," I said. "That's romantic."
"I didn't mean for this to happen," he said, stepping inside the room. "But you being here—it gave me time to think. And I realize something now."
"What?"
"You're not like her."
That stopped me.
He walked toward the window, then turned back. "Amara was a storm. Beautiful, unpredictable, always about to destroy something. But you—you're... quiet. Strong. You don't scream to be heard, but people listen anyway."
"I'm not here to be compared to your ex-fiancée," I said sharply.
He nodded. "You're right. But I'm telling you this because I know I hurt you. I'm not asking for forgiveness. I'm asking for time."
I looked at him, really looked. And for the first time since this all began, I saw a crack in his perfect mask.
He wasn't just cold. He was tired. Guarded. Like someone who'd been trained to carry too much without flinching.
"I found your letter to her," I said quietly.
That made him still.
"In the library," I added. "You told her she was chosen. That her silence didn't change anything."
His eyes met mine. "That letter wasn't about love. It was about warning."
"Warning her about what?"
He paused. "The people behind this marriage aren't just family. There are investors. Lawyers. People who don't take well to cancellations. People who use threats and money to keep things moving."
"Are you saying she was forced into it?"
"She was given a choice," he said. "But not a kind one."
A silence fell between us. One that said more than his words ever could.
"She ran because she was scared," I whispered. "And now I'm in her place."
"No," he said firmly. "You're not in her place. You're in yours. And I promise you this—if you want out, I'll protect you."
I studied him.
"What if I don't want out?" I said quietly. "What if I just want the truth?"
He looked almost surprised. Then he nodded once.
"Then I'll give it to you. Piece by piece."
He turned to leave, then paused at the door.
"For what it's worth," he said, "I'm glad it was you."
And with that, he was gone.
I stood there long after he left, heart pounding, head spinning.
Amara was a storm. Damian was a wall. And me?
I was the silence in between, learning how to listen before either side drowned me.