Amara's breath hitched the moment Lucas spoke behind her.
"You did not have your food."
His voice was low, controlled, and cold enough to pierce through the quiet air. She whirled around, heart in her throat. She hadn't heard a single footstep. He moved like a ghost—silent, precise, dangerous—and his sudden closeness made her stumble backward.
For a split second, her fear showed in her eyes. Her chest tightened, and she exhaled shakily when she recognized him.
"Lucas… I didn't hear you come—"
He cut her off with a narrowed stare. The faintest flicker of emotion crossed his face—not softness, not concern, but something sharper. Something like irritation.
He noticed her fear.And he did not like it.
His jaw tightened as he studied her reaction, as if calculating why she seemed relieved to see him.
Was she afraid of him?Or afraid of being without him?
The question unsettled him.
He stepped closer, voice firm. "Why did you not eat?"
Amara swallowed hard. "I… I wasn't feeling hungry."
His annoyance sharpened instantly. He opened his mouth to scold her, but then followed her gaze. She wasn't staring at him—she was staring at the faint, rust-colored splatters on his shirt. Blood. Small, but noticeable against the white fabric under his black suit jacket.
Lucas realized it at the same time she did.
He swiftly pulled the jacket closed, fingers curling around the lapel to hide the stains. But it was too late. Her eyes had already widened in recognition, and her lips parted in silent shock.
"Come inside," he commanded sharply.
There was no room for refusal. His voice carried no softness, no apology. Only authority—dark, unyielding, absolute.
Amara followed him back inside, her steps unsteady as her mind churned.
Where had he been?Why was he covered in blood?What had he done?
And why… why did a part of her feel relieved that he came back?
THE TENSION BEHIND THE DOORS
Inside the mansion, the lights felt dimmer tonight, as though the walls themselves sensed the shift in the air. Guards stood at attention in every corridor, their expressions blank and disciplined.
Lucas guided Amara into the main hall without touching her, but his presence was a grip around her whole body. He paused near the large dining table where untouched food still sat.
He looked at the plate, then at her—eyes hardening.
"You should have eaten," he said. "When I am gone, you will follow the routine. That is not optional."
She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, a woman approached—tall, stiff, her posture rigid with discipline. Her hair was tied back tightly, and her expression was carved from stone.
Elena.
She placed a fresh cup of tea on the table with a bit more force than necessary. The liquid sloshed, but she did not apologize.
Her eyes flicked to Amara with a chilly sharpness. There was no attempt to hide her disdain.
Amara lowered her gaze instinctively.
Lucas noticed the tension—just not the cause—yet.
"Mr. Dragovich," Elena said crisply. "The kitchen was awaiting your return before preparing the next course."
Lucas nodded once in acknowledgment.
But Elena wasn't done.
She looked at Amara again, voice clipped and cold. "The food was served to her on time, sir. If she chose to ignore it, that is her responsibility."
Lucas's eyes sharpened. Something in Elena's tone irritated him.
"Elena," he said softly.
Her posture straightened immediately—too quickly.
"Yes, sir?"
"Do your job," he said, voice even. "Not more. Not less."
A flush of embarrassment—or anger—darkened her cheeks.
"Yes, sir."
She retreated stiffly, shooting Amara one last hostile glance before disappearing into the kitchen hallway.
Amara's fingers curled around the edge of the table. She forced her voice to stay steady. "She… she doesn't seem to like me."
Lucas studied her closely. "Her emotions are irrelevant. She follows orders, nothing more."
But even as he said it, his eyes shifted toward the hall where Elena vanished. Something in Elena's demeanor hadn't sat well with him.
"You will eat now," he said firmly.
Amara nodded quietly. "Yes… I understand."
But her hand trembled when she reached for the fork. Lucas noticed that too.
A NEW THREAT WITHIN
Before Amara could lift the fork, footsteps echoed sharply from the other end of the hall. Heavy, confident, unrestrained.
Marco entered.
His tall frame and muscular build radiated dominance. A scar crossed the side of his neck like an emblem of violence earned, not taken. He didn't look at Amara first—his attention went straight to Lucas.
"Boss," Marco said, voice deep. "The dockyard is secured. Completely."
Lucas nodded once. "Report."
Marco glanced at Amara briefly, assessing her, then continued. "All loose ends were eliminated. Every man who stood against us is gone."
Amara felt a chill travel down her spine at the word eliminated. Her breath caught when Marco added casually:
"We stacked the bodies just like you ordered."
Lucas's expression didn't change. He simply responded, "Good."
Marco stepped closer to him, lowering his voice slightly. "But we should talk about the girl. She's—"
Lucas cut him off sharply.
"Marco."
Marco stopped speaking immediately. His jaw flexed.
Lucas's voice remained calm, but the underlying warning was unmistakable. "You do not need to involve yourself in matters that do not concern you."
Marco's eyes flicked to Amara again—this time colder, harder. "Understood."
But the look he gave her wasn't obedience. It was a threat in disguise.
When Lucas stepped away to take a call, Marco seized the moment. He positioned himself just close enough for Amara to feel the intimidation radiating off him.
"You should eat when you're told," Marco said quietly, his tone laced with mock disappointment. "Disobeying him never ends well."
Amara clenched her hands, trying not to react. "I… I wasn't trying to disobey. I just—"
Marco leaned in slightly. "You won't last here long. Women like you never do."
Her stomach dropped. A cold wave washed over her.
"You think he cares?" Marco continued. "You're just a distraction. And distractions get removed."
Amara's throat tightened painfully.
But then the call ended—and Lucas returned.
Marco straightened instantly and stepped back, posture switching to professional in a split second.
Lucas's eyes flicked between the two, sensing the thick tension.
"Marco," Lucas said quietly. "Leave."
Marco nodded once and exited without another word.
But Amara could still feel the threat he left behind.
LUCAS STARTS TO NOTICE
Lucas turned toward Amara slowly, studying her expression. Her shoulders were tense, her breath shallow, her fingers curled tightly around the fork.
"You are shaking," he observed calmly.
Amara swallowed. "I'm just… tired."
His eyes narrowed faintly. "You are lying."
"I'm not—"
"You are."His voice was steel.
She lowered her gaze, unable to meet his eyes.
Something flickered behind Lucas's expression—irritation, confusion, and something darker. It wasn't softness. But it was something.
He stepped closer, but when she flinched slightly, he stopped mid-step.
His jaw tightened again.She wasn't afraid of him before.She was afraid because of something else.
And that thought made him angrier than he expected.
He exhaled slowly, voice dropping. "Amara… who made you afraid to speak in my house?"
Amara's breath caught.Her lips parted.But no words came out.
Lucas's eyes darkened dangerously.
"Answer me."