His Fathers's Ring, His Son's Touch

Amara's Pov

The silence of the Vane mansion at night was heavier than the city.

Moving into the estate had happened with the dizzying speed of light. Within hours, Victor's men had cleared out my small apartment, packed my life into a few designer suitcases, and transported me into this fortress. I felt like I was making the biggest mistake of my life, but as I walked through the hallways, a new, darker thought began to take root.

It's my revenge on him for breaking me. Now, he would have to address me as his stepmother.

The master suite was larger than my entire apartment. I entered, my fingers trailing over the gold-leaf detailing on the doorframe. I expected the room to be empty, but the sound of rushing water stopped me cold.

The bathroom door swung open, and a cloud of steam billowed out.

Victor stepped into the room, a white towel slung low on his hips. Droplets of water clung to the dark hair on his chest and traced the hard lines of his abdomen.

I stood frozen, my breath catching in my throat. I found myself involuntarily swallowing, my gaze traveling over the breadth of his shoulders and the thick muscle of his arms.

"Admiring the view, Amara?" he asked, his voice a low, teasing rumble.

He didn't look embarrassed. He didn't even slow down. He walked to the dressing room, his movements fluid and unbothered, as if my presence were a minor detail in his night routine.

"I-I didn't realize you were in here," I stammered, my face burning. I let out a sharp, awkward cough, turning my head away. "I'll... I'll go."

"It's your room too, for the next three months," he called out, the sound of a silk shirt sliding over his skin following me as I bolted for the terrace doors.

My heart was hammering against my ribs-not just from the fear, but from a confusing reaction I had felt when I saw him bare. I pushed through the heavy glass doors and stepped out onto the wide terrace.

The night air was cool. I leaned against the cold rails, staring out at the stars above. I needed to breathe.

"You always did like the stars."

I jumped, spinning around to find Lucas standing. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket. His tie was loosened, and his hair was mussed, as if he'd been running his hands through it in frustration.

I hardened my expression, the memory of our past flashing in my mind. "What are you doing here, Lucas? Your wife is probably wondering where you are."

He flinched at the word *wife*, but he didn't leave. He stepped forward, entering the pale moonlight. "She's asleep. I couldn't sleep."

"We have nothing to talk about" I said, turning back to the gardens.

"Is it true?" he asked, his voice calm but strained. "Are you really going through with this? Are you really marrying my father in two days?"

I didn't look at him. "Your father is intentional about me, Lucas. Besides, you shouldn't be bothered about it."

"I'm bothered about it, Amara," he whispered, stepping closer. I could feel the heat radiating from him now behind me, the familiar scent of his skin cutting through the cool night air.

"Why?" I snapped, finally turning to face him. My voice was thick with two years of suppressed rage. "You left without a word. And now you show up with a ring on your finger and tell me not to marry the only man offering me a way out?"

"You don't understand him," Lucas said, his hand reaching out as if to touch my arm before he pulled it back. "My Father doesn't love things; he owns them."

"And what do you do, Lucas? You discard them?" I stepped into his space, my eyes defiant. "What right do you have to tell me what to do? You forfeited that right the night you walked out."

"I did it because I had no other option," he burst out, his voice a desperate hiss.

I scoffed. "Well, you did a great job,"

It hurts because I still feel something for him, but that should die. I shouldn't let Victor find out about us or our past.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words died in his throat. He looked at me, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that made my heart stutter.

"I can't tell you," he whispered. "Not yet. Just... please, Amara. Don't do this. Don't let him put that ring on your finger."

He moved closer, his hand finally finding the side of my neck. His thumb traced my jawline, a gesture so familiar it made my knees weak. For a moment, the anger vanished, replaced by the ghost of everything we used to be. The way his eyes darkened, the way his breath hitched-it was the same.

He leaned in, his forehead resting against mine. "Don't marry him," he breathed against my lips.

His hand slid into my hair, pulling me toward him. The magnetic pull was overwhelming. I felt my eyes flutter shut, my body betraying my mind as I tilted my head up, waiting for the collision I had dreamed about for seven hundred nights.

But then, I remembered where I was. I remembered the man inside the room behind us-the man who held my life in his hands.

I pulled back sharply, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I pushed his hand away, stepping out of his reach.