As the sun dipped below the horizon, the sky deepened into shades of crimson and violet, casting an eerie glow over the roads.
Rowan sat in the driver’s seat, his fingers gripping the steering wheel with an easy confidence as they cruised through the quiet streets.
Amara sat beside him, her son Vaughn in the backseat, his face illuminated by the faint glow of passing streetlights.
Amara’s gaze was distant, lost in the passing scenery, but her mind was elsewhere.. back at the venue, where the wedding had unfolded like a scene from a nightmare.
Raven Blackwood and Valerie.
The entire event had felt off…
Raven’s cold eyes, the way he had looked at Valerie like she was a possession rather than a bride. It left an unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Halfway through their drive, Amara turned her head and stared at Rowan, her voice breaking the silence abruptly. “Can you drop me at Rosie’s house?”
Rowan’s brow furrowed slightly, his eyes flicking toward her in curiosity. “What happened?” His voice was calm, but there was a hint of concern lurking beneath the surface.
Amara shook her head, avoiding his gaze. “Just do it.”
Rowan glanced at her for a moment longer, reading her expression, but he didn’t press further.
He knew Amara well enough to sense when she didn’t want to talk.
Without a word, he nodded and turned the car in the direction of Rosie’s house.
As they neared Rosie’s neighbourhood, Amara’s tension began to ease slightly.
When they pulled up in front of the modest house, Amara exhaled softly, relieved to escape even for a few hours.
The porch light was already on, and Rosie stood at the door, as if she had been waiting for her.
Rosie smiled as Amara got out of the car, her hands resting on her hips. “You’re already here? I thought the wedding would go longer.”
Amara forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah, it ended early. I just need to change out of these clothes.”
Rosie chuckled, catching the tired look in Amara’s eyes and the stiffness in her posture. “I can see that. You look like you’ve been trapped in that dress for hours.”
“Don’t laugh at me,” Amara muttered, though there was a playful edge to her voice.
Rosie smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t I?”
“No, you shouldn’t,” Amara replied, feigning irritation, though deep down, she was grateful for the light-hearted banter.
Rosie stepped aside to let Amara and Vaughn in. “Come on in, sneaky one. Since when do you start sneaking out?”
Amara’s smile faded a bit, and she cast a glance over her shoulder, half-expecting someone to be watching her. “You know the situation,” she said quietly. “If my father knew I attended a wedding with Rowan, especially after Alessandro’s death…” Her voice trailed off, leaving the implication hanging in the air.
Rosie’s face softened. She knew the dangerous tightrope Amara was walking. “Yeah, you’re right. But you should be grateful to Rowan. He definitely likes you.”
Amara rolled her eyes at the comment, not wanting to dive into the complexities of her relationship with Rowan.
She knew he cared, but she wasn’t sure if it was in the way people thought. Her life had become a tangled web of alliances, secrets, and danger, and Rowan was part of that web..
One she couldn’t easily escape from.
Once inside, Amara headed straight to Rosie’s guest room to change out of her formal attire. The heavy fabric of her dress felt suffocating, a reminder of the night’s events that she desperately wanted to forget.
She stripped out of the gown with a sense of urgency, replacing it with more comfortable clothes.. a pair of worn jeans and a loose-fitting sweater.
After she had changed, Amara returned to the living room and found Vaughn, still dressed in his little suit, sprawled on the couch, looking equally tired.
She smiled softly and knelt beside him, gently helping him out of the stiff clothes.
“There,” she said quietly, ruffling his hair once he was dressed in more comfortable pajamas. “Better?”
Vaughn nodded sleepily, rubbing his eyes. “Yeah, Mom. Thanks.”
Rosie walked in, grinning at the sight of the two of them. “You look like you’re in serious need of some comfort food.”
Amara chuckled, grateful for the distraction. “I definitely am. What do you have in mind?”
Rosie’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “How about we cook something together? You always said it helped you clear your mind.”
Amara hesitated, feeling the weight of the day bearing down on her, but the idea of doing something simple and comforting like cooking was appealing.
She smiled, nodding in agreement. “That sounds perfect.”
Vaughn, who had been quietly watching the exchange, perked up. “Can I join too, Rosie Aunt?”
Rosie grinned and reached over to ruffle Vaughn’s hair. “Of course you can, little chef.”
The three of them made their way into the kitchen, the atmosphere lighter now, as if the walls of Rosie’s home provided a sanctuary from the darkness outside.
Amara and Rosie moved about the kitchen, chopping vegetables, stirring pots, and laughing softly at inside jokes.
Vaughn stood on a small stool, eagerly helping by mixing ingredients and asking a hundred questions, his energy infectious despite the late hour.
For a while, Amara allowed herself to forget.
She focused on the simple motions of cooking, the warmth of the kitchen, and the laughter of her son.
It was a brief escape from the harsh reality waiting for her outside those walls.
But as the food simmered on the stove, a sense of dread crept back into her chest.
This moment of peace wouldn’t last. It never did.
After dinner, they sat together around Rosie’s small dining table, sharing the meal they had prepared. Vaughn chattered happily about school, about the friends he had made, and about how excited he was to spend more time with Rosie.
Amara smiled and nodded along, but her mind was far away, already drifting back to the storm waiting for her in the Moretti mansion.
Rosie, ever observant, noticed the shift in Amara’s demeanor. “Hey,” she said softly, reaching across the table to squeeze Amara’s hand. “You know you can stay here as long as you need. You and Vaughn.”
Amara’s smile faltered, her chest tightening.
She appreciated Rosie’s offer more than she could express, but she knew it wasn’t that simple. “Thanks, Rosie. But I have to go back. You know how things are.”
Rosie’s expression darkened, a flicker of anger crossing her face. “I hate that you’re stuck in this mess, Amara. It’s not fair.”
Amara nodded, her throat tightening with unspoken words. “I know,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “But it’s the life I was born into.”
They finished dinner in a heavier silence, the earlier lightness fading. After cleaning up, Amara gathered Vaughn, who was now half-asleep, into her arms. Rosie walked them to the door, her expression troubled but understanding.
“Take care of yourself,” Rosie said quietly, her eyes filled with concern.
Amara nodded, her heart heavy. “I will.”
As she walked out of house, Lucas was already waiting for her at the door.
Without a word, Amara climbed into the back seat, the leather cool against her skin.
“Drive,” she said softly, her voice carrying an undercurrent of resolve.
Lucas hesitated, his hand gripping the steering wheel, his eyes meeting hers in the rearview mirror. “Miss… are you sure about this?” His voice was low, cautious. “What if the boss finds out?”
Amara’s eyes drifted towards the distant horizon, where the city lights blurred into the sky. The weight of her decision sat heavily in her chest, but there was no turning back now. “Then we’ll tell him it was for the mission,” she said, her voice calm, but her tone brooked no argument.
Lucas frowned, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel tighter. “But it’s still Rowan we’re dealing with…”
A small, bitter smile tugged at the corner of Amara’s lips. “Don’t worry,” she murmured, more to herself than to Lucas. “Rowan isn’t as scary as he seems.”
Lucas glanced at her again, his brow furrowed in doubt. “He only has the looks of an angel,” he muttered, almost under his breath.
Amara chuckled darkly, shaking her head. “I’ll handle him.”