Amara's steps were hesitant as she followed Evelyn through the dimly lit hallways of Rafael's mansion. The woman's heels clicked softly against the marble floor, the only sound accompanying them. Amara hugged herself, feeling the weight of exhaustion settling into her bones. Everything about this place reeked of power, of control—of him.
Evelyn led her to a large wooden door and pushed it open without a word. Inside was a room that was too grand to be a guest room, yet too impersonal to belong to anyone.
"This will be yours for the time being," Evelyn said, stepping aside.
Amara hesitated before walking inside. The room was decorated in rich, dark tones, with a four-poster bed dominating the space. Heavy curtains covered the windows, allowing only a sliver of moonlight to creep in. A wardrobe stood on the far side, its doors slightly ajar, revealing an array of clothes far too luxurious for her liking.
Evelyn moved to the bed and placed a neatly folded outfit on top. "Change into this. I'll wait outside."
Amara swallowed but nodded, too drained to argue. Once Evelyn stepped out, she stripped off her damp, worn-out clothes and put on the new ones—a black silk blouse and tailored pants that clung to her form. The fabric felt foreign against her skin, a cruel reminder of just how much her life had changed in a few hours.
When she was done, she opened the door slightly. "I'm ready."
Evelyn entered carrying a silver tray. A porcelain cup of something steaming sat on it. "Drink this. It'll warm you up."
Amara stared at it but didn't move to take it. Her mind screamed at her not to trust anything in this house, not even something as simple as a drink.
Evelyn's expression remained unreadable. "It's just tea. No one here needs to drug you, Amara."
She almost laughed at that. "I'll pass."
Evelyn sighed and set the tray down on the nightstand before crossing her arms. "Suit yourself."
The silence between them stretched. Amara didn't move from her spot near the bed. She wasn't ready to sit down, to rest, because if she did, she'd start thinking—
But it was too late.
Her mind was already spiraling.
The papers Rafael had placed before her flashed in her memory, taunting her. His words slithered through her thoughts, as intoxicating as they were venomous.
Sign it, Amara. Let me give you a better life.
Her stomach twisted violently.
A better life? He had no idea what she had suffered, what she had endured to get this far. He had no idea how many times she had woken up screaming in the night, haunted by the faces of her parents—the faces of the people who had taken them from her.
She had fought. She had clawed her way through a world determined to silence her. And yet, here she was. Right where Rafael wanted her.
Her breath came fast and uneven as her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She wouldn't cry. She had shed too many tears for too many years. But the memories burned her. The agony of loss. The unbearable loneliness.
When she died that night, when they had taken everything from her, she had suffered alone. No one had come for her. No one had fought for justice except her.
And now, Rafael wanted to take that away too.
A strangled sound left her throat. It was half a sob, half a bitter laugh. She loathed him. God, she hated him.
He thought he could break her. Thought he could manipulate her into becoming his pawn, his possession. Thought he could dangle power before her like a goddamn treat and she'd roll over and beg.
He had no idea who he was dealing with.
A sharp knock at the door startled her.
Evelyn's voice was calm. "Time's up."
Amara straightened, wiping away any lingering emotion from her face. She turned to the mirror briefly, steeling herself before heading toward the door.
With every step she took back to Rafael, her resolve solidified.
The office was just as she had left it—except this time, Rafael was alone. The papers still lay on the table between them, waiting. The moment she stepped inside, his gaze locked onto her, assessing, waiting.
"Well?" he asked, his voice deceptively casual.
She inhaled deeply. "No."
A flicker of amusement crossed his face. "No?"
She lifted her chin. "I won't sign it."
Silence stretched between them, thick with something unspoken. Rafael leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose like he had expected this answer. "Amara," he murmured, shaking his head as if disappointed. "You are making a mistake."
"I don't care." Her voice was steady. "I'll fight. I'll fight against everyone if I have to, but I will not sell my soul to you."
His jaw tightened, and for the first time, something cold and dangerous flickered in his eyes. "You think you can fight me?"
"I know I can."
He chuckled darkly, standing up slowly. "Oh, sweetheart. You really don't understand what you've done."
She forced herself not to flinch as he approached her, his presence suffocating. "I will destroy you," he whispered, his tone lacking any amusement now. "I will strip you of everything you hold dear. You think you've suffered?" He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "You haven't seen anything yet."
A shiver ran down her spine, but she held her ground. "Do your worst."
His smirk returned, crueler than before. "Oh, I will."
He reached out and tilted her chin up with two fingers, forcing her to look at him. "By the time I'm done, Amara, you'll beg me to take my deal."
She jerked her head away. "Never."
Rafael let out a soft chuckle, but there was no humor in it. He stepped back, giving her one last, lingering look before turning to his desk. He picked up the papers and, with a flick of his wrist, tossed them into the fire burning in the hearth. The flames swallowed them instantly, turning her parents' case—and his offer—to ash.
Her heart clenched, but she refused to let him see her pain.
He turned to her, his expression unreadable. "You chose your path, Amara. Now, you'll live with the consequences."
She met his gaze, her hatred burning hotter than any fire. "So will you."
With that, she turned on her heel and walked out, leaving the devil behind.
But she knew—this war had only just begun.
Amara stepped out of the suffocating building, her heart pounding against her ribcage. The cold night air wrapped around her, but it did nothing to numb the overwhelming emotions storming inside her. A sleek black car was parked by the curb, its engine purring softly. The driver, a man dressed in a formal black suit, stepped out and opened the door for her.
"Miss, please get inside. I have been instructed to take you home safely," he said in a polite but firm tone.
Amara clenched her fists at her sides, her breath coming in short gasps. She knew exactly who had sent the car. Rafael. His way of pretending to be considerate when, in reality, he was the one who had thrown her into this nightmare.
"No," she whispered at first, then louder. "No, I'm not getting in that car. I can go home on my own."
The driver looked at her, confused. "Miss, it's not safe—"
"I said no!" Amara snapped, her voice cracking with emotion. Before the driver could say anything else, she turned on her heel and started walking down the dark street, her heels clicking against the pavement.
Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of her decision sinking into her bones. She had refused Rafael. She had stood against him. But now what?
Her breath hitched as panic clawed at her throat. She had been brave in that room, had spoken with defiance, but she had no idea what awaited her now. Rafael wasn't a man to be refused. She had seen the fury in his eyes, the silent promise of destruction. He would come after her, in ways she couldn't yet imagine.
Tears blurred her vision, but she kept moving, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth. She pulled out her phone with trembling hands and dialed the one number she had been relying on—the mystery man, the only person she had left.
It rang once. Twice. Three times. No answer.
"Please…" she whispered, her voice breaking. She tried again. And again. But the call went to voicemail.
A sob escaped her lips as she lowered the phone. Where was he? Why wasn't he answering? He had promised he would be there when she needed him. And now, when she was at her lowest, she was alone.
By the time she reached her apartment building, she was shaking. But the moment she looked up, dread crashed over her like a tidal wave.
Her belongings were being thrown onto the street.
Clothes, books, furniture—all of it scattered across the ground. People passing by either watched in curiosity or avoided looking altogether. Her chest tightened as she ran forward, her heart hammering in horror.
"No, no, no! What's happening?!" she cried, pushing through the small crowd.
A man stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression indifferent. Her landlord.
"What are you doing?!" Amara demanded, her voice raw with desperation. "Stop this! These are my things!"
The landlord turned to her, raising an unimpressed brow. "You're finally here. Good. I was wondering when you'd show up."
"Why are you throwing my stuff out?!" she screamed, tears spilling freely now. "This is my home!"
"Was your home," the landlord corrected, his voice void of any sympathy. "You haven't paid your rent in two months. I sent notices. You ignored them. So I have no choice but to evict you."
Amara's breath caught in her throat. "No… no, I—I just need more time! Please! I'll get the money, I swear!"
"I've given you enough time. This is not a charity. If you can't pay, you don't stay." He waved a dismissive hand toward her things. "Take what you want and go."
She dropped to her knees, her fingers clutching at the scattered remnants of her life. A framed photo of her parents lay on the pavement, the glass shattered. Her books, her clothes, all thrown out like garbage. The humiliation burned deep.
"Please," she choked out, looking up at the landlord with wide, pleading eyes. "Just one more week. I'll figure something out. I have nowhere to go."
The landlord sighed as if he was growing bored. "Not my problem. I have new tenants moving in tomorrow. Now leave before I call security."
Amara felt her entire world collapse around her. She had no job. No money. No home. And the one person she had depended on wasn't answering her calls.
A strangled sob broke past her lips as she rocked back onto her heels. She had fought so hard. She had survived when she should have died. And now… now she had nothing left.
Anger and helplessness warred inside her as she clenched her fists.
"You're heartless," she whispered, her voice trembling. "All of you… heartless."
The landlord didn't flinch. "I run a business, not a shelter. Now get off my property."
A sharp wind blew, sending a chill down her spine. She had no choice but to stand up, wiping her tears with shaking hands. She looked around at her belongings, at the remnants of the life she had desperately tried to hold onto.