The golden rays of morning sun filtered softly through the sheer curtains, casting warm light across the bed. Amara stirred slowly, her limbs tangled with Zane's. His arm was draped over her waist, possessive even in sleep, his breath steady and deep against the curve of her neck.
For a long moment, she stayed still, feeling the quiet rise and fall of his chest. Her fingers brushed against his, gently tracing the lines of his knuckles—the same hand that had cradled her cheek the night before, as if she were something fragile and irreplaceable.
Zane shifted, his lashes fluttering as he stirred awake.
"You're still here," he murmured, voice rough with sleep.
Amara turned her head slightly, eyes meeting his. "Of course I am."
There was vulnerability in his gaze—like a man afraid to believe in hope again. "You used to leave before I woke."
"I know," she whispered. "But that was before."
He brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Before what?"
She didn't answer with words. Instead, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his—a slow, lingering kiss . He pulled her closer, the kiss deepening, growing in urgency, yet still held back by caution. This wasn't lust. It was something more careful. More raw.
When they finally parted, breathless, Zane rested his forehead against hers.
"Last night… was that real? Or just a moment?"
She cupped his face in both hands. "It was real, Zane. I want to fix what I broke."
He searched her face, and for the first time in a long while, she saw the flicker of trust beginning to rise behind his guarded eyes.
They spent the morning in the warmth of each other. No schedules. No phone calls. Just quiet moments—Amara making coffee while Zane leaned against the doorway, watching her like he couldn't believe she was really there. She laughed when he stole a kiss while she stirred sugar into his cup. He wrapped his arms around her from behind and didn't let go.
Later, they walked through the gardens—her hand in his, his thumb gently tracing circles on her skin. Zane pointed out the new roses planted weeks ago, and Amara listened as if she'd never heard a more fascinating story. He was beginning to bloom in her attention.
When they returned inside, he led her to the piano room. She hadn't stepped into it in years.
"Play something for me," he said.
"I haven't played since—"
"Please."
So she sat, fingers hovering, then pressing gently into the keys. The melody was slow, aching with memory. As the music filled the room, Zane sat beside her, then placed his hand over hers. Not to stop her. Just to feel it. Just to remember.
That night, when they lay in bed again, it wasn't rushed or feverish—it was reverent. As if they were rediscovering each other piece by piece. His touch was careful, worshipful. Her body responded like it had been waiting to be remembered.
No words were needed as they moved together. The silence between them spoke louder than declarations ever could. And when they finally lay spent, tangled and warm, Amara rested her head on Zane's chest, feeling the rhythmic echo of a heart she thought she'd lost.
And for a fleeting moment, she forgot the war she was preparing to wage.
___________
morning sun spilled gently across the vast balcony, Amara stood barefoot, wearing nothing but one of Zane's shirts. It draped over her like a second skin, smelling faintly of him—clean musk and woodsy spice.
Below, the estate grounds were already alive with activity, but here, in their bedroom, the world was still and warm.
Zane entered from the hallway with two mugs in hand. His dark eyes landed on her instantly, softening at the sight of her standing in the sun.
"I made coffee," he said, holding out a cup.
"would you go on a date with me, just you and me—no secrets, no shadows, just a fresh start?"
Amara blinked, the warmth of the morning sun paling in comparison to the glow blooming in her chest. She took the mug slowly, their fingers brushing in a silent spark.
"I'd like that," she whispered, a smile tugging at her lips. "Where are you taking me?"
Zane grinned. "It's a surprise. But I promise it'll involve your favorite pastries and zero interruptions."