Amara’S POV

The blade hovered inches from her throat.

Kira’s eyes went wide, her hands shooting up in panic. “Whoa…wait! It’s me! It’s just me!”

My breath was ragged, pulse slamming in my ears. For a heartbeat, I didn’t lower the knife. Instinct screamed louder than reason.

Then her face registered through the haze—the wide brown eyes, the too-young smile, the girl from the dressing room.

Kira.

I yanked the blade back, shoving it into the sheath at my thigh. “Are you insane?” I hissed. “Following people in the dark like that?”

She swallowed hard, still frozen. “I—I wasn’t trying to scare you. I just… I wanted to walk with you. That’s all.”

I turned away, dragging air into my lungs, trying to cage the fury clawing at my insides. “You don’t follow me. Ever.”

Her voice wavered, small but stubborn. “You don’t talk to anyone. You don’t let anyone in. I thought maybe…”

“You thought wrong.” The words were sharp, final. I pulled my hood up, hiding my face from her, from everything. “Go home, Kira.”

Silence stretched. Then, soft, almost broken: “Okay.”

Her footsteps retreated, fading into the night.

**************

The next evening at the club, the lights felt sharper, almost too bright. Maybe it was just me, running on too little sleep and too many ghosts.

I tied the straps on my heels in the dressing room, eyes fixed on the floor, when Kira’s reflection appeared beside me.

“About last night,” she started carefully, voice small, “I didn’t mean to… I mean, I shouldn’t have followed you. That was stupid.”

I didn’t answer. Silence usually did the work for me.

She leaned closer, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, nervous. “I just… thought maybe you wouldn’t want to walk alone. This city’s rough. And, I dunno, you always look like you’re carrying something heavy.”

I looked up just enough to pin her in the mirror with a sharp glare. “Don’t psychoanalyze me.”

Kira flinched, but she didn’t back off. “I wasn’t. I was just trying to be nice.”

“Nice gets people killed,” I muttered, standing and slipping my mask into my bag.

She let out a quiet breath. “Maybe. But it also keeps people alive.”

Her words lingered like smoke as I walked onto the stage.

The performance was mechanical. Music, lights, movement all blurred together. I danced; my mind wandered. When the set ended, applause washed over me hollowly.

Back in the dressing room, I swapped sequins and silk for jeans and a hoodie, then wandered to the bar for a drink I didn’t intend to finish. Quiet suited me better than the stage.

That’s when I felt it…the gravity.

Williams slid onto the stool beside me. Just like that, his presence filled the space, commanding attention without a word.

“Twice in one week,” I said flatly. “You must be running out of hobbies.”

He gave a faint, amused curve of his mouth. “You assume I have any to begin with.”

Same tailored suit, same impossible calm. Tonight, though, his eyes glinted—sharp, measured, like he was assessing everything at once.

“You keep showing up here,” I said. “Don’t you have empires to run or whatever it is billionaires do?”

“Empires can wait,” he replied smoothly. “People can’t.”

I let out a dry laugh. “And which am I?”

“Neither,” he said, leaning against the bar. “An anomaly.”

I swirled my ice, unimpressed. “That’s not a compliment.”

“Wasn’t meant to be.”

I should have ended it there, walked away like I always did. But something in his calm disarmed me. He wasn’t probing; he wasn’t asking questions I couldn’t answer. He was just… present.

So I let myself speak. “Why do you keep coming here?”

His smirk was faint, reaching only the edges of his eyes. “Because you make it worth coming back.”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s the most cliché line in the book.”

“Maybe,” he allowed. “But it doesn’t make it untrue.”

Silence stretched between us, lighter than it had any right to feel.

“You’re different without the mask,” he said quietly.

The words pricked under my skin. “That’s the point of the mask.”

“And yet,” he tilted his head, “you let me see you without it.”

I stiffened. “Don’t read into it.”

He didn’t push. He lifted his glass and sipped slowly, calm as a predator. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel the urge to run. Not yet.

Williams watched me, steady, unrelenting. “Tell me,” he said low, “do you even like working here?”

I blinked, leaning back. “That’s a strange question to ask in a strip club.”

“Strange,” he allowed, “but not pointless.”

“You’ve been watching me long enough to think you know the answer?” I asked, corner of my mouth tugging.

“I think you’re built for more than cheap lights and drunk applause,” he said.

I scoffed, though his words burrowed deep. “And what exactly is ‘more’ in your book?”

“Something better.” His tone didn’t waver.

I covered it with a smirk. “Vague. Convenient.”

“Vague on purpose,” he said calmly. “Some doors only open if you’re curious enough to push them.”

I sipped my drink, pretending he hadn’t unsettled me.

Then he added, casually, almost offhand, “I imagine you’ve heard the rumors.”

My grip tightened on the glass. Whispers from the dressing room flickered through my mind jilted groom, runaway bride, a stolen empire. Dangerous, broke, untouchable whatever they said, they whispered my name anyway.

“I don’t make a habit of listening to gossip,” I said flatly.

“Wise,” he murmured, swirling his drink. “But people always talk. The question is—do you believe them?”

I met his gaze, refusing to flinch. “Why would I care what’s true and what’s not?”

“Because whether you admit it or not, you’ve already decided what you think of me. And I’m interested in which way it leans.”

I slid off the stool, letting tension uncoil before it crushed me. “I don’t care about your rumors,” I said sharply. “They don’t change what I see right in front of me.”

His gaze followed me, voice trailing like smoke. “I have a job offer for you.”

I froze mid-step. “What kind of…”

He cut me off, voice steady, unwavering. “Marry me.”