Vihaan's POV
It had been twenty-four hours since I asked Noah to look into the Salvatores, and still—nothing. I was about to call him when a message lit up my phone.
Just got home.
A smile slipped across my face before I could stop it. I tapped back, careful not to sound desperate: Okay. Take care and get some rest.
Before I could set the phone down, it buzzed again—this time, Noah calling.
"Noah, did you find anything?" I asked, sharper than I meant to. He'd taken longer than usual.
"Not just anything," he said, voice unusually steady. "A lot. We need to meet."
My pulse kicked. "Okay…how about right now?"
"Fine. The old place. I'll be waiting."
I left home immediately and reached our spot on time. He was already there, of course—punctual as always.
"Hey, you came," I said, extending a hand.
"No, it's just an illusion," he deadpanned, ignoring the handshake.
"Can't you be serious for once?" I muttered, pulling out a chair.
"I don't want to be like you—no fun, single at twenty-five, and worst of all…a lawyer," he teased, but there was an edge beneath it.
He opened his laptop and turned the screen toward me. "I found some…disturbing history on these Salvatores. Where do you find these investors, man?"
On the screen was an old photograph: Liam and his wife stood beside another couple, three children clustered in front. My eyes snagged on the smallest girl—dark hair, something familiar in the way she tilted her chin.
"Who's the other couple?" My voice sounded too tight.
"That," Noah said, tapping the image, "is James Salvatore, Liam's younger brother, and his wife, Emma."
He paused, then pointed to the little girl, his gaze flicking up to mine.
"And this…is their daughter—Amara Salvatore."
For a second, the name didn't land. It just hovered there—Amara Salvatore—like an echo looking for a place to settle.
I blinked at the photo again. The tilt of her head, the quiet defiance in those dark eyes.The same eyes that had met mine across the party lights.The same girl who hated rain, who apologized with a voice that trembled but never broke.
My throat went dry."Amara…Salvatore," I repeated, the syllables tasting foreign and familiar all at once.
Noah leaned back, arms crossed. "Yeah. I ran the records twice. Same birthdate as the Amara, you mentioned. Name change shows up a few years ago when her parents died. After that—guardianship transfer, some sealed court docs, and suddenly she's nowhere to be seen near them."
A low hum filled my ears. Guardianship. Sealed court docs.Pieces of her guarded silences—the bruises, the way her eyes went distant when family came up—clicked into place with a soundless snap.
"She never mentioned…" My voice faded. Of course, she didn't. Why would she?
Noah's eyes softened. "There's more. Her parents—James and Emma—died in an accident about eleven years ago. Official report lists it as an 'unresolved cause.' No clear reason, no theft or robbery. Just…gone. After that, Amara didn't stay with the Salvatores for long. Records show she moved out under a different guardian pretty quickly."
The words sank in like cold water. An accident with no cause. No wonder the rain makes her flinch.
I drew in a slow breath, forcing it past the tightness in my chest. "Yeah," I said quietly. "That…makes sense."
"You sure you want to keep working with Liam after knowing this?" Noah asked.
I stared at the photo again. Liam's practiced smile. Amelia's careful poise. Julian's faint, smug tilt of the chin.
Business said I should back away. Something deeper—something far less rational—said I couldn't. Not if it meant leaving her alone in the shadow of these people.
"She doesn't need me digging where she hasn't invited me," I said finally. "But she's not facing them without someone in her corner. Not if I can help it."
Noah exhaled, half a whistle. "You've got it bad, counselor."
Maybe. But all I could see was that little girl in the photo, the woman she'd become, and the quiet strength she carried like armor.
"Just…keep this between us for now," I said.
He nodded. "Of course."
As I left the café, the night air felt heavier, charged. The city lights blurred past, but the name stayed sharp, every beat of my heart spelling it out.
Amara Salvatore.
Amara's POV
Now I feel lighter after apologising. I never meant to hurt him, but unknowingly, I did. Every time I look at him, Jia's words echo in my mind—and somehow, I don't want to admit it, but he never moves his gaze when I'm speaking. He even remembers my favourite ice cream. Jia told me he isn't a very talkative person, yet he shared a vulnerable side of himself with me without hesitation.
Does he really like me? But why? Why me?
He's smart, strikingly good-looking, with those clear blue eyes—and yes, he's rich. I know I'm beautiful in my own way, but not enough to match someone like him. And I'm not exactly successful yet.
"Ahhhhhhh," I groaned, the swirl of feelings making me dizzy.
Soon I reached home. Jia was already working on her assignments, waiting for me, since Mom had gone to visit Grandma and Dad was out of town on business.
"You came," she said, looking up.
"How did the meeting go?" she asked.
"It went well. I apologised, and he forgave me. It was…easy. And now I feel a lot better," I admitted, because I truly did.
"I told you," she replied with a small, knowing smile.
After a short chat with Jia, I sent Mr. Mickelson a message letting him know I'd reached home. Then I cooked dinner for the two of us, and after we ate, it was time to revise—final exams are just around the corner.
The next morning arrived with a soft drizzle clinging to the windows. I tugged on my favourite cardigan, determined not to let the weather dampen me. Jia and I hurried across the slick campus paths, dodging puddles and sharing an umbrella.
Classes passed in a blur. Every time my phone buzzed, a flicker of hope sparked—maybe it was him—but it was only reminders or group-chat messages. Still, I caught myself replaying yesterday's conversation: his calm voice, the way his eyes softened when he spoke about his past, the quiet patience as I stumbled through my apology.
By the last lecture, my mind was elsewhere entirely. Why does he stay so present in my thoughts? I couldn't decide if it comforted or unnerved me.
Vihaan's POV:
Night fell like ink across the city. I leaned on the balcony railing, phone in hand, her brief message glowing like a secret: Reached home safely. Simple words, yet they carried an ache I couldn't name.
Amara lingers in my mind like a soft echo. There's a quiet gravity to her—something more than beauty, something threaded with stories she hasn't shared. When she smiled across the café table today, it felt as if the room itself bent toward her.
But the Salvatores…
Noah's half-finished report waits on my desk, its pages a silent warning. A family whose influence spreads through more than business deals—rumors of money moving in dark corners, a brother and his wife dead in an "accident" no investigator could explain.And Amara—their Amara—standing in the middle of it.
Could her unease last night be tied to them? Was the bruise I once noticed more than a coincidence?The thought chills me more than the rain.
I should focus on facts, on the upcoming negotiations, on anything except her.But in the hush of the storm, all I can hear is her voice—soft, uncertain—and the quiet certainty that someone, somewhere, does not want their secrets uncovered.