Chapter 10 – The Line Between Love and War
Amara couldn't feel her hands. The hallway was still cold from the night air Lydia had left behind, and Damian's voice kept echoing in her head: Then the war has already started.
She followed the sound of running water to the kitchen. Damian stood by the sink, staring out through the glass wall toward the garden. He hadn't changed clothes; the white of his shirt was smudged with dust, the sleeves rolled above tense forearms.
"Tell me exactly what you saw," he said without turning.
Amara swallowed. "She was drenched… she knew my name. She said you wouldn't survive what's coming."
His shoulders stiffened. "She never used to make threats."
"Maybe she wasn't threatening you," Amara said quietly. "Maybe she was warning me."
That made him turn. His eyes were bloodshot but alive. "You think she came to help you?"
"I think she came because she still loves you," Amara replied, surprising herself. "And hate always hides inside love."
He almost smiled, a tired twist of his mouth. "You talk like you've known her."
"I've known her shadow since the day I married you."
Damian crossed the distance between them. "Then stay close to me. Whatever she wants, it ends with me."
Amara looked at him and realized he meant it; he would burn everything again before letting the past touch her.
---
Later that day, the mansion filled with strangers in dark suits. Security men replaced the maids at the gates, and files appeared on every table. Amara sat in the corner of his office as Damian spoke into a headset, voice clipped and cold.
"Track every call from the east port. If Lydia's back in the city, she's not alone. Ethan will use her as bait."
He ended the call and met Amara's gaze. "You should pack a bag. We'll leave tonight."
"Running away won't fix this."
"This isn't running," he said. "It's strategy."
Amara folded her arms. "And where do I fit into your strategy?"
He stared at her for a long moment. "You're the only reason I still have one."
---
That night, they left the city. The highway stretched endless under the moonlight, their driver silent. Amara watched the skyline fade, then the glow of streetlights dissolve into countryside darkness.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"To the only place Lydia doesn't know about," Damian said. "My father's old estate."
Silence followed. The car hummed through the wind until Amara whispered, "You're afraid."
He didn't deny it. "Fear keeps me sharp."
"Then let me be your calm," she said.
He glanced at her, the faintest curve of warmth touching his lips. "You already are."
---
The estate sat on a hill overlooking the sea — quiet, remote, surrounded by pines that swayed like black ghosts. When they stepped out of the car, the wind carried the salt of the ocean and the promise of a storm.
Inside, the house smelled of old wood and secrets. Damian lit a lantern, its glow throwing long shadows across the walls.
"Did you grow up here?" Amara asked.
He nodded. "It's where I learned that love is both a shield and a weapon."
She reached for his hand. "Maybe it's time you learned it can also heal."
For a moment, he let her fingers rest against his — then he pulled away. "Go upstairs, Amara. Lock the door. If anything happens, don't wait for me."
She wanted to argue, but the look in his eyes stopped her.
When she reached the landing, thunder rolled across the sea. The lights flickered. She turned back toward the hallway — and froze.
A single rose lay on the floor, crimson against the marble. Beside it, a note in elegant handwriting:
> Welcome home, Damian.
Amara's breath caught.
Lydia had already found them.