Chapter 24
His fingers flew across the keyboard as he logged into the mansion’s internal server, heart pounding so loudly it drowned out the silence.
He scrolled. Back. Further back. To the exact date Amara disappeared. Nothing. The folders were empty. His breath hitched. And then it hit him.
The cameras. Amara had called him that day. Honey, the cameras aren’t working. Can you have someone check them?
He remembered brushing it off. Remembered laughing softly into the phone. Because at that moment, he had been too busy kissing Elara. Too distracted to care.
Too careless to protect the one woman who had trusted him with everything. “How could I treat Amara like this?” he whispered, the words breaking apart as they left his lips.
His hands shook as he shut the laptop. The room suddenly felt too small, too empty. He paced restlessly, running a hand through his hair, chest tight with regret that came far too late.
His mother stepped into the room, watching him with narrowed eyes. “Sebastian,” she said. “Why aren’t you asleep? Have you been crying?” He stopped moving.
“I can’t find Amara,” he said quietly. The words tasted like failure. “I’ve lost her.” The room stayed quiet for a long time.
Too quiet. Sebastian stood there, staring at nothing, as if Amara might suddenly step out of the shadows if he just waited long enough. His chest felt hollow, like something vital had been torn out and taken with her.
“I’ve lost her,” he said again, softer this time, almost to himself. His mother watched him closely. Then, slowly, she spoke. “I have a way to bring Amara back p>
Sebastian turned to her at once. “What is it?” She smiled, not kindly, not cruelly. Calculated.
“She loves you far more than you deserve,” Mrs. Creed Senior said. “If you appear at the French’s Party, it’ll be all over the news. You know how she is. She’s always been proud. Always jealous when other women look at you p>
She took a step closer. “She’ll see it. Wherever she’s hiding, she’ll see it.” Sebastian’s brows knit together.
“She’ll come running back,” his mother continued smoothly, “because she’s afraid of losing you. Isn’t that how she’s always been p>
Sebastian said nothing. The silence stretched. “She’ll regret leaving,” his mother added, her voice firm with certainty.
Sebastian lowered himself onto the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. His thoughts began to churn.
The party… the cameras… the reporters. If he showed up. Suppose he spoke to the media. If he said the right things. It would go viral. Amara would see it. No matter where she was.
The idea settled in his mind, slow and heavy, dangerous yet tempting.
If she still cares… If she still loves me… Then this would draw her out. He lifted his head slowly. “Yes,” he murmured. “That could work p>
He didn’t notice how his mother’s lips curved slightly in satisfaction. He didn’t realize that instead of proving his love. He was about to prove just how little he truly understood Amara anymore.
Amara stood before the mirror, perfectly still. The gown clung to her like it had been made for her body alone, elegant, effortless, devastatingly beautiful. The final touches were done. Hair in place. Makeup flawless.
A woman ready to face the world. Then the mirror betrayed her. For a split second, it wasn’t her reflection staring back. It was Sebastian’s hands on Elara’s waist. His mouth pressed against Elara’s lips. The way he had leaned in, familiar, practiced, intimate.
The image hit her without warning.
Amara’s breath caught. Her fingers tightened against the edge of the vanity as her vision blurred. The room spun, and before she could stop it, tears slid down her cheeks, hot, furious, unwanted.
She bit her lip hard, trying to swallow the sob rising in her throat. Get it together. A soft knock sounded.
“Amara?” her mother asked gently, stepping inside. “Are you alright?” Amara lifted her head slowly and nodded, even though her eyes still burned.
“I’m fine.” It was a lie, but one she had learned to tell well. She had objected to this party. Had begged not to come. But her mother had gone ahead anyway.
Tonight, Amara Piers was the star. The cameras would be waiting. The elite would be watching. The world would see her. And whether she was ready or not, she had to be there.
“The Creeds are here,” her mother said calmly. Amara’s fingers paused on the clutch in her lap. “Since they’ve arrived,” her mother continued, lips curving slightly, “I think I’ll give them a surprise, just a small one, ahead of time p>
Amara didn’t look up. Everyone in the North knew Amara Creed, the gentle, elegant woman Sebastian doted on, the wife whose name had been carried on his success like a good-luck charm. That was where his fame had bloomed. In the South and East, his name carried less weight, but in this age, social media erased borders faster than any invitation list.
And once a story broke, it never stayed local. Still, Amara wasn’t ready. Not yet. She wasn’t ready to tell the world she was Amara Pedro Piers.
She sat quietly, composed, her face unreadable as the low hum of the party filled the room. Laughter. Music. The clink of glasses. Somewhere out there, Sebastian Creed was breathing the same air, unaware that the woman he thought he could summon with jealousy was sitting only a few rooms away, no longer his.
Her mother reached over and squeezed her hand gently.
“You’re okay,” she said softly. “It doesn’t matter who the world thought you were.” Amara finally lifted her eyes.
“You are Amara Pedro Piers,” her mother went on, voice steady and proud. “And they will learn to accept you as you are p>
Not as the beloved wife of Sebastian Creed. Not as someone’s shadow. But as herself. And when the time came. The world would learn too.
Sebastian arrived with his family at the French party, the moment marked by the soft sweep of car doors and the murmur of awe from the gathered guests.
The estate before them was a vision of excess, crystal lights spilling across marble steps, champagne flowing like water, wealth displayed so effortlessly it didn’t need to announce itself.
But Sebastian barely noticed any of that. What stopped him was the scent. Lilies.
White lilies, layer upon layer of them, woven into arches, lining the staircases, floating in glass bowls like fragments of moonlight. The air was thick with their fragrance, soft and unmistakable. Amara’s favorite.
His steps slowed.
The smell wrapped around him, pulling him backward in time, Amara arranging lilies in their living room, her fingers gentle, her smile small but real. Amara laughed softly when the pollen stained her hands. Amara says, “They don’t last long, Seb. That’s what makes them beautiful p>
His chest tightened. For a moment, the world tilted.
Why does this feel like her? he thought, his throat suddenly dry. Why does it feel like I’m walking into her memory? This wasn’t just a party. It felt like a message.
And for the first time that night, a quiet unease settled into Sebastian Creed’s bones.