Chapter 4 4

Now leader of the Delacroix household, she was expected to maintain a position she never desired. Rylan had made it very evident from the time she signed the contract that this was not driven by love. It was a commercial agreement, one that demanded her whole dedication to his universe and involved more than just documentation. Though his directions were clear and precise, his eyes never waver and even if they made her feel smaller with every hour.

She had not time to change. Her existence had already been written for her; her job now was to enter the Delacroix Enterprises universe without incident. Every day, though, seemed like a fresh trap closing in. Her words, deeds, everything had to line Rylan's expectations. She was unable to even savor a quiet time to herself without being reminded of her situation.

Then arrived the meetings, the long hours spent seated next to him at the head of the table listening to the men surrounding her speak in tones of power and authority, as though she belonged nowhere. Not essentially, they did not see her. She was to them a gorgeous ornament to Rylan's dominion, a prize on his arm.

Every effort she made to create a little area for herself, a place where she could breathe, was greeted with a faint reminder of who really possessed the authority in this marriage. Rylan's impact was felt everywhere: in the way he kept her at his side, in the way his eyes never left her throughout meetings, therefore rendering her both present and invisible at once.

His voice was sharp, directive, devoid of any touch of warmth when he talked. During one of the boardroom sessions, he had said, "This is what you're here for, Amaya," his words slicing through her ideas like a knife. "In order to guarantee our success. We have developed to honor the legacy. Keep in mind your place.

She started to participate in more of the corporate activities. She was not only sitting by his side, passively watching now. She voiced her opinions on the course of the company at meetings. Rylan had first only lifted an eyebrow, obviously startled by her unexpected engagement. But over time, he seemed to let it go, maybe because he thought it didn't matter or maybe because he had undervalued her.

Still, her behavior did not go unreported. He watched, examined, continually fixed on her. That was abundantly evident: he disliked her independence. No matter how little, he objected to her assuming any kind of control.

One afternoon, he murmured, "Amaya," his voice icy, slicing through the subdued buzz of the office. " You may run the company, but you will never escape me."

Though their distance had widened, she was worried not only by their physical separation. Rylan had constructed between them an emotional barrier. Every time she tried to connect with the man she was married to, he withdrew. She had tried to push through it, too.

Then there were the short, unusual events that revealed another side of him. The way his jaw tightened as he discussed his past, the little pause in his voice when he addressed his father. He was simply a man, broken in his own manner for a short second instead of the merciless businessman. And Amaya found herself pulled toward that vulnerability.

Then he would withdraw once more, sealing that part of himself off, and she was left with the cold, deliberate version of him she knew.

She found herself divided in these times. She hated him for the way he ran her life and for his seeming belief that he could control her every action. She felt something more for him, though, another side of her that she wanted not to admit.

Perhaps it was the authority he radiated, the way he seemed to have everything sorted out, while she struggled among the wreckage of her past choices. Perhaps it was also because she knew, down below, the suffering that moldedhim. Like her, he was a man lost everything.

Still, does that explain his behavior? Did it clear his treatment of her?

Amaya moved back toward the desk and her heart tightened. She felt torn. She wanted to dislike him part-time. But another side, the side that wanted to connect with him, any glimmer of humanity in the guy who had taken so much from her, hated being alone.

The voice of Rylan cut over her ideas. "Amaya, from all sides we are under attack. You have to start with your head in the game. Though his comments were precise, targeted, and still she could sense tension in his voice. He was someone far more desperate, battling for everything he had created, not the man who had been frigally distant at their wedding.

The boardroom was humming with activity, phone calls flying between departments, quick succession of strategy sessions scheduled. She had never thought that business could move at such a rapid speed. Now Rylan's world was her frigid reality. Every action she took had ramifications much beyond what she had ever given thought.

Rylan was a tactician, a genius at flipping the odds against his opponent. Crashing anyone who dared to defy him had made him wealthy; now it was her job to negotiate those seas. He turned to her, his eyes sharpening as he gave her a thick folder loaded with records. "You are working with this. I want you to handle a business partner who has gone rouge.

Amaya looked at the file she was holding, her fingers running over the sheets. Inside was the name of a corporation Rylan knew all too well, one she had once relied on most of all. Now, it appeared they were directly vying with Delacroix Enterprises to seize control of one of Rylan's most lucrative projects.

Feeling her heart tighten, "What do you want me to do with this?" she questioned. She hadn't expected this. She was not ready to make such kind of judgments. Rylan, though, was unrelenting, his eyes fixed on hers as though he were daring her to turn back.

" Deal with it. End it," he said frigidly, his voice steady.

She swallowed, attempting to slow her rushing pulse. This was her epiphany. This presented her opportunity for personal validation. But right now the work felt like a stab to her chest. Harm a major business partner? Was her life now actually this? Was this what she had evolved into? The wife of a man who grabbed what he wanted, regardless of the expenses?

Rylan's look sharpened and his voice became low and deliberate. Your life right now is this. Count it, then.

Amaya moved across the space, her mind knotted. The files before her, details on their rivals, were placed too precisely. overly flawless. It came out as a trap. Her instincts were yelling at her. Something was wrong, something different than what she had been advised.

Her hand went for the phone on her desk, dialing a number she knew all too well, the last person she had ever wanted to get in touch with. Murray Milton Bernard Amaya had never trusted Rylan, his attorney. She felt uneasy about him always, but if someone knew the truth, it would be him.

His voice was cool, comforting, almost too calm as he responded. "Amaya," he continued, his tone gentle yet wary. "what's going on?"

"I need to know something," she said, her voice calm in spite of the inner turbulence. "On Rylan. He is not sharing with me something. Something about his approach toward the rivals. Tell me what actually is happening, please."

Before Bernard spoke once more, there was a protracted stillness on the other end of the telephone. "I cannot divulge everything, Amaya. Some things are better off not said.

Her back of her neck had standing hairs. His reluctance was a warning, a clue that something more fundamental was under control. "Bernard, I need the truth," she said, her voice sharper now. "What then is Rylan truly after? Under what covert agenda does he operate?

His voice went to a whisper. Amaya, he is engaged in a risky game. a game you could find costing more than you are ready for between you two But right now you're not in a position to see the whole picture.

As Amaya considered his comments, her stomach turned around. Though the pieces were beginning to fit together, the picture remained hazy and unfinished. Rylan had been keeping something from her, something much beyond their commercial difficulties.

Her ideas racing, she hung up the phone. She had to face him. She had to know the truth, even if it meant facing the gloom he was concealing. She was unable to ignore, though, the persistent sense that this was only the start of a far more convoluted narrative.