Chapter 5 Fifth

The gala was held at the Palazzo Rossi, a centuries-old mansion turned luxury venue. It was grand, theatrical-Luka's favorite kind of stage.

Amara stepped out of the car in a deep emerald gown with a slit up the side, the diamond pendant glinting softly against her collarbone.

Heads turned.

She felt his eyes on her before she saw him.

Luka, in a black tuxedo, moved through the crowd with effortless command. When he reached her, he offered his arm with a rare, genuine smile.

"You're late," he murmured.

"You're predictable," she replied.

He leaned in. "And you're breathtaking."

She ignored the flutter in her chest. "Don't start."

But she took his arm.

They played the game well. Hand on her lower back. Whispered exchanges. Perfect smiles for photos.

The Italian press snapped pictures like they were royalty.

Midway through the evening, she slipped away to catch her breath and found herself alone on a marble balcony.

That's when she heard it.

"...She looks radiant," a voice said behind her-in Italian.

Amara turned. Marco Ilari stood there, a glass of wine in hand.

"She's playing her part well," another voice said.

Luka.

She froze, listening from the shadows.

Marco laughed. "But are you sure she'll sign off on the U.S. expansion?"

"She'll follow through," Luka said evenly. "She's too proud not to finish what she starts."

"And after that?"

A pause.

"She'll leave," Luka said finally. "But not before giving me what I need."

Amara's heart twisted.

Marco whistled. "Cold, my friend."

"She was the one who left," Luka said.

"And yet... you kept her photo."

Silence.

Then: "Because she was mine before she was angry. Before I failed."

Amara backed away slowly, slipping back inside before she could hear any more.

She didn't know what to feel.

Anger? Hurt? Guilt?

She walked through the crowd like she was underwater.

He was still using her.

Still strategizing her heart.

---

Back in the hotel room, she confronted him.

"I heard you on the balcony."

Luka froze halfway through loosening his tie. "You were eavesdropping?"

"I wasn't trying to." Her voice cracked. "You said I'll leave after I give you what you need."

He sighed. "It wasn't what it sounded like."

"Then what was it?"

"Business."

"No," she said. "This-me, pretending to be your wife, sharing your bed, fixing your deals-this is personal."

He looked at her, jaw clenched. "I told you from day one this was temporary."

She laughed bitterly. "You said it meant something."

"And it does," he said quickly. "But I can't afford to be weak in that room. Marco wouldn't respect me if I acted like a lovesick idiot."

"Then stop dragging me into your circus!"

Luka stepped forward. "You think I don't care? I've spent five years chasing every deal, every distraction, just to avoid the wreckage you left."

Her eyes filled with tears. "You wrecked it."

"Then why are you still wearing my name?" he demanded.

She ripped the necklace from her throat and threw it on the bed.

"Because you never gave me the chance to forget it!"

They stared at each other, breathing hard.

"I hate you," she whispered.

"No, you don't."

"Yes," she insisted. "Because I still feel everything, and I wish I didn't."

His eyes softened.

"Then hate me later," he said. "But tonight, just stay."

She turned away.

And this time, she didn't slam the door.

But she didn't sleep either.

-----

The days in Milan passed in a blur of meetings, power lunches, and public appearances. Luka kept Amara close-closer than necessary. To the outside world, they looked like the golden couple: sharp, untouchable, in love.

But Amara knew better.

Behind every charming smile Luka wore was control. Strategy. And lately, something colder-secrecy.

She started noticing things. Whispers Luka wouldn't explain. Locked drawers in his hotel office. Private meetings she wasn't invited to.

And then she found it.

---

It started with a misplaced phone.

Luka had rushed out for an emergency meeting with Ilari's legal board and left his phone charging on the nightstand. Amara ignored it-until it buzzed for the third time with a name she recognized.

J. Molinari – Final Contract Draft

Her chest tightened. Jean Molinari was one of Luka's oldest rival-investors. She clicked open the message.

Subject: Confirmation of Clause 7.2

Should divorce proceedings become public, the merger agreement becomes void immediately.

Her heart stopped.

She read the message again. And again.

Clause 7.2. Divorce = deal cancelled.

Suddenly, everything made sense.

The delay. The fake marriage act. The surprise invitation to Milan. The photo he still carried. The diamond necklace.

It wasn't love. It was business.

Luka wasn't holding on to her.

He was holding on to the deal.

---

When he returned, she was waiting.

The room was dark. Only one lamp glowed near the minibar. Her back was straight, her arms crossed.

"You left your phone."

Luka froze mid-step. "And you went through it?"

"I had to," she said. "Because you never tell me the full truth."

His eyes flickered. "You read the contract."

"Clause 7.2," she snapped. "You knew if we got divorced publicly, the Ilari merger would collapse. So you never signed the papers."

He didn't deny it.

"You dragged me into this whole farce," she continued, voice rising, "not because you still cared. But because you needed a wife-a fake one-to protect your billion-dollar empire."

"Amara-"

"No! You let me think this trip was about us. That maybe you meant something when you said I was chaos and fire. That maybe the photo-" her voice broke. "-meant something. But it's just another card in your game."

Luka finally spoke, calm but firm.

"I didn't lie. I told you this was business."

"You used me!"

"I kept you close because the board needed to believe we were still married. Yes, that's true. But I didn't ask you to fix the contract. I didn't ask you to impress Ilari's legal team. You did that on your own."

"Oh, so now you're spinning it like I volunteered?"

"I'm saying you're not a pawn," he said. "And you never were."

She shook her head. "You let me believe we still had something real."

He stepped forward slowly. "And maybe we do. But I'm not apologizing for trying to save my company."

"Then don't expect me to save you."

She turned, reaching for her suitcase.

"I'm leaving," she said.

"Don't."

She froze. Her voice was quieter now. "Give me one reason."

Luka hesitated.

Then, almost too softly: "Because I regret it."

She turned slowly. "What?"

"I regret everything. Not fighting harder. Not showing up when you begged me to. I regret signing deals while you cried yourself to sleep in our apartment."

Amara's heart cracked-but she kept her spine straight.

"And yet," she said, "you kept the divorce unsigned not because of regret-but because of Clause 7.2."

He didn't speak.

That silence said enough.

She walked to the door.

But just before leaving, she tossed the phone back at him.

"You won the deal, Luka. Congratulations."

She walked out.

---

She didn't go far.

Just three floors up, to another suite the hotel had available. She needed space. Distance. Time to think.

But the moment she closed the door, her legs gave way.

She sat on the floor, shaking.

Because she still loved him.

And that was the real betrayal.