Chapter 10 What the Heart Can't Forget

The sunlight pouring into the gallery felt different now-too bright, too revealing. Amara moved through the quiet space, her heels tapping against the polished floor like a ticking clock. Her skin still remembered Daniel's touch from the weekend, her mind haunted by every breathless moment they had spent at the cabin.

She hadn't been the same since.

She had tried. God, she had tried. To pretend. To smile at Ethan's jokes, to kiss him with lips that didn't tremble with guilt. But every time she closed her eyes, it was Daniel's voice she heard. His hands she felt. His heartbeat she chased.

So when Daniel texted her that morning, asking if she could meet him at the hotel on Third and Bennett-just for one last goodbye-she told herself she would end it. Clean. Final. She owed Ethan that much. She owed herself that much.

But she didn't bring goodbye energy when she walked into that room.

The suite was dimly lit, tastefully elegant, the scent of cedar and mint hanging in the air. He was already there, sitting on the edge of the bed, his tie loose, shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He looked up when she entered.

And suddenly, all her strength evaporated.

"You came," he said softly, standing.

"I shouldn't have." Her voice wavered.

"But you did."

She nodded, her throat too tight for words.

There was a silence between them, thick with electricity. He stepped closer, and she could smell him-clean, masculine, devastating. Her pulse quickened.

"Say the word," Daniel said, his voice a whisper. "Say it, and I won't touch you. I'll let you go."

Amara's eyes fluttered closed.

She didn't say it.

The next moment, he had her against the wall. His lips crashed into hers with a force that knocked the breath from her lungs. She clung to him like a woman starved, her fingers threading through his hair as he devoured her mouth, his hands slipping beneath her blouse with a hunger that bordered on desperation.

They stumbled toward the bed, never breaking contact. Her blouse came off. His shirt followed. She straddled him on the mattress, their mouths moving in frantic rhythm. This wasn't slow like the cabin. This was need. Raw. Urgent.

He rolled her beneath him, kissing down her neck, her chest, her stomach. She gasped as his hands spread her thighs, his mouth trailing fire along her skin. And when he entered her-there was no hesitation.

Just fire.

Her back arched. His name left her lips in a broken cry.

They moved together like a storm-bodies crashing, sweat slick, moans rising like music. Her nails raked down his back. He kissed her fiercely, as if trying to make her part of him. And she let him.

Every thrust, every gasp, every whispered plea-it wasn't just sex. It was memory. It was longing. It was the love they could never keep, reborn in flames.

When they collapsed against each other, spent and shaking, Amara was crying.

He wiped her tears.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"I'm not," she said.

They lay there in silence. Her head on his chest. His fingers tracing lazy circles on her shoulder.

"Why does this feel like the only place I can breathe?" she murmured.

"Because you never stopped loving me."

She didn't answer. She didn't have to.

But reality crept in like a thief.

She sat up slowly, reaching for her blouse. "I have to go."

He watched her, silent.

"This... can't happen again, Daniel."

"It already has."

Amara turned to him, her voice trembling. "I'm engaged. I built a life. I'm not... I can't undo everything."

"Then don't," he said. "Just choose something that makes you happy."

She left the hotel without looking back.

But she didn't go home.

Back in the penthouse, Ethan stood at the window, a glass of bourbon in hand. He watched the skyline like it owed him something. His jaw clenched. He had seen the look in Amara's eyes change. Heard the shift in her voice. Felt her body tense in bed, like she was somewhere else.

She was lying to him.

And Ethan didn't like being lied to.

He picked up his phone and dialed a number.

"Yeah," came the voice on the other end.

"I need you to follow someone."

Amara stood under the shower that night, steam rising around her like smoke from a battlefield. She scrubbed at her skin until it was raw, as if she could erase Daniel from her pores.

But she couldn't.

Ethan came home late. She was in bed pretending to sleep when he entered the room.

He stood over her for a long moment. Then leaned down and kissed her forehead.

"I missed you today," he said.

Her stomach turned.

The next morning, Amara found a bouquet of white lilies on her desk at the gallery. No note. But she didn't need one.

Later that afternoon, a sketch arrived. Her face. Her smile. Her eyes closed in pleasure, drawn from memory.

She hid it in a drawer before anyone could see.

And when her phone buzzed again, she didn't answer it-but her heart raced anyway.

That night, Ethan was different. He came to bed early, his eyes sharp.

"You're quiet lately," he said, running his hand down her spine.

"I've been busy."

"With the gallery?" he asked, and something about his tone made her freeze.

"Yes."

He kissed her shoulder. Then her neck. His hands were firm, almost too much.

"Let me remind you," he said, flipping her onto her back, "what it feels like to be mine."

The sex was rougher than usual. Not violent. But dominant. Like he was trying to stake a claim.

She didn't resist.

But she didn't enjoy it either.

Afterward, he lay beside her, breathing heavily.

"I love you," he said.

She stared at the ceiling.

"I know."

The next day, a message from Daniel lit up her phone.

"Tell me what you're feeling. Please. I know I'm not supposed to still love you... but I do. Say something, Amara."

She typed a reply.

Then deleted it.

And cried.