Trey's POV
After the press conference, I should have felt triumphant. Relieved. Proud, even. I had done what was expected, stood beside Pauline, called her my bride, and given the world the perfect picture it demanded. The cameras had flashed, the investors were appeased, Pauline's smile had gleamed like polished glass.
I should have felt satisfied.
Instead, my chest was hollow. Every cheer, every headline, every congratulatory message echoed against the emptiness inside me.
Dorothy's voice droned in the background as she read my schedule, board calls, a luncheon with donors, an evening dinner I could not even remember agreeing to. I sat behind my desk, tie still knotted from the conference, but my mind was nowhere near the calendar.
It was back in that hallway.
Back in the foyer.
Back in the moment I carried her.
"Is everything alright, Mr. Alvarez?" Dorothy's voice finally cut through, tentative.
I blinked, realizing I had not interrupted her once. Normally, I would be sharp, precise, correcting details before she even finished. Now I just sat there, staring into nothing, hands locked too tightly around my pen.
My throat worked before words scraped out. "Keep reading," I said, low. Too low. Because the truth was, I had not heard a single thing she said.
Her eyes softened. Dorothy had worked with me long enough to notice when I was unraveling. But she nodded briskly, as if pretending not to see the cracks.
I leaned back in my chair, jaw tight, mask slipping for a fraction of a second. Pauline's hand on mine at the podium, her diamonds glittering for the cameras, that was what the world saw.
But what I saw was Amara.
Her face pale in the photographs.
Her head against my chest, like she fit there all along.
The way my arms had refused to let her go, even when I knew they should.
And worse, the way my heart had almost believed she belonged there.
Dorothy's voice blurred again into background noise, and I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to force myself back into focus.
I had told the world she was nothing but my sister's friend.
But my body, my traitorous heart, knew better.
I dropped my hand and looked up at Dorothy, my decision sharp, sudden, absolute. "Cancel all my afternoon appointments," I said flatly.
Her pen froze mid note. "Sir?"
"You heard me." My gaze locked on hers, unflinching. "Cancel them. Every single one."
For the first time in years, Dorothy looked stunned, the unshakable Mr. Alvarez clearing half a day without warning. But she swallowed her surprise, straightened, and gave a short nod.
"Yes, Mr. Alvarez," she said softly.
As she turned away, I stared at the empty space she left behind, my chest aching. I was not running from meetings. I was running from the lie I had just told the world.
The mansion greeted me with silence. Too much silence. No footsteps, no laughter from Tessa echoing down the halls, not even the faint hum of the staff at work. Just the kind of quiet that gnawed at me the longer I stood there, staring at the front door I had just closed behind me.
I loosened my tie and walked deeper inside, my gaze sliding automatically toward the corridor that led to her office. The room I had given her, just until the wedding was over. Just temporary. That was what I kept telling myself.
But when I pushed the door open, the chair was empty. Papers neatly stacked. No trace of her. The sight hit harder than it should have.
"Tessa," I called, sharper than I intended.
Her head popped around the corner, eyes glinting with mischief. "What's with the stormy tone, brother?"
"Where is she?" The words came out before I could stop them.
Her smile turned sly. "She? Oh, you mean Amara. Your event planner?" She tilted her head, deliberately twisting the knife. "Or should I say your distraction?"
I ground my jaw. "Tessa."
She folded her arms, completely unfazed. "You canceled all your meetings, came home early, and the first thing out of your mouth is not Pauline. It is her. Do not think I have not noticed."
Heat flared in my chest, but I could not find a denial. Not one that did not sound like a lie.
"You are restless," she went on, softening, but only to make it worse. "And admit it, the moment you did not see her in here, your pulse jumped. You looked like a man who just lost something he cannot admit he needs."
I turned away, hand tightening around the doorframe, the ache spreading through me like a slow bruise. She was not wrong. Damn her, she was not wrong.
I had told myself Amara was temporary. A convenience. A stand in until I walked down the aisle with Pauline. But standing in that empty office, staring at the absence she left behind, I felt it, the hollow echo of wanting her there.
And I hated how much I wanted it.
"She was out. She drove to the flower farm and met the florist," Tessa finally said, her tone maddeningly casual, like she was not just twisting a blade into my ribs.
I stopped in my tracks, my hand tightening on the doorframe. The air seemed to thin around me. Out. She had left. Just like that.
"She will be back by tomorrow," Tessa added, and I felt my brow furrow hard, the tension breaking through the mask I usually wore so easily.
"Tomorrow?" The word scraped out rougher than I intended, my voice rising before I could temper it. "Why tomorrow?"
Tessa arched a brow, savoring every second of my unraveling. "Oh, the drive alone takes three hours there, three back. She said she would be staying for the night at her house."
Her house.
The words punched the air from my lungs. My mouth opened, but no sound followed. Nothing coherent, at least. Just a tide of emotions crashing in my chest, frustration, disbelief, and something sharp I did not want to name.
I pressed my tongue to my teeth, trying to gather words that refused to come. All I managed was silence, heavy and raw.
Tessa tilted her head, studying me like she had just uncovered a secret I had been desperate to bury. "Funny, is it not? How one night feels like an eternity when she is not here?"
I clenched my fists, staring at the empty desk, the neatly stacked papers, the chair that should have been filled by her presence. She was gone. Out there, miles away, unreachable. And the mansion, this vast, echoing place, had never felt emptier.
I hated the way my chest ached at the thought of her not being under the same roof tonight. I hated it, but even more than that, I craved the moment she would walk back through those doors again.
I waited for Amara to join us at breakfast, eyes flicking to the doorway every time I lifted my cup. But she never appeared. The chair I had quietly started expecting her to fill remained empty, glaring at me like an accusation.
I told myself not to care. I told myself she was not my responsibility outside the work I had already given her. I had laid out every necessary instruction, every schedule, every detail of the wedding plans. There was no reason left for me to expect her presence. No excuse to demand it.
And yet, I hated it.
The realization crept in slowly but mercilessly. She had been avoiding me. She used to appear at meals, cautious but present. Now, her absence was deliberate. Calculated. And it burned.
I never asked Tessa where Amara was, because I knew my sister's mouth too well. She would smirk, fire back with a knowing jab, and I would lose what little control I had left.
But then Adrian's name started floating into the conversations. Adrian was with Amara. Adrian spent the afternoon with her. Adrian this. Adrian that.
The sound of it pissed me off in ways I did not have the right to feel. My grip on the silverware tightened until the knife scraped against the plate, the sharp sound drawing Tessa's amused glance.
I forced myself to sit back, jaw clenched, every muscle taut with an ache I could not show. She was not mine. She never was. By every rule, every promise I had made, I had no right to feel this way.
But knowing that did not stop the storm.
It only made it worse.
Because while the world thought I had everything, the perfect fiancée, the flawless future, all I could think about was the girl deliberately slipping out of my reach, and the man who was not afraid to stand too close to her.
And God help me, I wanted to rip that chance away from him.
The next day came, and still she did not return.
That was when Tessa's phone rang. She answered it in the kitchen, but her reaction carried through the house, a sharp gasp, a scrape of the chair against the floor.
"What?" she nearly shouted, her voice cracking.
I was already moving. "What happened?"
Tessa turned, pale, clutching the phone like it was a lifeline. "It is Amara," she whispered, breathless. "The staff from the farm called. Her car was hit by a truck on the road."
My world tilted.
"She is safe," Tessa rushed to add. "They said she is with the farm workers now. No injuries. But" her voice broke, tears brimming, "I did not hear her voice, Trey. Her phone is dead. I did not hear her."
Her hysteria sliced through me, shaking me to my core. The staff's word was not enough. I needed to see her. I needed to hear her voice with my own ears.
For the first time in years, I did not think about Pauline, or appearances, or the perfect future I was supposed to protect.
All I could think was, I need to see her.
The blades of the chopper thundered above us, but they could not drown out the chaos in my chest. I sat rigid, staring out at the blur of sky and fields rushing past beneath us, every second feeling like a century. Tessa sat at my side, her lips moving, but I barely heard a word. All I could think about was her, Amara, her voice, her face, the sickening image of shattered glass that refused to leave my mind.
When the vegetable farm finally came into view, a patchwork of green against the horizon, my lungs loosened for the first time in hours. Relief surged through me, sharp, staggering, but I buried it fast, forcing my expression into steel. The CEO. The calm mask. No one could see the man unraveling inside.
The chopper skidded to the ground. Tessa leapt out the moment the skids touched the earth, sprinting toward the farmhouse where a cluster of workers stood. I followed at a measured pace, my strides long but controlled, as if calm were stitched into every step. As if the storm in my veins did not exist.
"Amara," Tessa's voice rang out as she rushed ahead. I saw her, standing in the doorway, framed by the sunlight spilling across the farm. Alive. Whole. My breath caught, a ragged sound I forced into silence.
"Are you okay?" Tessa's hands were already on her, fussing, scanning for wounds.
"I am fine," Amara said, her voice steady. Too steady. Her eyes softened at Tessa's touch, but there was no tremor, no breakdown, no crack. Just calm acceptance. "My car is severely damaged, though. I do not even know how I survived without a scratch. It must be a miracle."
Her words barely reached me. I could not stop staring, at the unshaken line of her shoulders, at the calmness she wore like armor, at the life in her voice. She was safe. She was here. And yet my pulse would not slow.
Then her gaze shifted. Her eyes found mine.
It was a jolt straight to my chest.
But instead of the relief, the warmth, the fire I ached for, there was distance. A wall. She held my gaze for only a second before she dropped it, as if the weight of it burned.
"Mr. Alvarez," she said, her tone formal, clipped. She said it like I was not Trey, the boy who used to make her laugh, the man who had spent sleepless nights thinking of her. She said it like I was only her employer. "I am sorry. You did not need to come here. I can handle this."
The words sliced clean through me. She could not even look me in the eye. Could not give me anger, or heat, or even the spark of defiance I had once relied on. Only this cool distance.
I stood there, fists tightening at my sides, every instinct screaming to close the space between us. To tell her that yes, I did need to come here. That the thought of her broken on some roadside had ripped me apart. That seeing her alive was the only thing holding me upright.
But all I managed was silence. The calm, composed mask of a CEO.
And God, I hated it.