Amaiyla — POV
Paris After Dark
Paris didn't soften after sunset.
It sharpened.
The city beyond the tall windows gleamed in gold and shadow, all elegance edged with threat—beauty that didn't promise safety, only temptation. Even the lights felt watchful, as if the streets below understood that night didn't hide consequences. It only delayed them.
Inside the estate, the air settled into something deliberate.
Predatory.
The kind of quiet that came before a strike.
I hadn't changed clothes since Connor's call. The fabric clung to me faintly, rumpled in places where I'd twisted my hands too tightly, paced too long. I hadn't eaten either. Hunger felt irrelevant compared to the pressure coiling in my chest, tightening every breath until even standing felt like effort.
Xander stood across the room.
He hadn't moved much since dusk, just enough to remind me he was there. A shift of weight. A glance toward the windows. A measured step that never quite invaded my space, never fully retreated either.
Control, embodied.
At some point he'd removed his jacket, loosened his cuffs, rolled his sleeves back just enough to expose forearms corded with restraint. It should have softened him.
Instead, it made him more dangerous.
Less armor meant less distance. Less distance meant less illusion.
"You should sit," he said at last.
His voice was calm, even. No command. No concern.
"I don't want to be comfortable," I replied.
The corner of his mouth lifted—not quite a smile. Something sharper. "Good. Comfort dulls instinct."
I turned on him. "Do you always speak like everything is a lesson?"
"When everything is watched," he said quietly, "it becomes one."
The reminder landed hard.
Tammy. Connor. My father.
All of them circling closer. Watching. Measuring.
"You said tonight changes everything," I said. "I want to know how."
Xander didn't answer immediately.
He walked toward the window instead, hands clasped behind his back, posture precise. From the outside, he must have looked like a man admiring the city.
I knew better.
"Your father expects a call," he said finally.
My chest tightened. "You spoke to him."
"I didn't need to," he replied. "He knows Tammy is here. That's enough."
I swallowed. "She's pushing him."
"Yes."
"And you're letting her."
"Yes."
I stared at him. "Why?"
He turned then, eyes locking onto mine with unsettling clarity. Not anger. Not defensiveness.
Calculation.
"Because interference reveals intent," he said.
"That's not an answer," I snapped.
"It is," he replied evenly. "Just not a comforting one."
I exhaled sharply, hands curling at my sides. "You talk about protection like it's neutral. Like it doesn't leave casualties."
His gaze softened—but only a fraction, like a crack in stone. "It costs everything."
The words settled heavy between us.
Silence followed. Dense. Pressurized.
I broke it before it crushed me.
"Connor thinks you're a shield."
Xander's jaw tightened. "Connor thinks in metaphors because he doesn't understand structures."
"And what do you think?"
"I think," he said carefully, "that Connor underestimated how exposed he already was."
Cold threaded through me.
"You didn't answer him," I said.
"I didn't need to," Xander replied. "He revealed enough."
"By panicking?"
"By reaching for you."
My heart stuttered. "You think that was strategy?"
"No," he said. "I think it was emotional."
He met my eyes.
"Which makes it dangerous."
"For who?" I demanded.
"For you," he said instantly.
The certainty in his voice unraveled something in me.
"You don't get to be the only one afraid," I whispered. "You don't get to shoulder all of this and call it protection."
He studied me then—not like an asset, not like leverage, but like a variable he hadn't accounted for.
"That," he said quietly, "is exactly the problem."
The knock came without warning.
Once.
Sharp. Controlled.
Tammy didn't wait for permission.
She entered like the space already belonged to her—cream silk blouse, tailored trousers, hair immaculate. Her smile was calculated for warmth, her eyes already dissecting the room: our distance, our posture, the invisible tension stretched taut between us.
"Well," she said lightly, "this feels intimate."
I bristled.
Xander didn't move. "What do you want, Tammy."
She laughed softly. "Always straight to the point. I admire that about you."
Her gaze slid to me. "Amaiyla, darling. I hope I'm not intruding."
"Yes," I said flatly.
Her smile widened. "Good. Honesty simplifies things."
She crossed the room, stopping just short of my personal space—close enough to test boundaries, far enough to keep it polite.
"I wanted to check on you after breakfast," she said. "You seemed… pressured."
I laughed humorlessly. "Is that concern or reconnaissance?"
Tammy's eyes gleamed. "Both can coexist."
Xander stepped closer to me—not touching, but unmistakably present. A line drawn without words.
"Say what you came to say," he said.
Tammy sighed theatrically. "Very well. John Hollingsworth is… conflicted."
My stomach dropped.
"He worries," she continued smoothly, "that this engagement—while advantageous—may be accelerating beyond his comfort."
"That's between my father and me," I said.
She tilted her head. "Is it? Because from where I stand, it's also between him and Xander."
Xander's voice was calm. Lethal. "You don't speak for him."
"No," she agreed. "But I influence outcomes."
I met her gaze. "Why are you really here?"
Tammy's smile thinned. "Because I'm curious."
"About what?"
"Whether you understand the power you're standing in."
I folded my arms. "Enlighten me."
She leaned closer, voice dropping. "Marrying Xander Reyes doesn't just align families. It redraws loyalties. Your father knows that."
"And he's afraid," I said.
"Of losing control," Tammy confirmed.
"I'm not property," I snapped.
"No," she said smoothly. "You're leverage. Which is worse."
Xander's hand clenched at his side.
"That's enough," he said.
Tammy raised a brow. "Is it? Or are you afraid she'll start asking questions?"
I turned to Xander. "Is my father trying to renegotiate?"
"He's trying to slow momentum," Xander said without hesitation.
"By using her," Tammy added sweetly.
Anger flared hot and sudden. "You don't get to weaponize my family."
"They were weaponized long before I arrived," Tammy replied calmly.
Silence cut the room open.
"You're finished here," Xander said.
"For now," Tammy agreed, smoothing her sleeve. Her gaze lingered on me. "Be careful letting men define protection for you. Sometimes cages are gilded."
Then she left.
The door closed.
The quiet afterward felt suffocating.
I laughed once—brittle, sharp. "She enjoys this."
"Yes," Xander said. "Which makes her dangerous."
I turned on him. "You're enjoying it too."
His eyes darkened. "Careful."
"You like control," I pressed. "You like managing outcomes. And right now, I'm an outcome you didn't predict."
"That's not enjoyment," he said lowly. "That's risk."
"And yet you're still here."
He stepped closer—too close. Heat radiated from him, restraint coiled tight beneath his calm.
"I'm here," he said quietly, "because walking away would be easier."
My breath caught. "Then why don't you?"
"Because you didn't."
The space between us vanished—not through touch, but through tension. Every unsaid thing pressed heavy between our bodies.
"This ends badly," I whispered.
"Yes," he agreed. "If mishandled."
"And if not?"
His gaze dropped to my lips—just for a fraction of a second. Enough to betray him.
"Then it changes us," he said.
I should have stepped back.
I didn't.
Outside, Paris pulsed on—brilliant, indifferent.
Inside, lines blurred.
And somewhere between fear and desire, strategy and instinct, I understood something terrifying and intoxicating:
Staying wasn't passive.
It was a decision.
And decisions always demanded payment.