Oh to be loved

5

The next morning, the weight of her late-night discovery hung heavy over Amara like a cloud. She couldn't shake the feeling that the margin notes in the book were more than just scribbles-they felt deliberate, a clue she wasn't equipped to understand yet.

After her encounter with Cillian in the library, she was more convinced than ever that this man held many secrets, but unlocking them without drawing his ire was becoming a dangerous game. Every interaction with him was like walking a tightrope-one misstep, and she would fall.

She sat by the window, staring out at the fog that had rolled in overnight. The thick mist covered the grounds, making the estate look like something out of a gothic novel. As she sipped her tea, she found herself wondering what Malik was doing now. Was he safe? Had Cillian's men ensured his survival, or was she simply being played, her sacrifice made in vain?

The door creaked open, pulling her from her thoughts. Declan stepped into the room, his usual stoic expression giving nothing away. He carried a garment bag over his arm, which he laid carefully on the bed.

"Cillian wants you to join him for dinner tonight," Declan said, his tone even but with a hint of something Amara couldn't place. "Wear this."

She raised an eyebrow. "Dinner? Since when does he want to play host?"

Declan didn't smile, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Cillian does as he pleases. You'll learn that."

Amara studied Declan for a moment. He was loyal to Cillian, no doubt, but there was a hardness to him that seemed almost protective-as if he was a gatekeeper, the buffer between the rest of the world and the man he served. She couldn't tell if he pitied her or if he enjoyed watching her navigate this twisted situation.

"I see," Amara said, her voice laced with skepticism. "Does he often have women over for dinner in his fortress of solitude?"

Declan's face hardened slightly. "You're not like the others."

That got her attention. *The others?*

Amara's heart skipped a beat, but before she could press him for more, Declan turned to leave. "Dinner is at seven. Be ready."

As the door clicked shut behind him, Amara stood and approached the bed, eyeing the garment bag warily. There was something unsettling about the whole situation. Cillian's mood swings, his control over her movements, and now this-dinner, as though they were playing at being a normal couple.

She unzipped the garment bag and found a simple but elegant dress inside. It was deep green, the fabric soft and flowing. There was no denying it was beautiful, but wearing something he had picked for her felt like another layer of control, another way to remind her that she was at his mercy.

Still, defiance wouldn't get her anywhere. She had learned that much in her brief time here. Cillian was unpredictable, and if she was going to survive, she needed to be smart, to learn the rules of his game.

---

When seven o'clock rolled around, Amara descended the grand staircase, feeling more like an actress in some dark drama than herself. The dress fit her perfectly, hugging her curves without being too revealing. It was elegant, but there was no mistaking that it was a deliberate choice on Cillian's part. The color, the cut-it was designed to make her look like she belonged in his world, even if she didn't feel like she did.

The dining room was as grand as the rest of the house. A long, polished mahogany table stretched across the room, lit by a chandelier that cast a warm glow over the space. Cillian stood at the head of the table, already dressed in a crisp black suit, his hair neatly combed back. He looked every bit the part of the cold, calculating man she had come to know, yet there was something about him tonight-something different.