Chapter 12
Amara
I’m sitting on the terrace at eleven thirty at night, staring at my phone like it’s a hostile witness.
Which is dramatic, even for me.
But I need to talk to Jess. Need someone who isn’t Corin to tell me whether I’m losing my mind or finally finding it.
The resort is quiet behind me. I saw a shadow moving along the perimeter a few minutes ago. Probably one of the resort security doing their nightly rounds.
I hit Jess’s number before I can overthink it.
Eleuthera is on Eastern Standard Time, just like New York. She should still be up.
Jess answers on the second ring. “Tell me you’re not working at midnight.”
Despite everything, I laugh. “It’s only eleven thirty. That’s practically early evening for a lawyer.”
“Amara.” Her voice has that particular mix of affection and exasperation she reserves for when I’m being ridiculous. “What’s is it?”
God, where do I even start?
“Corin told me everything,” I say finally.
“About what really happened five years ago. Basically, he exonerated himself. And I believed him. But... I guess a part of me kind of doubted.” Because of how cold he became after sex.
“Until today, when I found evidence in his files that proved he was telling the truth.”
There’s a pause. I can practically hear Jess sitting up straighter.
“Okay,” she says carefully. “I’m listening. Tell me everything.”
I go back inside and shut the patio door, because I don’t want my neighbors listening in. Also because I think a no-see-um just bit me.
Then I tell her everything. I don’t hold anything back. This information can’t weaponized. The legal proceedings were settled years ago, and all the regulatory inquiries are closed.
When I finish, Jess is quiet for a long moment.
“So he didn’t betray you,” she says finally. “He was protecting your mentor and got silenced for it.”
“Essentially.” I sit on the couch, pull my knees up to my chest. “Which means I’ve spent five years hating him for something he didn’t actually do.”
“And you had sex with him again,” Jess adds, because she never lets me forget the important details. “Four weeks ago.”
My cheeks heat. “Yes. Thank you for noticing that part in particular.”
“But you haven’t had sex since.”
“Not since.” I close my eyes. “Professional boundaries. His rules. And now I’m trying to decide if I should stay or leave when the contract ends. Which is in two days.”
“Stay or leave?” Jess’s voice sharpens. “Why would you leave? You just found out he was telling the truth.”
“Because it’s complicated.”
“Everything with you is complicated, Amara.”
Ouch.
“That’s not fair,” I protest.
“Isn’t it?” Jess’s tone gentles, but she doesn’t back down. “You always do this. You hold people at arm’s length until they’re perfect, and when they’re not, you leave.”
The words land like a gut punch.
Because she’s right.
God, she’s so right it hurts.
“I’m not—” I start, but the defense dies in my throat.
You are.
You absolutely are.
I’ve been doing it my entire career. Scanning every claim for motive. Keeping people at a distance. Choosing to leave rather than fight.
“Okay,” I admit quietly. “Maybe I do that. But Jess, I’m not even sure he wants me anymore. I mean, he seems to, but every time we get close he seems to pull away. And I don’t want to stay and make a fool of myself if he’s just being polite.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then Jess asks: “Did he have to hire you that first day?”
“Well, no,” I say. “I mean, I was the closest lawyer probably.”
“Not the answer I was looking for,” Jess continues. “My point is, he could’ve hired anyone. He’s a billionaire.”
I frown. “I suppose, but—”
“Does he do nice things for you?” Jess interrupts.
I blink. “What?”
“Nice things. Small things. Does he notice stuff about you?”
“I mean... well, he brings me coffee every morning. Black, no sugar. Without asking.”
“Uh huh.”
“And he adjusts the louver windows so the sun doesn’t shine directly on me when we’re working.”
“Go on.”
“And he sometimes checks the UV index and suggests earlier start times on high-exposure days because my skin burns easily—” I stop. “Jess. You’re reading too much into it.”
“And you’re not reading enough into it,” Jess says simply. “He wants you. Trust me. Men who don’t care don’t memorize your coffee order or track solar patterns to protect your skin. That’s not polite boss behavior. That’s someone who’s obsessed with you.”
Well when you put it like that.
My throat feels tight.
“What if I mess it up again?” I ask quietly.
“Then you mess it up. But at least you tried.” Jess pauses. “Amara, you’re one of the bravest people I know in a courtroom. You demolish arguments. You protect people who can’t protect themselves. But when it comes to your own heart? You’re a coward.”
Guilty as charged.
I change the subject before I start crying in my villa like some kind of emotionally unstable mess.
Which I am.
Occupational hazard.
“How’s Marco?” I ask.
Jess laughs, and I can hear the warmth in it.
“Amazing, actually. Like, embarrassingly amazing. Marco’s opened two new restaurants this year, Ben adores her new school, and let’s just say the honeymoon phase is still very much alive.
” She pauses, and I can practically hear her grinning.
“We’re having so much sex, Amara. Like, an obscene amount. ”
“Ew,” I say, but I’m smiling. “I’m happy for you. Really.”
“There is one tiny thing,” Jess adds, her tone shifting slightly. “He’s a bit overprotective sometimes. Like, texts me every few hours to check in, gets a little anxious if I’m running late. But honestly? After everything we’ve been through, I kind of love it. It’s sweet.”
After everything they’ve been through.
I think of the bear attack. The hospital. They’ve been through hell and back, and somehow came out stronger on the other side.
Maybe that’s what real love looks like.
“As long as you’re happy,” I comment.
“I am. Beyond happy. Which is why I’m telling you to stop sabotaging yourself and figure out your mess with Corin.” She pauses. “You deserve what Marco and I have, Amara. You deserve someone who brings you coffee and memorizes your routine and fucks you senseless.”
I immediately blush at that last part.
“Seriously, Amara,” Jess says, her voice softening. “Don’t run this time. He’s not the villain you needed him to be.”
We hang up.
But her words echo in my head long after we say goodbye.
He’s not the villain you needed him to be.
Because that’s the truth, isn’t it?
I needed Corin to be the bad guy. Needed him to be complicit and cold and morally bankrupt. Because if he was the villain, then I was justified in walking away. In building my walls. In choosing anger over vulnerability.
But if he’s not a villain, then what?
Then I have to reckon with my own role in how we ended up.
And I have to admit that maybe I left too quickly. Maybe I didn’t ask enough questions. Maybe I was so terrified of being used and betrayed that I saw threats where there were none.
Maybe you’ve been protecting yourself so hard you forgot how to let anyone in.
The thought sits in my chest like a deposition exhibit I can’t refute.
I open the patio and go back onto the terrace.
I sit on the concrete.
Before we had sex four weeks ago, I told him I was thinking “about how much time we wasted.”
I stare out at the dark ocean, listening to the waves, and let myself sit with the uncomfortable truth.
I contributed to this. To us falling apart five years ago. To the distance between us now.
To the time we wasted.
Corin made mistakes. Absolutely. He chose silence when he should have fought harder to tell me the truth, even if it cost him.
But I made mistakes, too.
I assumed the worst.
Refused to listen.
Walked away without giving him a chance to explain.
Wouldn’t have listened even if he had.
And now here we are, five years later, still dancing around each other like opposing counsel who are terrified to settle.
So what are you going to do about it?
That’s the question, isn’t it?
Two days left on the contract.
Two days to decide if I’m going to run again, or if I’m finally going to stay and fight for something I actually want.
My phone buzzes. A text from Jess: You deserve to be happy. Stop punishing yourself for wanting him.
I read it three times.
Maybe Jess is right.
Maybe it’s time I stopped punishing myself.
And him.