Chapter 3 BLOOD ON HIS HANDS

Amara didn't move.

The kitchen was silent except for the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of traffic far below. Dorian's phone screen glowed between them, the headline burning into her retinas.

Accused of Murder.

She should run. She should grab her suitcase and disappear into the New York night and never look back.

But she didn't.

"Tell me," she said.

Dorian set the phone down, face-first on the counter. For a long moment, he just stared at his hands. Those hands that had shaken hers. That had signed the contract. That had-according to the news-possibly killed someone.

"Her name was Elena," he said quietly. "Elena Vasquez. She was my fiancée."

Amara's stomach dropped. Fiancée.

"She died in 2019. Drowned. They found her body in the Hudson River three days after she went missing." He paused. "The police ruled it an accident. But her family never believed it. And now someone's leaked new evidence."

"What kind of evidence?"

"A witness. Someone who claims they saw me with her that night. On the pier. Arguing." His jaw tightened. "They're saying I pushed her."

"Did you?"

The question hung between them.

Dorian finally looked at her. His eyes were dark, haunted. "No."

"Then who did?"

"I don't know." He ran a hand through his hair. "That's the thing, Amara. I don't know. I've spent six years trying to figure out what happened to her, and I still don't know."

She studied him. In the dim light, he looked different. Less like the ruthless CEO. More like a man carrying something heavy.

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked. "You could have hidden it. I might not have found out until it was too late."

"Because you asked for the truth." He met her eyes. "And because if we're going to do this-if you're going to stand by my side-you deserve to know what you're standing next to."

Amara was quiet for a long moment.

Then she said, "I'm not leaving."

Dorian blinked. "What?"

"I said I'm not leaving." She stood, pulling her robe tighter around herself. "You signed a contract. I signed a contract. And I don't break my word."

"Amara"

"I'm not saying I believe you." She held up a hand. "I'm saying I'm not running. Not yet. Not until I know the whole story."

He stared at her like she'd grown a second head.

"You're... not what I expected," he said finally.

"Neither are you." She walked toward the hallway, then paused. "Get some sleep, Mr. Blackwood. Tomorrow, we have a press conference to plan."

"And the murder accusation?"

She looked back at him. "We'll deal with that too. Together."

She disappeared down the hallway.

Dorian sat alone in the dark, staring at the spot where she'd been standing.

Together.

No one had said that to him in a very long time.

The next morning, Amara woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of voices.

She padded into the living room to find Dorian standing with a woman in a sharp red suit. The woman was tall, intimidating, and looked like she could make a grown man cry with a single glance.

"Ah," the woman said, turning. "You must be the wife."

Amara froze. "I yes. That's me."

"Vivian Cross. Head of PR for Blackwood Industries." She extended a hand. "I'll be handling your public image for the foreseeable future."

"Amara Chen." She shook Vivian's hand, noting the firm grip. "Nice to meet you."

"The pleasure's mine." Vivian turned back to Dorian. "The press conference is in two hours. I've prepared talking points. The story is that you met six months ago at a charity gala, bonded over your shared love of classical music, and eloped last week in a private ceremony."

Amara frowned. "Classical music? I don't know anything about classical music."

"You do now." Vivian handed her a folder. "Study these. There's a list of composers, your favorite pieces, and the story of how Dorian proposed."

Amara opened the folder. Inside was a detailed backstory, complete with photoshopped pictures of her and Dorian at events they'd never attended.

"This is... elaborate."

"We don't do anything halfway." Vivian checked her watch. "You have ninety minutes. I suggest you use them wisely."

She swept out of the room.

Amara looked at Dorian. "She's terrifying."

"She's the best." He walked over, handing her a cup of coffee. "How did you sleep?"

"Terribly. You?"

"Worse." He paused. "Thank you. For staying."

"Don't thank me yet." She took a sip of coffee. "I still have questions."

"I know." He sat on the arm of the couch. "Ask."

"Elena. What was she like?"

Dorian's expression softened. "Kind. Patient. She put up with me, which wasn't easy." A ghost of a smile. "She was a pianist. That's why the classical music thing. She used to play for me when I couldn't sleep."

"And you loved her."

"Yes." He looked down. "Very much."

"And you didn't kill her."

"No." His voice was firm. "I didn't."

Amara studied him. "Then who did?"

"That's the question, isn't it?" He stood. "Get dressed. We have a press conference to survive."

The press room was packed.

Amara stood backstage, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. Through the curtain, she could hear the murmur of reporters. Dozens of them. Cameras. Microphones. All waiting for her.

"You okay?" Dorian appeared beside her, looking impossibly calm in a dark suit.

"No."

"Good. That means you're human." He offered his hand. "Ready?"

She looked at his hand. Then at his face.

Trust me, his eyes seemed to say.

She took his hand.

They walked out together.

The room erupted.

"Mr. Blackwood! Is it true you've been accused of murder?"

"Who is this woman?"

"Is it true you eloped?"

Dorian raised a hand, and the room fell silent.

"Thank you all for coming," he said smoothly. "I have a brief statement, and then I'll take a few questions."

He paused, looking out at the crowd.

"First, I want to address the rumors regarding the 2019 death of Elena Vasquez. Elena was my fiancée. I loved her deeply. Her death was a tragedy, and I have cooperated fully with law enforcement for the past six years. The recent allegations are baseless, and my legal team is preparing a response."

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

"Second," Dorian continued, "I want to introduce someone very important to me."

He turned to Amara, and his expression softened.

"This is Amara Chen. My wife."

The cameras flashed.

"We met six months ago. It was unexpected. But sometimes the best things in life are." He looked at her, and for a moment, the room disappeared. "She's kind. She's stubborn. She makes me want to be a better man."

Amara's breath caught.

This is fake, she reminded herself. This is for the cameras.

But the way he was looking at her didn't feel fake.

"Any questions?" Dorian asked.

A reporter stood. "Ms. Chen, how do you respond to claims that your father, Wei Chen, is behind the lawsuit against your husband?"

Amara's heart stopped.

She hadn't prepared for this.

But Dorian squeezed her hand-just once-and she found her voice.

"My father and I have been estranged for years," she said, her voice steady. "I don't agree with his actions. And I stand by my husband."

The room exploded.

After the press conference, they retreated to a private room.

Amara collapsed onto a couch, her hands shaking.

"That was..."

"Intense," Dorian finished. He sat beside her, loosening his tie. "You did well."

"I lied. To the entire world."

"You played a part. There's a difference."

She looked at him. "Is there?"

He didn't answer.

The door opened, and Vivian walked in, phone in hand.

"We have a problem."

Dorian tensed. "What kind?"

"Your father-in-law." She held up her phone. "He's holding a press conference of his own. In one hour."

Amara's blood ran cold.

"What's he going to say?" she asked.

Vivian hesitated. "He's going to offer a reward. For any information proving Dorian killed Elena Vasquez."

Dorian's face went pale.

"And he's going to say..." Vivian paused. "He's going to say his daughter is being held against her will."

Amara stood. "That's insane. I'm not-"

"I know." Vivian held up a hand. "But it's a narrative. And it's going to be everywhere in the next twenty-four hours."

Dorian stood, walking to the window. His shoulders were tense.

"Get my lawyers on the phone," he said quietly. "And find out who's feeding him information."

"Already on it." Vivian left.

Amara walked over to Dorian. "What do we do?"

He turned to face her. "We fight back."

"How?"

He looked at her for a long moment.

"We give them something bigger."

That night, Amara couldn't sleep.

She wandered into the living room and found Dorian standing on the balcony, staring out at the city.

She joined him, wrapping her coat tighter around herself.

"It's beautiful," she said.

"It's lonely."

She looked at him. "You're not alone."

He turned to her. "Amara..."

"I know this is fake. I know we're playing parts." She met his eyes. "But right now, in this moment, you're not alone."

He stared at her.

Then, slowly, he reached out and touched her face. His fingers were cold against her cheek.

"You're dangerous," he whispered.

"Why?"

"Because you make me forget."

"Forget what?"

"That this isn't real."

Her breath caught.

They stood there, inches apart, the city lights flickering behind them.

Then Dorian's phone rang.

He pulled back, answering it. His face went pale.

"What?" Amara asked.

He looked at her. "They found something. In the river. Near where Elena died."

"What?"

"A ring." His voice cracked. "My engagement ring. The one I gave her."

He paused.

"And it's covered in blood."