Scene: Chris's Private Office — Night Before the Wedding
The room was dimly lit, curtains half-drawn to reveal the glittering skyline of the Empire's capital. Chris stood with his back to the door, hands clasped behind him, his posture regal but tense. The weight of his titles — Supreme Leader, Blackwood 1, soon-to-be husband again — was heaviest when the world was quiet.
Amara entered, holding the sealed black envelope in her hand, the faintest trace of emotion on her face.
"I gave it out," she said simply.
Chris turned slowly. His gaze dropped to the envelope. Then to her.
"To who?"
"Her name is Rheina Stone. Staff. Strategist. No family. Loyal. She's—"
"I don't want to hear it."
Amara blinked. "What?"
"I said," Chris interrupted, stepping forward, his voice low but final, "I don't want to hear her name again."
The silence that followed wasn't cold — it was calculated.
Amara raised an eyebrow. "She didn't ask for anything. She didn't know it was coming. She's just—"
"Don't promote her," Chris said, his tone sharper now. "Don't elevate her. Don't give her power. Don't bring her into our circle. Not now. Not ever."
"Why?"
"No reason."
Amara's jaw tensed. "You don't give orders without reason."
Chris stepped even closer. "Some truths stay buried for their own protection. That girl — Rheina — is not your responsibility. Not mine. Let her live in peace. That's more mercy than most get."
Amara stared at him, searching his eyes. She saw something there — not fear, not guilt… but regret.
It was faint. But it was real.
"You know her," she said, voice barely above a whisper.
Chris didn't respond. Just turned his back to her.
"I gave her the cheque," Amara said quietly. "That can't be undone."
"I know."
"I saw something in her—"
"I don't care what you saw," Chris snapped, spinning back to her, eyes flashing. "Amara… she doesn't exist to us. Not anymore."
Amara's chest rose slowly, breath steady but thick with thought. She tucked the envelope away.
"If she falls," she said, "you'll feel it. Even if you pretend otherwise."
Chris didn't respond.
She left without another word.
And Chris, alone once again, looked out the window as the wind rustled the Empire's flag high above the palace. His reflection shimmered faintly on the glass—strong, stoic... and haunted.
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