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I sat alone in the throne room, the walls echoing with silence. The diamond-inlaid Blackwood sigil above me shimmered as the midday light pierced through stained glass. A place meant for judgment, control, and power.
And now?
It felt like a battleground.
The heavy doors creaked open. I didn't lift my head. I already knew who was storming in like thunder.
Amara.
She didn't bow.
She didn't wait for permission.
She marched straight to me, eyes blazing.
"You let Classic make that speech?" she said sharply, no trace of softness in her tone.
I finally looked up. "He made his choice. Publicly. That takes courage."
Amara scoffed. "And what about me, Chris? What does that make me? A placeholder? A prop in your rise while he plays kingmaker?"
I stood now. Slowly. Deliberately.
"You are my wife, the Empress of the Blackwood Empire," I said, voice steady. "But that doesn't mean others can't rise. Classic has stood by us."
She narrowed her eyes. "No, Chris. He stood by you. Not us. Never me."
A pause hung in the air like a blade between us.
"I bled for you," she whispered. "I buried your enemies. I silenced rebellion. I married you for more than love, Chris. I married you for the Empire. I built this throne beside you."
My jaw clenched. I hated seeing her hurt… but I wouldn't walk back my decision. Classic was my blood, my shadow, my son—even if not by birth. He was part of the Blackwood equation now, whether Amara liked it or not.
"I trust him," I said finally.
"More than me?"
I hesitated.
That pause cut deeper than a thousand daggers.
Her fists tightened. "Then say it."
I stayed silent.
She turned.
"Enjoy your Empire, Emperor," she spat. "But don't forget… when the palace burned, it wasn't Classic who dragged your body from the rubble. It was me."
The doors slammed shut behind her.
I exhaled slowly. Everything felt heavier now. The crown. The silence. The walls.
I walked to the edge of the throne room, gazing out at the Blackwood City skyline.
Two storms were coming.
One from within... and one from beside me.
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