The scent of coffee drifted through the hallway, rich and familiar. Amara paused at the top of the staircase, her hand resting on the banister as her heart pounded in her chest. Just down those stairs was the man she had once abandoned in every way that mattered.
Zane. Her husband.
Her eyes fluttered closed for a second. Four years ago, this was the week she began treating him like an obligation. Cold, impatient, distant. She had blamed him for everything—his perfection, his discipline, his kindness. But now, all she could remember was the sound of his broken voice after her death.
She drew in a breath and stepped down.
In the dining room, he stood by the window, sleeves rolled up, tie half-done, a tablet in hand. The morning sun lit up his features—sharp jaw, strong nose, those intense gray eyes that had once tried to search her soul.
He didn't see her at first. So she just stood there and watched him.
How many mornings had she ignored this? How many times had she walked right past him, brushing off his attempts at affection?
"Zane," she said softly, more to herself.
He turned, startled. "Amara?" He blinked, then set the tablet down. "You're… up early."
A pause. She had never been "up early." Not in the past timeline.
"I couldn't sleep," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
He studied her. Not with suspicion—Zane never doubted her. That was what made it so easy for Darian to ruin him. Zane had trusted her until the end.
She moved closer. "I just… wanted to see you."
His brow furrowed. "See me?"
God, the confusion in his voice shattered something inside her. She had made him a stranger in his own home.
"I know I've been… difficult," she said, careful with her words. "But I'm trying."
He hesitated, visibly unsure. Then: "Trying what?"
"To remember," she lied, gently. "Why I married you in the first place."
That stunned him. His eyes flickered with a vulnerability she had forgotten he carried. "You've been distant for so long. I thought… maybe you regretted everything."
"I don't," she said quickly, then softer, "I did. But now I don't."
He looked down, running a hand through his dark hair. "I don't know what this is, Amara, but if this is some kind of game—"
"No," she interrupted, moving closer. "It's not."
A long silence stretched between them.
"I made mistakes," she whispered. "I let someone make me forget who you were. I was blind, Zane. And I want to do better."
He looked at her, really looked at her this time.
The walls he had built were still there, but there was a crack.
"I don't know what changed," he said, voice heavy, "but… if this is real—if you mean it—I'll be here. I always have been."
That was what broke her. She stepped forward and hugged him.
Zane stiffened in shock—this was not something the old Amara did. But slowly, uncertainly, his arms came around her.
And she melted into him.
She had no right to his forgiveness. No right to his comfort. Not after what she had done in the first life.
She would win his heart the way she never tried to before—not with seduction or charm, but with truth. With unwavering loyalty. With the kind of fierce, aching devotion that couldn't be bought, borrowed, or faked. She had lost him once by pretending not to care. She would never make that mistake again.
And those who schemed behind closed doors, who whispered venom into the ears of power, who wanted to see him broken—they would learn what it meant to be hunted by a woman with nothing left to lose. She would dismantle their lies, ruin their games, and watch their world crumble beneath her heels.
Because one thing was certain:
This time, she wouldn't lose him.
Not to fear..