Amara’s POV
The air felt electric as I sat across from Mr. Tower in the pristine conference room of Daven Technologies. The morning sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a soft glow on the sleek chrome furniture. My heart pounded in anticipation. After weeks of effort, sleepless nights, and countless trips to this company, this moment was everything.
“Your presentation has caught me,” Mr. Tower said, his voice steady but warm.
I blinked, unsure if I had heard him correctly. The edges of his mouth curled into a faint smile as he reached into his briefcase and retrieved a document file.
“You can pass the contract to Damon McCain,” he said, sliding the papers across the table. “I hope his company and mine get to do great things together.”
A gasp escaped my lips before I could catch it. My fingers trembled slightly as I reached for the file, the cool texture of the folder grounding me. This was it. The reward for all my hard work. I rose to my feet, holding the file close to my chest as though it were the most precious thing in the world.
“Thank you, Mr. Tower,” I said, my voice steady but filled with gratitude. “I promise you won’t regret this decision.”
He gave me a nod of approval, and I turned to leave, my heels clicking against the marble floor. Outside the building, the crisp air hit my face, but it felt refreshing, like a new beginning.
I flagged down a taxi, clutching the file as though it might disappear. “To McCain Enterprises,” I instructed the driver.
The ride was a blur of anticipation. Damon had mentioned how elusive this contract had been, how his company had tried and failed multiple times. Now, here it was, secured and ready to be delivered—on our seventh anniversary, no less. My chest swelled with pride at the thought of his reaction.
“You did it, Amara,” I whispered to myself as the taxi pulled up to McCain Enterprises.
Inside the lavish lobby, I approached the desk, my smile wide. “Hello. I’m here to see my fiancé,” I said, my tone light and cheerful.
The secretary barely looked up, her gaze sharp as she scanned me from head to toe. “Who are you?”
I stiffened, narrowing my eyes. “I’m your boss’s fiancée. Is Damon in?”
She tilted her head, a mocking smirk playing on her lips. “You look nothing like his fiancée,” she muttered under her breath, loud enough for me to hear.
“What the heck?” I arched a brow, my tone icy.
She sighed, waving me off dismissively. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know you, and I don’t think you’re in any way related to my boss. You also don’t seem to have an appointment, so kindly leave.”
Heat flared in my chest. “Call him,” I demanded, my voice sharper now.
“I can’t do that,” she replied flatly, refusing to even glance my way.
My patience snapped. I slammed my palm against the desk, the sound echoing through the lobby. “You will call him now, or I’ll make sure he knows how incompetent you are!”
“Amara?”
The voice made me freeze. Slowly, I turned to see Tasha, Damon’s sister, standing a few feet away. She regarded me with thinly veiled disdain as she strutted forward, her heels clicking with deliberate arrogance.
“Hello, Amara,” she said, her tone syrupy with mockery. “What are you doing here?”
“To see Damon,” I replied joyfully, meeting her gaze.
“Right. And ruin his perfectly good day?” she huffed, folding her arms.
The secretary chimed in, her voice cold. “Ms., please leave and don’t cause a scene, or I’ll call security.”
“Watch it,” I hissed, glaring at her. “I’ll have my fiancé fire you for this disrespect.”
Tasha snorted, brushing past me to address the secretary. “Don’t bother, Lola. Just let her go see him. She’s an unwanted guest anyway.”
Her words stung like a slap, but I masked the hurt with a glare. My fists clenched at my sides as I watched her turn and saunter away. If she weren’t going to be my future sister-in-law, I’d have yanked her perfectly styled hair right then.
Regaining my composure, I gave the secretary one last icy look and strode to the elevator. As the doors opened and I stepped onto Damon’s floor, I forced a smile, pushing aside the bitterness. This was a big moment, and I wouldn’t let anyone ruin it.
The elevator doors slid open, and my breath caught in my throat. Damon stood in the center of his office, his broad shoulders tense but relaxed enough to lean toward someone sitting in his chair. My heart stuttered when I saw who it was—Miranda. Her face, all too familiar, broke into laughter as Damon rested his hand on the back of her chair. Their closeness was undeniable, intimate in a way that sent sharp pangs through my chest.
The contract in my hand felt heavier, my grip on it tightening as my palms grew clammy.
“Damon?” My voice cracked, barely rising above a whisper.
He turned sharply, his easy smile faltering the moment his eyes—strikingly cerulean and sharp—met mine.
“Amara?” His voice carried a hint of surprise, but it was restrained, too measured. He took a step forward, hesitating at first, and then closed the space between us. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
I swallowed hard, glancing at Miranda, who lounged back in the chair as though she owned it. “Right,” I said, my voice laced with bitterness. “How could you?”
Damon frowned. “Meaning?”
I gestured slightly toward Miranda. She stood, brushing nonexistent dust from her pencil skirt, and offered me a smile so sweet it turned my stomach. “Hi, Ama.”
“It’s Amara,” I said curtly, my fingers tightening around the edges of the file.
Damon’s brows pinched. “Hey, don’t be like that,” he said lightly, a subtle reprimand that made my blood simmer.
I turned back to him, my heart pounding. “Why doesn’t your staff know who I am? Why has no one in your office ever heard of me?” My voice rose despite my best efforts to stay composed. “I’m your fiancée, Damon. Why haven’t you told them about me?”
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. “Come on, Amara. It wasn’t necessary.”
“Not necessary?” My voice trembled as I glanced at Miranda, who smirked faintly. “Even your secretary was disrespectful. She wouldn’t let me see you.”
Damon shrugged. “She doesn’t know you.”
“Exactly my point!” I snapped. “She should know me. I’m not some random stranger.”
Miranda chuckled softly, drawing my attention back to her. “Oh, come on, Amara. It’s not a big deal. I know you—doesn’t that count for something?”
My eyes narrowed. “Of course, you do. You’re Damon’s so-called best friend, after all.”
