Zane stood on the balcony of their home, coffee mug in hand, watching the first rays of dawn bathe the city in gold. The early morning silence had always been his sanctuary. A place to clear his head before another day of decisions, deals, and expectations.
Amara had changed. He couldn't deny it anymore.
She smiled more now—sincerely, warmly—and yet, there was something else behind her eyes. A sharpness. A storm beneath the softness.
He turned as she stepped onto the balcony, wrapped in one of his shirts, her hair tied in a messy bun. She looked breathtaking. Real. Stronger.
"Morning," she whispered, pressing a kiss to his jaw.
"Morning," he replied, but the crease between his brows didn't fade.
Amara leaned against the railing beside him, sipping from her own mug. "You're quiet today."
Zane looked at her, wanting to say it. To ask her why she sometimes slipped away at night, why her phone never left her side anymore, or why she seemed to be carrying a secret she didn't want to share yet.
Instead, he offered a half-smile. "Just tired."
She studied him, eyes softening. "You don't have to worry about me, you know."
He tilted his head. "That's the problem, Amara. I don't think I ever stopped."
---
Later that day, he sat in his office going over security logs—something he rarely bothered with. But curiosity had gotten the better of him. Last week, the system had been disarmed late at night. No alerts. No explanation.
He double-checked the logs. Disarmed at 2:14 AM.
Only two people had access codes: him and Amara.
He leaned back, frowning.
She had gotten up that night, said she couldn't sleep, and went to get water. He hadn't thought much of it.
But now…
There was something else. A scent that lingered on her coat a few days ago. Not perfume. Not anything she'd wear. Cigars. Expensive ones. He remembered because his father used to smoke the same kind. He had asked, casually. She'd said she passed by a client meeting on her way from the gallery.
But Amara hadn't worked with anyone new in months.
His phone buzzed. A message from his assistant:
"Sir, a man named Rowen Cade has been seen near the property this week. Should I dig into him?"
Zane stared at the name.
Rowen Cade… It was familiar.
Private investigator. Former military intelligence. Known for discretion and results. Zane had nearly hired him two years ago during a corporate sabotage case.
Why would Amara be meeting with him?
Unless…
A knot twisted in his chest.
She didn't trust him anymore.
---
That night, Zane sat in their bedroom watching her sleep. Her features were relaxed, a stark contrast to the fire he'd seen in her eyes lately. She was hiding something. But for the first time in their marriage, he couldn't decide if it was to protect herself… or protect him.
His hand brushed her hair back gently. "What are you keeping from me, love?"
Amara stirred slightly, murmuring something he couldn't make out.
Zane leaned down, brushing his lips against her forehead.
Whoever had come between them—whoever made her this guarded—was going to regret it.
Because now he was watching.
And Zane never played blind twice.