Chapter 8: The Invitation
Alexander Mansion – Amara's Bedroom – 9:00 AM
Amara stood in front of her closet, staring at rows of designer dresses.
She had been standing there for twenty minutes.
Not because she couldn't decide what to wear.
Because she was waiting for her phone to ring.
Call me, Liam.
She had left him three messages yesterday. Two today. He had responded to none of them.
"Miss Alexander?" Imani appeared in the doorway. "Your father is asking for you."
Amara didn't turn around. "Tell him I'm busy."
"He's in the study. He said it's important."
Amara sighed. She grabbed a silk robe and wrapped it around herself.
"Fine."
She walked down the hallway, her bare feet silent on the marble.
Her father's study was at the end of the hall. Dark wood. Leather chairs. The smell of old books and cigar smoke.
Mr. Alexander sat behind his desk, his reading glasses perched on his nose.
"Amara. Close the door."
She closed it.
"Sit down."
She sat.
Mr. Alexander removed his glasses. "I've been watching you."
Amara's heart skipped. "Watching me?"
"You've been restless. Distracted." He leaned forward. "Is it the wedding?"
Amara looked down. "Liam has been avoiding me."
"Avoiding you?"
"He doesn't return my calls. He cancels our plans. He's always 'busy.'" Amara's voice tightened. "Something is wrong."
Mr. Alexander was quiet for a moment.
"Have you considered," he said slowly, "that he might actually be busy? The wedding is in six months. His father is pressuring him about the business."
Amara shook her head. "It's more than that."
"Then what?"
Amara hesitated.
She wanted to tell him about Zara. About the way Liam looked at the servant. About the garden.
But she didn't have proof.
"Nothing," she said. "I'm just... nervous."
Mr. Alexander's eyes softened. "Marriage is scary. Even for someone as strong as you."
Amara forced a smile. "I know."
"Give him space. He'll come around." Mr. Alexander picked up his glasses. "Now. I need you to review the quarterly reports. The board is meeting on Friday."
Amara nodded.
She stood up and walked to the door.
"Amara."
She turned.
"Be patient," her father said. "Good things come to those who wait."
Amara smiled.
But inside, she was burning.
I've waited long enough.
---
Sterling Industries – Liam's Office – 11:00 AM
Liam's phone buzzed.
He ignored it.
It buzzed again.
He glanced at the screen.
Amara: Liam, please call me. I miss you.
He set the phone face down.
Chloe, his assistant, knocked on the door. "Mr. Sterling? Your father is here."
Liam looked up. "Send him in."
Richard Sterling walked into the office like he owned it. Which, technically, he did.
"Son."
"Dad."
Richard sat down across from him. "You've been avoiding Amara."
Liam's jaw tightened. "News travels fast."
"Her father called me. He's concerned." Richard leaned forward. "Is something wrong?"
Liam hesitated.
He couldn't tell his father the truth. I can't stop thinking about a servant. I'm engaged to the wrong woman.
"Just stress," Liam said. "Work. The wedding. It's a lot."
Richard studied him. "I know this engagement wasn't your choice. But it's the right move for the family. For the business."
Liam nodded. "I know."
"Then stop avoiding her. Take her to dinner. Buy her flowers. Pretend to be happy." Richard stood up. "That's what I did with your mother for thirty years."
He walked out.
Liam stared at the door.
Pretend to be happy.
He had been pretending his whole life.
He was tired of it.
---
Alexander Mansion – Staff Quarters – 1:00 PM
Zara was scrubbing the kitchen floor when Imani walked in.
"Get up."
Zara sat back on her heels. "Ma?"
"Amara is going shopping. She needs someone to carry her bags." Imani's eyes were cold. "You're going with her."
Zara's heart sank. "Me?"
"You're the servant. You carry things." Imani grabbed her arm. "Get dressed. Wear something that doesn't embarrass the family."
Zara stood up. "Yes, Ma."
She walked to her room and changed into her cleanest uniform. Faded. Worn. But clean.
When she came back, Amara was waiting by the front door.
She was wearing a cream-colored coat and heels. Her hair was perfect. Her makeup was flawless.
She looked at Zara like she was looking at dirt.
"Try not to embarrass me," Amara said.
Zara nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
They walked out to the waiting car.
Fifth Avenue – Manhattan – 2:00 PM
The stores on Fifth Avenue were like cathedrals. Tall. Gleaming. Full of things Zara could never afford.
Amara walked ahead, her heels clicking on the marble floors. Zara followed behind, carrying three shopping bags already.
"That's too slow," Amara said without turning around. "Keep up."
Zara walked faster.
They entered a boutique. The saleswomen flocked to Amara like birds to bread.
"Miss Alexander! So good to see you!"
"We have the new collection in the back!"
"Champagne?"
Amara smiled. "I'll take all three."
Zara stood by the door, holding the bags.
Her arms ached. Her feet hurt.
But she didn't complain.
She couldn't.
"Zara."
She looked up.
Amara was holding a dress against her body. A red gown. Silk. Expensive.
"What do you think?" Amara asked.
Zara hesitated. "It's beautiful."
"Of course it is. It costs more than you make in a year." Amara handed the dress to a saleswoman. "I'll take it."
The saleswoman nodded. "Will that be all, Miss Alexander?"
"For now." Amara looked at Zara. "Carry the bags."
Zara picked up two more.
Her arms were full. Her shoulders burned.
But she didn't say a word.
---
Sterling Industries – Liam's Office – 4:00 PM
Liam's phone buzzed again.
He picked it up.
Amara: I'm shopping on Fifth Avenue. Join me?
He typed back:
Liam: Working late. Sorry.
Amara: You're always working late.
Liam: Wedding planning is expensive.
Amara: You're not funny.
Liam: I'm not trying to be.
He put down the phone.
He knew he was being cold. He knew he was hurting her.
But every time he thought about seeing her, he thought about Zara.
The way she looked at the floor.
The way her hands trembled.
The way she said his name.
It's pity, he told himself.
But the word felt hollow.
Fifth Avenue – Manhattan – 5:00 PM
The sun was setting, painting the tops of the buildings in shades of gold and orange.
Zara stood outside the boutique, holding eight shopping bags. Her arms were numb. Her shoulders burned. Her feet had blisters from walking in worn shoes.
Amara was still inside, trying on dresses with no regard for time or the servant waiting outside.
Zara shifted the bags from one arm to the other.
A few more minutes, she told herself. Then we'll go home.
But the minutes stretched.
And the bags grew heavier.
"You look like you're about to drop dead."
Zara turned.
A young man was standing a few feet away, hands in the pockets of his tailored coat. He was tall. Broad shoulders. Dark skin, close-cropped hair, a sharp jaw. His eyes were the color of honey, and they were looking at her with something between curiosity and concern.
He was handsome. The kind of handsome that made people stare.
Zara looked away. "I'm fine."
"You're holding eight shopping bags. Your arms are shaking. And you're wearing shoes that have holes in the soles." He walked toward her. "That's not fine."
Zara's face burned with embarrassment. "I'm waiting for my employer."
"Your employer left you out here like a coat rack?" His voice was smooth, with a hint of amusement. "Charming."
Zara didn't respond.
He reached out. "Give me some of those."
"What? No—"
"I'm not asking." He took four of the bags from her arms before she could protest. "There. Now you only look half-dead."
Zara stared at him. "Who are you?"
He smiled. It was a nice smile. Easy. Confident.
"Someone who doesn't like seeing pretty girls treated like pack mules."
Zara's face went warm. "I'm not—"
"Pretty?" He raised an eyebrow. "You are. Even in that uniform. Even with those tired eyes." He tilted his head. "What's your name?"
Zara hesitated. "Zara."
"Zara." He said it like he was tasting it. ,"ok
Just call me your mysterious helper "he replied with. Brood smile
He extended his free hand.
Zara stared at it.
She had never shaken hands with a stranger before. Especially not a rich one. His coat probably cost more than her entire wardrobe.
"Go on," he "I don't bite."
She shook his hand. His grip was warm. Firm.
"Now," he
Said
glancing at the boutique, "is your employer always this inconsiderate?"
Zara didn't answer.
"That's a yes." He leaned against the wall beside her. "Why do you stay?"
"I don't have a choice."
"There's always a choice."
Zara looked at him. "Not for people like me."
Dominic's eyes softened. "What kind of people are you ?
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