David couldn't look away from the screen.
The video played in silence.
But the silence was louder than anything.
The hotel room.
The dim lighting.
The blurred movements.
It was all there.
Real.
His breathing slowed.
Then tightened.
"I was there…" he murmured under his breath.
Amara turned to him quickly.
"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice filled with urgency.
David didn't respond immediately.
His eyes remained fixed on the screen, his mind trying to piece together something broken.
Something incomplete.
"I remember…" he said slowly.
The woman in red watched him carefully.
Not surprised.
Almost… expectant.
"What do you remember?" she asked.
David blinked, his expression shifting.
"Flashes," he said. "Nothing clear."
He ran a hand through his hair, frustration building.
"The room… the noise… someone talking…"
He paused.
His brows furrowed deeply.
"And you," he added, looking at Amara.
Amara's breath caught.
"Me?" she whispered.
David nodded slowly.
"You were there," he said. "But not like this… not like now."
Her chest tightened.
"What does that mean?" she asked.
"You were different," he said.
A long pause followed.
Then—
"You looked… scared."
Amara felt something inside her shift.
Because she remembered that feeling.
The confusion.
The fear.
The uncertainty of that night.
"I was," she admitted softly.
The woman in red stepped closer again.
"Of course she was," she said.
Amara turned sharply.
"What is that supposed to mean?" she demanded.
The woman didn't hesitate this time.
"It means," she said calmly, "she wasn't supposed to be there."
Silence.
David's eyes narrowed.
"Then who was?" he asked.
The woman's gaze locked onto his.
"Me."
The answer hit instantly.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
Amara's heart dropped.
"No…" she whispered.
But it made sense.
Too much sense.
"You were set up to meet me," the woman continued.
David shook his head.
"That's not possible," he said. "I didn't even know you."
The woman smiled faintly.
"You didn't need to," she said.
Amara's breathing became uneven.
"What kind of setup is this?" she asked.
The woman's expression hardened slightly.
"The kind where powerful men make deals," she said.
David stiffened.
"What deals?" he asked.
The woman didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she walked back toward the window again.
As if she needed distance.
As if this part mattered.
"That night," she said slowly, "you were meant to sign something."
David frowned.
"A contract?" he asked.
"Something like that," she replied.
Amara looked between them, confusion growing.
"What does that have to do with any of this?" she asked.
The woman turned.
"Everything," she said.
She stepped closer again.
"You weren't just drunk, David," she continued. "You were compromised."
David's jaw tightened.
"You said that already," he replied. "Compromised how?"
The woman held his gaze.
"You were drugged."
Silence.
Total.
Amara felt the air leave her lungs.
"No…" she whispered.
David didn't move.
Didn't react.
At least not outwardly.
But something in his eyes shifted.
Something darker.
"You're lying," he said, but this time…
His voice lacked certainty.
The woman shook her head slowly.
"No," she said.
Then she added—
"You weren't meant to remember anything after that night."
David looked away briefly, his mind racing.
"That's why everything is blurred," he muttered.
Amara stepped closer to him.
"David…" she said softly.
But he didn't respond.
Because pieces were starting to connect.
Slowly.
Painfully.
"If I was drugged…" he said, his voice low…
"Then nothing that happened after was under my control."
The woman didn't respond.
And that silence…
Was an answer.
Amara's chest tightened.
"Then the child…" she started.
Her voice trembled.
"What does that mean?"
The woman looked at her.
This time…
There was no softness.
"It means," she said quietly…
"you still don't know the whole truth."
Amara felt fear settle deep in her chest.
"What are we missing?" she asked.
The woman took a slow breath.
Then said—
"You weren't the only woman in that room."
Everything stopped.
Amara's heart dropped instantly.
David froze.
"What?" he said.
The woman's gaze remained steady.
"There were two of you," she said.
Silence.
Dead silence.
Amara shook her head slowly.
"No… that's not possible."
But deep down…
She knew.
Something about that night had never made sense.
And now…
It was starting to.