Chapter 1 – Under His Shadow

AMARA

I wake up to guards barking orders.

“Get your ass up, inmate!” one shouts, his hot, breakfast-scented breath hitting me square in the face.

“Well, good morning to you too, sunshine. Maybe pop a mint before speaking next time?”

Wrinkles gather on his forehead, and a flush creeps up his neck. He’s built like an 80s action star—bald head gleaming, chest puffed out, uniform tucked sharp, gun on one hip, baton on the other. The ring of keys at his belt clinks with every heavy step.

“Do you need a shot, inmate?” he yells, grabbing my arm.

“No, sir. Just admiring you,”

I grunt through the pain.

“Admiring me?”

His brow furrows, voice dripping with disbelief.

“Why would you be admiring me?”

“Oh, you’re right… there isn’t a reason to. My mistake.” I smile sweetly.

He huffs, puffing his chest even more.

“You keep running that mouth and you’ll find out what it brings.”

“I believe I already have—that’s why I’m here.”

“Why you—” “Guard Pike!”

The voice cuts through the tension like a blade. The guard releases my arm instantly. We both turn. The Warden stands in the doorway. Tall. Composed. Dangerous. He’s well over six feet, with a chiseled face and a neatly trimmed goatee. His long black hair is pulled back, a single strand escaping, brushing his temple. Bright green eyes lock onto Pike like a hawk sizing prey. His suit—dark, fitted, perfect—frames his broad shoulders. The air seems to thicken around him. He doesn’t just walk into a room; he owns it.

“Good morning, sir,” Pike stammers, forcing a smile. “What do you think you’re doing, Pike?” The Warden’s tone is calm, but sharp enough to draw blood. “I was waking the inmate, sir.” “And

do you wake all inmates by grabbing their arms?” His voice drops lower—measured, dangerous. “No, sir. This one was getting mouthy.” Pike shoots me a glare. “I see.” The

Warden steps closer, boots whispering against the concrete.

He leans in, whispers something in Pike’s ear. Whatever it is, the color drains from Pike’s face. Without another word, he

scurries out of the cell. Now it’s just me and the Warden. He turns his attention on me, and suddenly it feels like the room shrinks. His gaze is steady, deliberate—like he’s stripping away

every layer I hide behind. My pulse hammers.

My breath catches. Heat floods my cheeks.Focus, Amara. He’s just a man. A really, really sexy man. No—stop. He’s the Warden. You’re the inmate. This is a bad idea. “What was your name again?” His voice is deep, rough, and far too calm. “Amara,” I manage to say. “A-m-a-r-a,” he repeats, slow, deliberate—like he’s tasting it. The sound sends a shiver down my spine. “So, Amara, do you enjoy rattling up my men?” One brow arches, amusement flickering in his eyes. The tension shifts—less hostile now, but no less charged. “Well, if he weren’t so easy to screw with, I’d probably find another way to pass the time.

” A crooked smile curves his lips. “Well, Amara, I look forward to getting to know you.” And just like that, he’s gone.

*** “Jesus,” I mutter, grabbing my small clear bag of toiletries and heading for the bathroom. The mirror is cracked, the lighting harsh. I twist my tangled black hair into a bun, studying the damage. The dark circles beneath my pale blue eyes are deeper today. My cheeks are puffy, lips dry and cracked, the faint scab on my bottom lip an ugly reminder of that night. That night. I splash cold water on my face. The chill bites, but it keeps me grounded. This is my life now. Careful what you wish for. I’ve always been drawn to the dark. Men who were dangerous, dominant, thrilling. If they didn’t intimidate me a little, they bored me. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe that’s why I ended up with him.

*** Killain. Where are we going? “Somewhere special, little one.” I remember watching the clouds roll by, still stung from our fight the night before. Did he really think that of

me—after everything? Four years together, and I thought I knew him. Maybe I never did. We pulled into a field, one we’d been to a hundred times. Wildflowers everywhere—red, blue,

yellow, pink. The grass swayed like it knew something I didn’t. We sat beneath the willow tree, our spot, the breeze soft around us. “There’s something I need to ask you, little one.” “Oh?” I’d

hoped he wanted to talk about the fight, the words he’d thrown like knives. “Do you see a future with us?” The question caught me off guard. We’d never talked about the future—not

once. I’d taken comfort in that, free from the weight of expectation. Then he said it. “Marry me, little one. Be mine forever.”

*** The memory blurs, fades. I shake my head, forcing it away.

Would things have been different if I’d said yes? Or was he always going to break—was it just a matter of time? My fingers drift to my throat. I can still feel his hands there, the darkness in

his eyes as he squeezed. That image will never leave me. Not here. Not anywhere. I steady my trembling hands, take a slow breath. Don’t show weakness. Not here.