Signed To Be His Wife - Chapter 40: Chapter 40

The night was heavy with secrets. In the penthouse where silence had become a third party in Amara and Dominic’s marriage, the air was thick with unsaid words and guarded glances. The fire in the hearth crackled weakly, its warmth doing little to soften the growing tension between them.
Amara sat on the velvet chaise, her arms crossed tightly, eyes distant as she stared at the flickering shadows on the wall. Dominic stood a few feet away, his broad shoulders stiff, hands shoved into his pockets as though afraid of what they might do if left unrestrained.
“Are you going to keep shutting me out, Dominic?” Her voice was quiet but carried a tremor of exhaustion.
Dominic looked at her, eyes flicking with uncertainty. “I’m not shutting you out.”
“You are. Every time I try to talk to you about what’s going on — about your past, about this contract, about us — you close off.”
A sigh escaped him, not of frustration, but of a man who was growing tired of the walls he himself had built. “There are things I can’t explain yet. Not because I don’t trust you… but because once I say them aloud, they become real. Dangerous.”
Amara stood, slowly walking toward him. “More dangerous than living in a marriage built on half-truths?”
Dominic’s jaw clenched. He reached out but stopped inches from her, fingers curling into a loose fist. “I want to protect you, Amara. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“I didn’t ask for protection,” she said, pain coloring her tone. “I asked for honesty.”
They stood in silence, two storms circling the same eye. Amara’s heart ached, remembering the warmth that once lived between them — the soft smiles, the unexpected laughter, the way Dominic used to look at her like she was the only light in a room full of shadows. That man felt farther away now than ever.
Suddenly, her phone buzzed. A message.
She picked it up, reading the notification from Detective Carla:
**"We need to talk. I’ve found something. It's about Dominic’s late fiancée. Urgent." **
Amara's fingers trembled slightly. The name of Dominic’s late fiancée was one rarely spoken. Whenever she brought her up, Dominic shut down or changed the subject. But now — urgent?
Dominic watched her reaction carefully. “Who is it?”
She looked up. “Detective Carla.”
His expression shifted instantly — from mild concern to wariness.
“What did she say?”
“She wants to meet. It’s about your past.”
Dominic shook his head. “No.”
“No?” Amara echoed, stunned. “You don’t even want to know what it is?”
“I already know,” he said grimly. “She’s been snooping where she shouldn’t.”
Amara stepped back. “She’s doing her job. And maybe it’s time I know everything. About the woman you almost married… and how she really died.”
A muscle in Dominic’s jaw twitched. He turned away, walking toward the bar and pouring himself a stiff drink. He downed it quickly, then braced his palms against the counter, head bowed.
“She didn’t die the way people think she did,” he finally said, voice gravelly.
Amara stood frozen, her heart pounding. “Then tell me. Please.”
He turned back slowly, eyes dark. “It wasn’t an accident. It was planned. And I think I was the target.”
Her breath caught. “What?”
“She died in my car. A car meant for me. She had borrowed it that day because I was supposed to meet her at the gallery. I was late. It exploded on the way. Police ruled it mechanical failure. But someone planted that device.”
Amara sank onto the couch. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I was still hunting the person responsible,” he said. “And I thought they might come after you if they knew how much you meant to me.”
Her lips parted. “You still think I mean something to you?”
He walked over, kneeling in front of her. “Amara, you’re the only thing keeping me sane. Every time I pull away, it’s because I’m afraid. I lost someone once. I can’t lose you too.”
Tears filled her eyes, blurring his face. “But I’m already slipping away, Dominic. Don’t you see that?”
He lowered his head, resting his forehead against her knees. “Help me stop it. Help me hold on.”
She gently stroked his hair, her heart torn in too many directions. “I’ll meet with Carla. With or without your blessing. But I’d rather you came with me.”
After a long pause, he nodded against her leg. “Then I’m coming too.”
Two Days Later
They met Detective Carla at a quiet café tucked into a corner of the city, far from prying eyes. She slid a thick folder across the table, her face drawn with unease.
“I pulled surveillance footage. The day of the explosion,” she said. “Dominic’s fiancée… she was being followed. And there’s more. Financial records. There were anonymous wire transfers to a shell company registered in Zurich. That company? It's connected to one of Dominic’s competitors — Jeremy LeClair.”
Dominic tensed. “That bastard.”
Amara looked between them. “Who is he?”
“An old rival,” Dominic said coldly. “We both wanted the Harper contract five years ago. He lost. Swore he’d ruin me.”
Carla nodded. “We think he did more than that. We believe he arranged the bombing. And now — he’s surfaced again. At the same time your wife’s contract marriage started making headlines.”
Dominic cursed under his breath. “He’s trying to bait me again.”
Amara frowned. “But why now?”
“Because I’m vulnerable,” Dominic said. “And because the contract marriage made it look like I had something to hide — leverage he could use.”
Carla slid over a flash drive. “All the evidence is here. But be careful. He’s smart and well-connected.”
Dominic pocketed the drive. “Thank you.”
Carla nodded. “Be careful, both of you.”
Later That Night
Back at the penthouse, Amara sat by the window, staring at the city lights below. Dominic stood in the doorway behind her, watching her quietly.
“You’re angry,” he said.
She didn’t look back. “No. I’m just… tired. All this time, I thought our biggest problem was that we started this on a contract. But it turns out, we’re living inside a ticking time bomb.”
He walked to her side. “We can still fix it.”
She finally looked at him. “Then tell me what you want, Dominic. Not what your father wanted. Not what the media expects. What do you want?”
He knelt beside her again, this time slower, with a humility that made her chest ache.
“I want you. Without the contract. Without the secrets. I want to rebuild, Amara. Even if it takes everything I have.”
Tears spilled from her eyes. “Then fight for us. Because I’m tired of fighting alone.”
He pulled her into his arms, holding her like a drowning man clings to driftwood. “I will. I promise. No more running. No more lies.”
Outside, the wind picked up, sending a hush through the city — the kind that comes before the storm.
Inside the penthouse, for the first time in a long while, Amara
and Dominic faced each other not as strangers trapped in a contract, but as two broken people trying to find healing in truth.