Signed To Be His Wife - Chapter 46: Chapter 46

The courtroom echoed with fading footsteps and soft murmurs as Amara and Dominic stepped outside into the crisp evening air. Though the legal battle had tilted in their favor, the final words from Jeremy LeClair haunted them.
_"You might have won today, Amara. But you're not as untouchable as you think. Does your family know who you married? Do they even know the truth about you?" _ Those words clung to Amara's chest like ice. Not because of their threat, but because they scraped against scars she thought had long healed. She hadn't spoken to her family in over two years, not since the day she walked away from their suffocating expectations and broken home.
Dominic noticed the tension in her shoulders as they stepped into the car. "You okay?"
"He knows something... or he thinks he does," she murmured, eyes fixed on the streetlights flashing past.
"Amara," Dominic reached for her hand, lacing his fingers with hers, "whatever it is, we face it together."
She nodded but didn’t speak again. Her thoughts spiraled, trying to remember what Jeremy could know. She had kept her past locked tight—but even locked doors had keys.
Later That Night — The Penthouse
Dominic poured them both a drink while Amara stood by the window, her phone in hand. She had typed her mother's number three times and erased it each time.
"Do you want me to step out?" Dominic asked gently.
"No. Just... stay close."
Finally, she hit call.
It rang four times before a voice answered. Older. Colder. Still familiar.
"Hello?"
Amara’s voice trembled. "Mom... It’s me. Amara."
A pause. Then a sharp inhale. "Amara? Are you hurt? What—"
"I’m okay. I just... something came up. Something about the family. I need to talk."
Her mother sighed. "Now you remember you have a family?"
"Please. This isn’t about the past. It’s important. I think someone is trying to dig into our family’s past."
Another pause.
"Your uncle… he called me last week. Said someone asked about your father. And about you."
Amara’s chest tightened. Her father had died under mysterious circumstances. She was seventeen. No one ever explained what really happened. And she had buried that pain beneath ambition and silence.
Dominic moved to her side. She put the phone on speaker.
"Mom, did you say who called?"
"A foreign man. Said he was an investigator. Mentioned the Hart family. Said your name came up in a dormant case."
Dominic’s brows furrowed. "He’s weaponizing your family history. Trying to hit you where it hurts."
"He won’t get far," Amara said quietly. "I won’t let him."
Her mother spoke again, more softly this time. "Amara... come home. Just for a few days. Maybe there's more you should know."
Amara hesitated.
Dominic squeezed her hand. "We should go. Together."
She met his eyes. Nodded.
Two Days Later — Eastbrook, Virginia
The estate loomed ahead like a memory carved in stone—Amara’s childhood home. It was old, stately, with cracked paint on the porch railings and ivy growing wild.
As the black SUV pulled up, Dominic reached for her hand. "We don’t have to do this."
"We do. I need to face it."
Her mother waited at the door. Gray streaked her once jet-black hair, and lines etched her face that hadn’t been there the last time Amara visited. But the fire in her eyes remained.
"You brought him," her mother said with a small nod.
"Dominic," Amara said. "My husband."
He extended a respectful hand. "Mrs. Cole."
She hesitated, then shook it. "Come in. There’s something I think you both should see."
Inside the Study
Stacks of boxes lined the back wall. Old photos, journals, newspaper clippings.
Her mother opened a weathered brown folder and handed Amara a photo. Her father. Younger than she remembered. In a military uniform. Next to him was a man she didn’t recognize—tall, suited, eyes sharp.
"Who's this?" Amara asked.
"That’s Victor LeClair. Jeremy’s father."
Amara staggered back slightly. "What?"
Her mother nodded. "Your father and Victor served together. But after the war... things soured. There was an arms deal. Your father tried to expose him. He died six weeks later."
Dominic’s face went pale. "They killed him."
"We couldn’t prove it," her mother said, voice tight. "Victor disappeared. But now Jeremy is back, and he has resources. Connections. He’s finishing what his father started."
Amara sat down heavily. "So this isn’t just about business. It’s revenge."
Dominic walked over and kissed the top of her head. "We’re going to stop him. This ends with us."
Her mother added quietly, "There's more. I kept one of your father’s journals. He mentioned a key... to a safety deposit box. I think it’s still in town. It might hold the final piece."
Amara stood. "Then we find it. Tonight."
The courtroom was silent—oppressively so—as the bailiff called the session to order. Dominic adjusted the cuffs of his suit, his jaw taut with tension. Amara sat beside him at the plaintiff’s table, her expression carved from steel. Her fingers briefly brushed his under the table—a wordless assurance that they were united in this.
Across from them, Jeremy LeClair sat smugly, flanked by a team of high-powered lawyers in tailored suits. He leaned back like a man attending a performance, not a legal war. His eyes flicked to Amara and Dominic with a smirk that promised more battles ahead.
Judge Reynolds entered, his robe sweeping behind him, and took his seat. “We are here today to review the injunction filed by Mr. LeClair against Dominic Hart, requesting a freeze of all corporate assets pending investigation of alleged fraud and illegal merger practices.”
Amara stood, her voice clear and precise. “Your Honor, we intend to prove that the evidence presented by Mr. LeClair is falsified and maliciously constructed with the intent to sabotage Mr. Hart’s company and reputation.”
“And I,” Jeremy’s lead counsel, Mr. Travis Burke, interrupted, “intend to show that Mr. Hart has systematically violated multiple clauses of financial integrity over the last twelve months.”
Judge Reynolds raised a hand. “One at a time, counsel. Present your evidence in the correct order.”
Amara nodded and returned to her seat. Dominic leaned close. “Can we do this?”
She whispered, “We already are.”
The trial proceeded for over an hour, each side presenting evidence, exhibits, and testimony. Amara cross-examined with precision, dismantling Burke’s case document by document.
The moment of impact came when Clara, under protective court order, was called to the stand.
She took a steadying breath before speaking. “Yes, I worked under Jeremy LeClair. I was part of the data transfer team. I had access to offshore financial records and interdepartmental correspondences.”
“Can you confirm these records?” Amara held up the encrypted drive.
“Yes. I copied those files the week before I left. I was concerned. What I saw wasn’t legal. Jeremy was orchestrating the falsification of merger documents, and redirecting shareholder funds into shell accounts.”
The courtroom murmured.
Burke stood. “Objection, Your Honor! This is hearsay—”
“Overruled,” Judge Reynolds said. “Continue.”
Amara approached Clara again. “Did you personally see any documentation involving Mr. Hart in these schemes?”
“No. Dominic Hart was not involved in any of the criminal activities I uncovered.”
Amara turned to the judge. “Your Honor, this not only discredits the injunction’s foundation, it establishes malicious intent.”
Jeremy shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
The judge reviewed the drive and the court transcript, then looked up. “I’m lifting the asset freeze, effective immediately. This case will move forward, but for now, Mr. Hart retains full control over his assets and business.”
A sharp exhale rippled from Dominic. Amara remained stoic, but her clenched fist under the table relaxed slightly.
As they exited the courtroom, flashbulbs popped and reporters shouted questions.
Dominic spoke briefly to the cameras. “Truth always finds the surface. And today, it has.”
Amara didn’t speak—her message was in her steady hand gripping his.
Later That Night — Back at the Penthouse
The lights of the city sparkled below as Amara pulled her heels off and dropped onto the couch. Her feet throbbed, her head ached, but her heart was light.
Dominic entered behind her with two glasses of wine.
“To you,” he said, handing her one. “And to Clara.”
They clinked glasses.
“I can’t believe we won the first round,” Amara said.
“We did more than that,” Dominic replied. “We exposed him. And Jeremy knows it.”
Amara sipped her wine slowly. “We’re not done. But now… we have leverage.”
Just then, Dominic’s phone buzzed.
He checked it and froze.
“What is it?” she asked.
He handed her the phone. An image had been sent anonymously—Jeremy standing with a woman in a scarf and sunglasses.
“That’s—”
“Your mother,” Dominic finished.
Amara’s blood ran cold. “That can’t be. She died. Years ago.”
Dominic sat beside her. “Either it’s someone who looks like her… or Jeremy’s digging up every ghost he can to destroy you.”
Amara stared at the screen. “If that’s my mother… then she faked her death. And I need to know why.”
Dominic put an arm around her. “We’ll find out. Together.”
Meanwhile — In a Dark Apartment Across Town
Jeremy tossed his coat onto a chair and poured himself a drink. His victory was only temporarily stalled.
A figure stepped from the shadows.
“You pushed too soon,” she said.
Jeremy didn’t look surprised. “I needed to. They were gaining ground.”
“The girl… Amara. She can’t learn the truth.”
“She already suspects,” Jeremy said with a smirk. “Which makes it all the more fun.”
The woman pulled off her scarf. Her features were aged, but unmistakable.
Amara’s mother.
“She’s not ready,” she whispered.
Jeremy raised his glass. “Let’s make sure she never is.”
Dominic's fingers twitched as he lowered the file containing the classified information about Amara's mother. The silence in the penthouse living room stretched long, taut like an unspoken scream. Amara stood across from him, frozen, the color draining from her face as the reality settled over her like a thick, suffocating fog.
"Alive?" she whispered, the word cracking in the air. "You're saying my mother is alive?"
Dominic nodded slowly. "I didn't want to believe it until I saw the sealed records myself. But Clara’s tech traced the communication and the offshore accounts Jeremy was funneling money to. One of the recipients? Your mother—Adaora Cole. Alive. In Zurich."
Amara stumbled back a step, her hand catching the edge of the couch to steady herself. "My father told me she died. There was a funeral. I... I remember her casket. The grief."
Clara stepped forward gently, holding a document in hand. "It was staged. Dominic found hospital and immigration records. She was hospitalized for months, under a false identity, and then... vanished. With help. We believe Jeremy had something to do with it."
"But why?" Amara demanded, her voice rising. "Why fake her death? Why disappear and let me grow up without her?"
"We don’t have the full picture yet," Dominic replied. "But we know this — Jeremy has a history of buying silence, manipulating truths. If she’s alive and he’s been paying her, it’s either blackmail... or she’s involved."
Amara shook her head violently. "No. My mother would never—"
"Then we need to find her," Clara said softly. "Let her speak for herself."
Zurich, Switzerland - Two Days Later
The private jet cut through the winter clouds, descending toward Zurich's sleek international airport. Amara stared out the window, fingers nervously knotted in her lap. Dominic sat beside her, his hand gently resting on hers. Clara and Carla were across from them, reviewing the dossier of Adaora Cole’s known last location.
"We have a safehouse prepped not far from the address," Carla said. "No press, no local authorities. If she’s there, we approach quietly."
Amara barely nodded, her thoughts miles away. She wasn’t just flying across countries—she was diving headfirst into a past that had betrayed her.
They arrived at a quiet gated residence tucked between snow-covered trees on the outskirts of Zurich. The place was secluded, elegant, and heavily secured. Dominic led the team, while Carla’s agents circled the property discreetly.
Clara checked her device. "Thermal imaging confirms someone’s inside. Female. Mid-fifties. Alone."
Amara stepped forward. "I want to go in first."
Dominic hesitated. "Are you sure?"
"She’s my mother. I need to see her."
He nodded. "We’re right behind you."
The front door creaked open after a gentle knock. The woman who appeared was older, thinner than Amara remembered—but her eyes. Those eyes had not changed.
"Mama?" Amara whispered.
Adaora Cole's expression collapsed. Tears immediately filled her eyes as she stumbled back, hand to her mouth. "Amara... my baby..."
Amara rushed in, wrapping her arms around her mother. Years of buried grief and longing flooded between them in a single, wordless embrace.
Inside the cottage, Amara and Adaora sat on opposite sofas while Dominic and Carla watched silently. Clara stood nearby, still scanning digital logs.
"You were dead," Amara whispered. "I mourned you. For years."
Adaora’s face was lined with regret. "I was told it was the only way to protect you."
"From what?"
"Your father’s enemies. Business deals that went wrong. I was kidnapped, Amara. The casket wasn’t mine—it was all part of a cover arranged by powerful men. I was supposed to vanish forever."
"But Jeremy found you," Carla interjected.
Adaora nodded. "He offered me a way out. A new life in Zurich. I took it... not realizing what he would use it for. He threatened to expose me. Said if I didn’t stay quiet, he’d hurt you. I watched you grow up from afar... every photo he sent me... and I hated myself."
Amara’s jaw clenched. "So you let me live in grief. You let me think I was alone."
"I thought I was protecting you," Adaora sobbed. "Every year, I wanted to reach out. But I was a ghost."
Dominic spoke up. "Then let’s bring the truth to light. Help us destroy him."
Adaora nodded slowly. "I will testify. I’ll give you everything."
Back in New York – One Week Later
The courtroom buzzed with the presence of media, attorneys, and law enforcement. Dominic and Amara walked in side by side, Clara and Carla behind them. Adaora, under federal protection, sat ready to be called to the stand.
Jeremy sat smugly at the defense table, flanked by expensive lawyers. His confidence didn’t crack—until he saw Adaora Cole enter.
His jaw tightened. His knuckles whitened.
The prosecution called its final witness: Adaora Cole.
As she walked to the stand, whispers erupted in the room. A woman who had been declared dead decades ago was about to speak.
Her testimony was calm, deliberate, and devastating. She laid out everything: the kidnapping, the fake death, the blackmail. Jeremy’s role in her silence. The transactions. The threats.
When she finished, Jeremy’s entire defense unraveled.
Carla handed Dominic a small folded note. "Verdict will be fast. The evidence is undeniable."
Dominic passed it to Amara.
She read it, then looked up at her husband. "Do you believe in justice now?"
He smiled faintly. "I believe in you."
Later That Night
The verdict was guilty on all charges.
Jeremy LeClair would serve decades in federal prison. His assets were frozen. His allies scattered. Clara was officially cleared. Adaora was granted protective status and freedom to return home.
In the quiet of their penthouse, Dominic poured two glasses of wine. Amara stood on the balcony, staring at the skyline.
He joined her, handing her a glass.
"We won," he said softly.
"Yes. But it doe
sn’t feel like an ending."
"That’s because it’s not. It’s a beginning."
She looked up at him, the man who had once been her enemy in contract... now her partner in purpose.
"Then let’s begin," she whispered.
They toasted, their glasses clinking beneath the stars.
And somewhere beneath those same stars, the ghosts of betrayal faded into echoes.