Chapter 3- The art of being loved

Amara Bennett was beginning to realize that Zayden Moreau had a talent for appearing in her thoughts at the most inconvenient times.

She thought about him while brushing her teeth. She thought about him while getting dressed. And, embarrassingly enough, she thought about him while standing in line waiting for her morning coffee.

It had only been one date.

One.

She wasn’t supposed to be thinking about a man this much after one dinner.

Her phone buzzed on the kitchen counter.

Zayden — 8:06 AM

Good morning, beautiful.

Amara stared at the message.

Beautiful.

She wasn’t used to being called that so casually. Not because she didn’t know she was attractive, but because compliments had always felt temporary. People said nice things when they wanted something. They were affectionate when it suited them. Then, eventually, the attention disappeared.

She typed a response.

Amara: Good morning.

Three dots appeared.

Zayden: That’s all I get?

Amara: What else were you expecting?

Zayden: A little enthusiasm. Perhaps a smile. Maybe a thank-you for thinking about you.

Amara laughed.

Amara: You’re very demanding this early.

Zayden: And you’re very difficult to impress.

Amara: Maybe you’re trying too hard.

Zayden: Maybe you’re not used to someone trying.

Her smile slowly faded.

She read the sentence again.

It wasn’t necessarily rude. It wasn’t even entirely wrong.

But he had touched on something she rarely discussed.

Amara: You don’t know me well enough to say that.

Zayden read her response from his office.

He leaned back in his chair, studying the screen.

He could have made a joke. He could have defended himself.

Instead, he typed:

Zayden: You’re right. I don’t. I’m still learning.

Amara looked at the message for a long moment.

Then she placed her phone down.

She didn’t know what to do with a man who could admit when he was wrong.

⸻

At 10:30 AM, Amara met Maya for breakfast.

They chose a little café downtown, the kind with fresh flowers on every table and large windows overlooking the street.

Maya was already seated when Amara arrived.

“Finally.”

“I’m two minutes late.”

“Three.”

Amara kissed her cheek and sat down.

“You’re dramatic.”

“And you’re glowing.”

Amara immediately looked suspicious.

“Here you go.”

“No, seriously. You look happy.”

“I’m always happy.”

Maya gave her a look.

“Amara.”

“What?”

“Don’t do that thing where you pretend everything is fine when you’re clearly feeling something.”

Amara opened the menu.

“I went on one date. That’s all.”

“Okay. And was it good?”

“Yes.”

“Did he treat you well?”

“Yes.”

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Yes.”

Maya smiled.

“Then what’s the problem?”

Amara looked down at the menu.

“Nothing.”

“That’s not an answer.”

She sighed.

“I just don’t want to get carried away.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know him. I don’t know what he wants. I don’t know if he’s genuinely interested or if this is just something he does.”

Maya listened quietly.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“You’re allowed to enjoy something without knowing how it ends.”

Amara looked up.

Maya continued.

“You don’t have to decide whether he’s your future husband. You don’t even have to decide whether you like him that much. Just get to know him.”

Amara gave a small smile.

“You make everything sound easy.”

“It’s not easy. But you deserve to experience something good without spending every second preparing for it to go bad.”

Amara didn’t respond.

Because somewhere inside, she knew Maya was right.

⸻

At Moreau International Group, Zayden was dealing with a completely different problem.

His father had arrived.

Laurent Moreau stood near the windows of Zayden’s office, dressed in a navy suit with a serious expression.

“You’ve been avoiding my calls.”

Zayden continued reading the document in front of him.

“I’ve been working.”

“You’re always working.”

“That’s generally what happens when you run a company.”

Laurent turned toward him.

“Watch your tone.”

Zayden finally looked up.

“What do you need, Dad?”

Laurent placed a folder on the desk.

“The Paris acquisition. I want you to reconsider the partnership.”

“We’ve already discussed this.”

“And I disagree with your decision.”

“That doesn’t mean the decision is wrong.”

His father stared at him.

“You’ve become very comfortable making decisions without consulting anyone.”

“It’s my company.”

“Your company?” Laurent repeated. “You wouldn’t have gotten where you are without this family.”

Zayden’s jaw tightened.

There it was.

The same conversation.

The same reminder that no matter how much he accomplished, his father would always find a way to make it seem insufficient.

“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” Zayden said. “But I built this company. I make the final decisions.”

Laurent studied him.

Then his eyes moved toward the phone on the desk.

“Is there someone distracting you?”

Zayden gave a short laugh.

“Seriously?”

“I’m asking a question.”

“And I’m asking you to stay out of my personal life.”

Laurent picked up his folder.

“Be careful, Zayden. Relationships can become liabilities.”

Zayden’s expression turned cold.

“Only when you treat people like business transactions.”

His father said nothing.

He simply left.

Zayden stared at the closed door for a moment before reaching for his phone.

He had no intention of letting his father’s opinions determine how he lived his life.

⸻

That afternoon, Amara received a delivery at work.

A small white box.

Her name was written neatly across the top.

She frowned.

“Did you order something?” her coworker asked.

“No.”

She opened it carefully.

Inside was a beautiful gold bracelet with a delicate design. Beneath it was a small card.

Saw this and thought it would look beautiful on you. No occasion needed.

— Zayden

Amara’s stomach tightened.

It was lovely.

Really lovely.

But it was also expensive. She could tell without even looking at the brand.

She picked up her phone and called him.

He answered after two rings.

“Hello, beautiful.”

“Zayden.”

He smiled at the sound of her voice.

“Amara. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Did you send me something?”

“I did.”

“The bracelet?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

There was a brief pause.

“Because I wanted to.”

“Zayden, this is expensive.”

“Probably.”

“Probably?”

He laughed softly.

“Amara, it’s a bracelet. I didn’t buy you a private island.”

She wasn’t amused.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

She looked down at the box.

“I don’t want you spending all this money on me.”

“Why not?”

“Because you barely know me.”

“That’s true.”

“And you don’t have to buy me things.”

“I know I don’t.”

She went quiet.

Zayden noticed the change in her voice.

“Listen to me. It wasn’t an obligation. I saw it, thought you’d like it, and decided to get it. That’s all.”

“But—”

“Amara.”

She stopped.

“You don’t have to earn every nice thing someone does for you.”

The words landed harder than he intended.

She looked away from the bracelet.

“I didn’t say I did.”

“I know. I’m not accusing you of anything.”

He softened his voice.

“I just want you to understand that sometimes a gift is simply a gift.”

Amara swallowed.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And I’ll pay you back.”

Zayden exhaled.

“Absolutely not.”

“Zayden.”

“Amara.”

She almost laughed.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. Keep the bracelet.”

He paused.

“But if it makes you uncomfortable, you don’t have to wear it. I won’t be offended.”

That surprised her.

He wasn’t demanding that she accept it.

He wasn’t making her feel guilty.

He was simply giving her a choice.

“Okay,” she said quietly.

“Okay.”

They stayed on the phone for a few more minutes before hanging up.

Amara placed the bracelet back in its box.

She wanted to like it without feeling guilty.

She wanted to accept kindness without wondering what it would cost her later.

But wanting something and knowing how to receive it were two very different things.

⸻

Saturday evening, Zayden invited Amara to spend time with him.

Not dinner at a fancy restaurant.

Not a formal event.

Just an evening together.

He asked if she’d like to come over for dinner at his Manhattan penthouse.

Amara hesitated.

Going to someone’s home felt more personal than meeting in public.

She didn’t know whether she was ready for that.

When she explained, Zayden didn’t argue.

“That’s fine,” he said over the phone. “We can do something else.”

“You’re not upset?”

“Why would I be?”

“I don’t know.”

“Amara, you don’t owe me access to your space or your time. If you’re not comfortable, we’ll make another plan.”

She sat quietly for a moment.

“Actually…”

“Actually?”

“I’d like to come. If the invitation is still open.”

A smile spread across his face.

“Always.”

⸻

At 7:00 PM, Amara arrived at Zayden’s building.

The penthouse occupied the upper floors of a modern luxury tower overlooking Manhattan. The private elevator opened directly into the residence.

The space was beautiful.

Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the city lights, while warm lighting softened the dark marble, cream furniture, and carefully chosen artwork.

It was luxurious without feeling cold.

Zayden stood near the kitchen island wearing black trousers and a fitted dark shirt. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing the tattoos covering his forearms.

“Welcome.”

Amara looked around.

“Wow.”

He smiled.

“Good wow or bad wow?”

“Good wow.”

“Then I’ll take it.”

He leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

“You’re right on time.”

“Was I supposed to be late?”

“No. I just like punctual people.”

She laughed.

He took her coat and showed her around.

The living room opened into a dining area, followed by a large kitchen. A hallway led to several private rooms, but he didn’t take her through the entire residence.

Instead, he asked if she’d like something to drink.

“Water is fine.”

“Still or sparkling?”

“Still, please.”

He handed her a glass.

She looked toward the kitchen.

“Did you cook?”

“Some of it.”

“Some of it?”

“I have a chef.”

Amara laughed.

“Of course you do.”

“But I wanted to make something myself tonight.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“You cook?”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I wasn’t expecting it.”

“That’s becoming a recurring theme.”

He led her toward the dining table.

Dinner was simple compared with the restaurants he’d taken her to, but it was thoughtful. He had prepared pasta, roasted vegetables, and grilled salmon.

Amara tasted the food.

“Okay.”

Zayden watched her.

“Okay?”

“This is actually really good.”

“Actually?”

She laughed.

“Don’t get too excited.”

He shook his head, smiling.

⸻

They spent most of dinner talking.

Zayden told her about growing up between Paris and New York, about his parents’ expectations, and about how difficult it had been to build a company while people constantly assumed his success came from his family.

Amara listened.

She was beginning to understand that beneath his confidence was someone who had spent years trying to prove himself.

“What about you?” he asked.

“What about me?”

“Your family. Are you close?”

Amara moved her fork around her plate.

“Some of them.”

“That’s a complicated answer.”

“It’s a complicated situation.”

He nodded.

“Fair enough.”

She appreciated that he didn’t demand more.

After dinner, they moved to the living room.

Zayden put on some music, low enough to allow conversation. Amara sat on the sofa with her legs tucked beneath her.

He sat beside her, leaving a comfortable amount of space.

“Can I ask you something?” he said.

“Sure.”

“Why do you always look surprised when I do something nice for you?”

Amara looked at him.

“I don’t.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“You do.”

She sighed.

“I just don’t expect it.”

“Why?”

She looked toward the windows.

“Because people aren’t always consistent.”

Zayden remained quiet.

“Sometimes people make you feel like you’re important, and then suddenly they don’t. Sometimes they say things they don’t mean. Sometimes they make promises and forget them.”

Her voice became quieter.

“So I learned not to expect too much.”

Zayden studied her.

“That must be exhausting.”

She gave a small laugh.

“It is.”

He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees.

“Amara, I’m not going to tell you that I’m perfect. I’m not. I have my flaws, and I know I can be difficult sometimes.”

She looked at him.

“But I don’t want you to feel like you have to pretend you’re okay with everything just to keep me around.”

Her expression softened.

“If something bothers you, tell me. If you need space, say that. If I do something wrong, call me out.”

He paused.

“I can’t promise that we’ll never disagree. But I can promise that I’ll be honest with you.”

Amara looked down.

She wasn’t used to hearing things like that.

Not from a man.

Not without a catch.

“You’re making it sound easy,” she whispered.

“It’s not easy. But it shouldn’t have to be a battle every day.”

She looked at him again.

For a moment, their eyes met.

Then Zayden slowly reached for her hand.

He didn’t grab it.

He simply placed his hand beside hers, giving her the opportunity to decide.

After a few seconds, Amara moved her fingers into his.

His hand was warm.

He looked down at their joined hands and smiled.

“See?”

“What?”

“You survived.”

She laughed, shaking her head.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Sometimes.”

⸻

Later that evening, Zayden walked her to the private elevator.

“I had a good time,” Amara said.

“So did I.”

She looked at him.

“Thank you for dinner.”

“You’re welcome.”

He reached up and gently moved a strand of hair away from her face.

“Can I kiss you tonight?”

Amara looked at him.

This time, she didn’t immediately say no.

She studied his face, searching for something she couldn’t quite explain.

Then she nodded.

Zayden leaned down slowly, giving her time to change her mind.

Their lips met in a soft, unhurried kiss.

It wasn’t dramatic.

It wasn’t something out of a movie.

It was gentle.

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead briefly against hers.

“Goodnight, Amara.”

She smiled.

“Goodnight.”

The elevator doors closed.

And for the first time in a long time, Amara found herself wishing the evening hadn’t ended.

⸻

When she arrived home, she took off her heels and placed her handbag on the dresser.

Her phone buzzed.

Zayden: Let me know when you’re settled in.

She smiled.

Amara: I’m home.

Zayden: Good. I enjoyed tonight.

Amara: I did too.

Zayden: Sleep well, beautiful.

Amara put her phone down.

Then she picked it up again.

She opened their conversation and read through the messages.

She looked at the bracelet sitting on her dresser.

Then she thought about the way he’d listened to her.

The way he’d accepted her boundaries.

The way he’d held her hand without making her feel obligated to give him anything in return.

She wanted to believe him.

She really did.

But a quiet voice inside her reminded her that people could be wonderful in the beginning.

The real question was whether they stayed that way.

And Amara wasn’t sure she knew how to wait long enough to find out.