Amayah was a beautiful woman with an influential platform in a neighborhood known for police calls and petty crime. Yet she remained in the middle of it all, serene and unyielding, treating danger like an inconvenience rather than a warning.
Faith over fear, she’d said in one of her videos.
But when did faith simply become an excuse for reckless decisions?
Could Luke prove this woman wasn’t what she seemed? That the warmth and innocence were only a layer of gloss—temporary, fragile, like the snow masking the flaws of the street beneath their feet?
Luke exhaled quietly through his nose.
Maybe all of this was deliberate, a means of getting more attention.
After all, plenty of influencers sold vulnerability the same way they sold sponsored clothing. And stories like hers—faith, calling, obedience—made perfect emotional bait.
The kind he and his editor couldn’t wait to dismantle.
“We want the truth behind the halo. These influencers make a living selling ‘authenticity.’ I want to know what happens when you scrape the polish off.”She’d leaned forward, voice quiet but sharp. “Find the flaw and expose the manipulation. That’s the story that gets you the promotion you deserve. Do it for Hannah.”
He forced a concerned expression as his thoughts snapped back to the present. “You should at least let someone check the locks.”
“I’ll replace them tomorrow. Tonight, I’ll just shove some furniture in front of the doors and pray.”
Pray.
Was this just part of her act? Or did she really believe that? Did she feel like she had to perform with her faith in order to keep up with her brand?
He didn’t know.
But he planned on finding out.
He glanced again at the back door, then at her.
He remembered the missing food.
Strange choice for a thief to steal.
Still, something about it unsettled him.
There were no hints of performance in her reaction—no rush to document, no instinct to frame the moment for an audience.
Instead, Amayah held quiet concern and practical awareness as she put the kettle on the burner to start water for their hot chocolate.
“Please, have a seat,” she directed him. “I’ll take your coat.”
He slid it off, and she grabbed it, hanging it—along with hers—by the door.
Luke hesitated before taking a place at the kitchen table. Questions circled in his mind. “So . . . you really believe God directed you to this specific street?”
“I know He did.” Her voice held calm assurance—the kind that came from long conversations and quiet surrender rather than impulse or emotion.
And for reasons Luke couldn’t explain, that certainty unsettled him more than fear ever could.
He studied Amayah as she moved to fill the kettle. He remembered the sincerity in her words as she spoke. If this was an act, it was a dangerously convincing one.
Yet his gut didn’t relax.
Not even when Amayah smiled over her shoulder and asked, “Do you take your hot chocolate with marshmallows or without?”
If something seemed too good to be true, it usually was.
