Amelia didn't sleep that night.
She hid the folder under a loose floorboard in her closet and lay in bed, staring at the ornate ceiling while every breath she took felt like a lie. The words in that file were burned into her memory—"Liquidation Strategy," "forged signature," "target acquisition." Her father's company hadn't crumbled by accident.
Andrew had orchestrated it. Every piece.
And now she wore his last name.
By morning, her head throbbed from exhaustion, but she was done playing the docile wife. She had questions. She wanted answers.
But Andrew Reynolds was nowhere to be found.
His staff claimed he had left early for "a meeting."
Convenient.
Amelia changed out of her nightgown and into a soft cream blouse and black slacks. She wasn't about to interrogate a billionaire in silk pajamas. She needed composure, control. She needed to be unreadable—just like him.
By noon, she found herself pacing the marble hallway, waiting for the sound of the front doors. Waiting for him.
When he finally returned, it wasn't quiet.
The double doors slammed open. His jacket hung over his shoulder, his white shirt slightly wrinkled and his sleeves rolled up. Andrew's tie was loosened, and there was a shadow in his eyes she hadn't seen before.
He was angry.
But so was she.
"Where have you been?" she asked before she could stop herself.
He paused, raising a brow. "I wasn't aware I needed your permission to leave the house."
"You don't," she snapped. "But I think your wife deserves to know if she's married to a criminal."
The air froze.
Andrew's jaw ticked. Slowly, he placed his jacket over the banister and walked toward her.
"What did you just say?"
Amelia didn't flinch. "I saw the folder in your study."
He stopped.
His expression didn't change, but the temperature in the room dropped like a stone. "I told you not to go in there."
"And you thought I'd just obey?" Her voice rose. "You destroyed my father's company. You set him up and then swooped in like a savior so you could own me in return!"
He stepped closer, now only inches from her. "I saved your father from prison."
"After you drove him into it!" she shot back.
Andrew's eyes were hard as stone. "You don't understand the world I live in, Amelia. Deals are made. People fall. Empires crumble. That's business."
"No," she said, trembling, "that's manipulation. That's cruelty."
He didn't deny it.
Instead, he tilted his head. "What exactly do you think you're going to do with that information?"
"I don't know," she whispered, suddenly aware of the danger in his voice. "But I won't stay silent."
Andrew's voice dropped to a murmur. "Be careful, Amelia. If you start a war with me, I won't be the one who ends up bleeding."
She stared at him, heart pounding. "Was this always your plan? Ruin my family and trap me as payment?"
There was something unreadable in his expression now. Regret? Anger? Neither stayed long.
"You weren't part of the plan," he said flatly. "But you're part of the outcome."
Then he turned and walked away, disappearing up the stairs without another word.
The next few days passed in a blur of silence and strained glances. Amelia kept her distance. Andrew kept his secrets. They barely spoke, barely looked at one another.
But she watched him.
And she waited.
Until one morning, a knock came at the door.
It wasn't a maid or a butler.
It was a delivery man with a small envelope addressed to her—no return name.
She took it to her room and opened it, heart in her throat.
Inside was a single photograph.
A grainy image of her father, sitting in a café… with Andrew.
The timestamp was from three months before her father's company collapsed.
Behind the photo was a note, written in cramped handwriting:
"You don't know the whole story. Be at Langford Park, 3 p.m. Come alone."
Amelia stared at it, her hands trembling.
Someone else knew.
And they were trying to warn her.
She arrived at Langford Park early.
The clouds hung low, casting shadows over the stone benches and rustling trees. It was mostly empty—just an elderly couple feeding birds and a few joggers.
Amelia sat down on the edge of a bench, clutching the envelope in her purse, eyes scanning every face that passed.
Minutes crawled by.
Then, a man in a gray hoodie sat beside her without a word.
"You came," he said.
She turned, startled. "Who are you?"
He didn't look at her. "Doesn't matter. What matters is what you think you know."
Her grip on her purse tightened. "Andrew orchestrated everything. He ruined my father to force me into marriage."
The man shook his head slowly. "You've only seen one part of the picture."
"What do you mean?"
He pulled out a flash drive and held it up. "This has records. Meetings. Wire transfers. Surveillance. The truth isn't just about Andrew. It goes deeper. Your father was in on it, too."
Amelia's blood ran cold.
"What?"
The man stood. "Take it. But be careful who you trust. Even your friends might not be what they seem."
And just like that, he walked away.
She stared at the flash drive in her hand like it was a bomb.
Was it possible?
Could her father—her own father—have helped orchestrate her downfall?
She didn't want to believe it.
But now… she had to know.
That night, Amelia waited until the estate was dark.
She crept into the media room and booted up one of Andrew's old laptops. The flash drive plugged in easily.
Dozens of files appeared.
Emails.
Financial transfers.
Audio recordings.
And photos.
One folder stopped her cold: "Sage & Leo – Blackmail Evidence."
Sage. Her best friend.
Leo. Her ex.
With shaking hands, she opened the folder.
The first image was of Sage and Leo—at dinner. Laughing. Leaning close.
The next was a transcript of a phone call.
Leo: "She's already agreed to marry him. The deal's done."
Sage: "Good. Once she's under his roof, it's only a matter of time. He'll destroy her completely."
Amelia's stomach twisted.
Her best friend. Her ex-boyfriend.
They were in on it, too.
Her hands flew to her mouth to muffle the cry.
Everything had been a lie.
The contract. The betrayal. The marriage.
She was surrounded by enemies who had smiled to her face.
But she wasn't broken.
Not yet.
She copied everything onto a backup drive and hid it in the lining of her coat. If they wanted to play games—they were about to learn she wasn't a pawn anymore.
She was the threat.
The next morning, Amelia walked into Andrew's office with a calm she didn't feel.
He looked up from his desk. "Did you forget the part where you're not allowed in here?"
She smiled sweetly.
Then tossed the flash drive onto his desk.
"I didn't forget," she said. "But I thought you'd want to see what I found before I show it to the press."
Andrew's eyes flicked to the drive.
And for the first time—
He looked afraid.