Amelia awoke to the faint chime of an antique clock. The sound was oddly soothing, yet every beat reminded her that she was no longer in her world, no longer in control of her life. She sat upright in the enormous bed, the velvet curtains still drawn tight, suffocating the morning light.
Her body felt heavier than usual. Not from sleep, she realized, "but from the weight of my choices" .
The air carried the scent of aged wood and lavender polish, too refined, too calculated to be natural. This was Blackwood Mansion, and she was now bound to Adrian Blackwood by a contract that felt more like chains than vows.
Her hand brushed against the silk sheets. Too soft. Too alien. Too much a reminder that she was living in a world designed by someone else.
A knock on the door startled her.
"Miss Hart," a woman's voice called from the other side. "Breakfast will be served in fifteen minutes. Mr. Blackwood requests your presence."
Her pulse quickened. There was that word again "requests." Yet instinct screamed that Adrian Blackwood did not request. He commanded.
She rose and dressed in the clothes laid neatly at the foot of the bed: a pale silk blouse and a fitted skirt. They fit perfectly, as though measured long before she arrived. She frowned at her reflection in the gilded mirror.
Her brown hair framed her face in soft waves, her lips pale, her eyes shadowed by worry. And yet—she looked different. As if overnight, Amelia Hart had been replaced by someone else. Someone who belonged here.
But I don't belong here, she thought bitterly. Not in this house, not in this world of shadows.
The dining hall was vast, almost intimidating. A long table stretched nearly the length of the room, covered in polished silver cutlery that gleamed under the chandelier's glow. Adrian sat at the far end, composed as always, every movement deliberate, his black suit immaculate.
His gaze lifted as she entered, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause.
"Good morning," he said, voice calm yet laced with authority.
"Good morning," she replied, her throat tight.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Only the clink of his spoon against porcelain filled the space. Amelia sat opposite him, nerves dancing beneath her skin.
Finally, Adrian set his cup down and folded his hands together. His eyes locked onto hers sharp, assessing, unyielding.
"There are things you must understand," he began, voice smooth as silk but with an edge that cut. "This arrangement is not a game. It is not simply for appearances. You are not only my wife in public, Amelia. You are my wife in every sense. People will watch you. Whisper about you. Judge you. And you must silence them all."
Her heart skipped. Every sense? What does he mean by that?
She steadied herself and asked, "And what if I fail?"
Adrian's lips curved faintly, but it wasn't a smile it was a warning.
"Failure," he said slowly, "is not an option. And if you falter… you'll learn why those who cross me never walk away unscathed."
Her stomach knotted, yet some stubborn part of her refused to bow. She lifted her chin.
"I'm not a puppet," she whispered, though her voice trembled.
Adrian leaned back in his chair, studying her as though she were both amusing and infuriating. Then, to her surprise, he smirked.
"Good," he murmured. "I don't need a puppet. I need someone strong enough to stand beside me. Weakness attracts enemies. Strength keeps them at bay."
His words unsettled her. Enemies? What enemies? But she bit back the question. She wasn't ready for the answer.
Breakfast ended with more silence than words. As Amelia rose to leave, Adrian's voice stopped her in her tracks.
"There's a charity gala tonight," he said, his tone casual, yet commanding. "You will attend as my wife. It will be your first test."
Her chest tightened. A gala meant exposure. Hundreds of eyes scrutinizing her. One misstep, and she'd humiliate them both.
Adrian's gaze sharpened. "At the gala, there are those who would love nothing more than to see me fall. They will look for cracks. And Amelia" his voice dropped lower, almost a threat "you must not be one of them."
Amelia swallowed hard, forcing herself to nod.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Servants drifted through the halls, avoiding her gaze as they prepared gowns and jewelry for the evening. Every detail had been chosen already, as though her role had been written before she ever signed the contract.
The gown was deep sapphire silk, its neckline daring, its design meant to draw attention. She hesitated before putting it on, feeling as though she were dressing in someone else's skin.
When she looked in the mirror, she barely recognized herself again. The gown transformed her, commanding presence she didn't feel.
You have to play the role, she reminded herself. If you fail… you won't survive this place.
The ride to the gala was a silence heavy enough to choke. Adrian sat beside her in the sleek black car, his face unreadable, his presence overpowering.
She wanted to ask questions about the mansion, about the enemies he hinted at, about the portrait that haunted her dreams but her lips stayed sealed.
When they arrived, camera flashes exploded against the night sky. Reporters shouted Adrian's name, their voices frantic with questions. Amelia forced herself to keep smiling as Adrian stepped out and offered his arm.
His grip was firm. Possessive. As though daring the world to challenge the bond between them.
The ballroom inside glittered with chandeliers and polished marble. Laughter filled the air, but beneath it Amelia felt tension, sharp and suffocating. Every glance that landed on her seemed to carry weight curiosity, envy, suspicion.
She tried to breathe, to stay calm, but her nerves screamed at her.
"Smile," Adrian murmured in her ear, his lips brushing dangerously close. "They can smell fear."
She obeyed, though her pulse hammered.
Conversations blurred around her as introductions were made. Adrian spoke little, but his presence silenced entire groups. He was both admired and feared, and Amelia felt it in every whisper that followed them.
Yet, it was not the strangers that unnerved her.
It was the man across the room.
He stood near the bar, glass in hand, eyes locked on hers with unnerving intensity. His smirk was faint, but his stare pierced straight through her composure.
Amelia's breath faltered. Her grip on Adrian's arm nearly slipped.
"No… it can't be."
But it was.
Daniel. Her childhood friend. The boy she had thought lost to tragedy years ago.
Now here he was, alive, older, sharper and standing among Adrian's enemies.
Their eyes met, and in his gaze she saw recognition… and warning.
Her chest constricted. Her world tilted dangerously.
If Daniel was here, tied to Adrian's enemies… then nothing about this contract, this marriage, or Adrian himself was what she believed.
The chandelier light glinted off Daniel's glass as he raised it slightly toward her, his smirk widening.
And in that moment, Amelia realized something chilling:
Her past had just stepped into her present.
And Adrian would not forgive secrets.