Amelia spent the hours before dinner pacing her room, her bare feet whispering against the marble floor. The penthouse felt cavernous, its silence pressing down on her until every tick of the clock seemed louder than the last. The walls gleamed like they belonged to someone else's life. A cold, curated perfection that reminded her with every step that she didn't belong here.
By six thirty, she forced herself into action. A long shower, water scalding enough to sting, as though heat alone could burn away the dread tightening in her chest. She chose the best she had a navy dress that skimmed her body with quiet elegance. It wasn't designer, not even close, but it was clean, neat, and hers. She paired it with her only pair of modest heels, smoothing her hair until it shone.
As the clock neared seven, her stomach twisted. Her reflection in the mirror looked calm, even poised, but Amelia knew better. Inside, her heart thundered.
This is just dinner, she told herself. Just food. He's just a man. A cruel, arrogant, frustrating man but still just a man.
When the clock chimed, she inhaled, squared her shoulders, and stepped out.
The dining room stole her breath.
A chandelier of dripping crystal hung above a long, polished table that could have seated twenty. The lights gleamed off silver cutlery arranged with military precision, the shine of crystal glasses catching her eye like diamonds. It was a setting designed not just for eating, but for power. At the far end of the table, like a king on a throne, sat Adrian Kane.
He was dressed in another crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, his dark hair falling neatly across his forehead. He looked like he belonged in a portrait timeless, dangerous, untouchable. His presence filled the room as if the space itself bent to accommodate him.
His eyes flicked to the clock, then to her. "On time," he said. His voice was low, smooth. "Surprising."
Amelia's spine stiffened. "You make it sound like I'm incapable of following a clock."
The faintest curve touched his lips not quite a smile, not quite mockery. "We'll see how long that lasts."
A butler appeared silently, like a shadow. Plates were laid before them with surgical precision seared steak, roasted vegetables glistening with oil, and wine poured into crystal glasses that caught the chandelier's light.
Amelia took her seat at the opposite end, the table stretching between them like a chasm. The distance should have made her feel safer, but instead it heightened her awareness of him. Every movement he made seemed magnified: the slow curl of his fingers around his glass, the way his gaze lingered without apology.
His eyes dropped briefly to her dress. "You'll need a new wardrobe."
Her fork froze midair. "What's wrong with this one?"
"It's… honest." His gaze sharpened. "Honesty doesn't work in my world. Appearances do."
She set her fork down, the clink of metal against porcelain louder than she intended. "So you want me to look like one of those soulless women who hover around you at galas? Perfect hair, fake smiles, expensive gowns?"
"Exactly." His tone was calm, almost bored, as if he were reading a stock report.
Her cheeks heated with anger. "Well, sorry to disappoint, but I'm not interested in being your doll."
Adrian leaned back in his chair, regarding her with eyes the color of storm clouds. His voice dropped lower, silk laced with steel. "And yet, here you are sitting at my table, in my penthouse, bound by my contract. You agreed to the role, Amelia. Don't confuse it with freedom."
The air shifted, sharp as broken glass. Amelia's pulse quickened, a riot of fury and fear and something else she refused to name.
She lifted her chin. "I agreed to save my mother. Not to be humiliated."
For a long beat, silence pressed in on them, broken only by the soft clink of silverware in the butler's hands. Then Adrian tilted his head, studying her like a puzzle with too many jagged edges.
"You're different," he said at last.
Her brows drew together. "Different how?"
"Most women in your position would nod, smile, and thank me for the opportunity." His mouth curved, the faintest ghost of amusement. "You argue. You fight back. You don't seem to understand that in this world, obedience is survival."
Her throat felt tight, but she forced the words out steady. "Maybe I don't want to survive in your world. Maybe I want to change it."
That made him laugh. A low, rich sound that startled her, vibrating in the air between them. It wasn't kind, it was dark, amused, like a man who had seen too much of the world to believe in her naive defiance.
"You're bold, I'll give you that." He leaned forward, forearms resting on the table, his gaze catching hers like a trap. "But boldness is a double-edged sword, Amelia. It can make you powerful or it can get you destroyed."
Her skin prickled. His words should have scared her. They did scare her. But worse, they thrilled her.
She swallowed hard. "Then I guess we'll see which side of the blade I land on."
The silence after that wasn't empty. It was electric. Their eyes locked, a battle without words. Her pulse thundered, and though every instinct screamed to look away, she didn't.
The butler returned, refilling their glasses with wine that glowed crimson under the light. Neither of them moved. Neither broke the gaze.
Amelia realized then that dinner wasn't about food. It wasn't even about appearances. It was war. A silent, seductive war fought with glances and words sharper than knives.
And the most dangerous part of all was the flicker of truth that crept into her chest.
She wasn't entirely sure she wanted to win.