Amelia stood outside the glass tower of Kane Residences with her single suitcase by her side, feeling like she had stepped into another universe.
The skyscraper rose into the fading gold of the afternoon, its mirrored surface swallowing the skyline and spitting it back in glittering shards. Sleek cars glided up to the entrance like they belonged to another species of human, their owners stepping out with the kind of practiced grace Amelia had only seen in movies. Valets hurried to open doors, their polished shoes clicking in unison. Women with designer bags and glossy hair strode past her without sparing a glance, as though poverty didn't exist in this part of the city.
And then there was her,Amelia Hart, broke scholarship student in scuffed shoes and a secondhand blouse, clutching a suitcase that rattled whenever she dragged it across uneven pavement. She could almost feel the invisible line between herself and them, like a pane of glass separating two worlds.
Her throat tightened. She had no business being here. But she reminded herself, over and over like a mantra, This is for Mom. Just for Mom.
Inside, the lobby swallowed her whole. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and polished wood, so clean it felt sterile. Black and gold marble stretched beneath her feet, chandeliers dripped light like diamonds, and towering indoor palms reached for the ceiling. Amelia felt smaller with every step, as though the building itself was reminding her she didn't belong.
The concierge at the desk gave her a once-over that was polite but edged with quiet judgment. His navy suit was so sharp she could probably cut herself on the crease.
"Miss Hart?" His voice was smooth, controlled, like he had been trained to never raise it above a certain pitch.
She nodded quickly. "Yes. I… I'm here for Mr. Kane."
The man's posture shifted instantly. The name alone seemed to ripple through the air. His faintly disinterested eyes sharpened, and his spine straightened like a soldier hearing his commander's title.
"Of course," he said, this time with crisp respect. "Right this way."
Amelia's nerves tangled tighter. Within minutes she was in a private elevator, the kind with golden buttons and walls so polished they reflected her wide eyes back at her. The floor numbers blinked higher and higher until they stopped at the very top.
Her stomach dropped.
When the doors slid open, the world transformed.
The penthouse stretched wide, open, and endless. Glass walls revealed all of New York in glittering panorama, skyscrapers clawing at the dusk sky. The floor gleamed black with veins of silver, the kind of shine that screamed money. Minimalist furniture sat like sculptures, sleek and deliberate, with cushions that looked too expensive to actually sit on. Above the living room, an enormous chandelier spilled light like a captured galaxy. Somewhere in the distance, faint strains of classical piano played a soundtrack to a life Amelia had never imagined touching.
Her mouth fell open. She gripped her suitcase so tightly her knuckles ached, terrified she'd bump into something, leave a smudge, ruin it all.
"Pick your jaw off the floor, Miss Hart," a smooth voice said from across the room.
Amelia froze.
Adrian Kane was leaning against the leather sofa as though it had been made for him alone. Jacket discarded, white dress shirt rolled to his elbows, dark hair perfectly in place despite the casualness of his stance. His gray eyes fixed on her, cool and unreadable, as if she were both an amusement and an inconvenience he'd already accounted for.
Heat rushed to Amelia's face. "It's… big."
The faintest curl touched his lips. "It's a penthouse, not a tourist attraction. You'll get used to it."
Her embarrassment sharpened into irritation. "Don't count on it."
Adrian didn't flinch. He gestured smoothly toward a long hallway. "Your room is on the left. It comes with a walk-in closet currently empty. Katherine has already arranged for a stylist to deliver a wardrobe more appropriate for your… role." His pause lingered like a blade. "I assume you don't own gowns for galas."
Amelia stiffened, pride flaring hot in her chest. "I own clothes."
"Student hoodies and café aprons don't count," Adrian replied, his tone slicing through her defenses with practiced ease. He pushed off the sofa and crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps. Every movement radiated authority, the kind of confidence bred from always getting what he wanted.
He stopped close enough for her to feel the weight of him, the quiet command in the way he stood. His gaze swept over her blouse, her shoes, the nervous set of her hands around the suitcase handle.
For a heartbeat, something flickered in his eyes. Amusement? Pity? Interest? It was gone before she could pin it down.
"You'll adapt," he said at last, voice low, steady. "You don't have a choice."
Amelia lifted her chin, swallowing the tremor in her throat. "I'm not a doll you can just dress up to fit your world."
His gaze sharpened, steel cutting steel. "No. You're a contract I paid for. And if you want your mother's treatment secured, you'll play the role I need. Perfectly."
The words landed like a slap. Cruel, deliberate, designed to remind her of the chains she had agreed to wear. Her chest tightened, but she forced her voice steady.
"Fine," she whispered. Then, stronger: "But don't expect me to bow every time you speak."
For the first time, Adrian's lips twitched. Not quite a smile, but close a flash of approval, or maybe warning. "Good. I don't want a doll. I want someone who can survive in my world without breaking."
The silence after his words felt heavier than the chandelier above them.
And then, as if the moment had never existed, Adrian turned away and pulled out his phone. "Dinner at seven. Don't be late. The kitchen is stocked, but I wouldn't recommend touching anything until the chef arrives. You might break something worth more than your tuition."
Amelia muttered under her breath, "Arrogant jerk."
Dragging her suitcase down the hall, she found her assigned room and nearly lost her breath all over again.
It was bigger than her entire apartment back home. A king-sized bed draped in silk sheets sat in the center, flanked by glass walls that overlooked the entire glittering city. The bathroom gleamed with marble sinks and a bathtub deep enough to drown in. A crystal lamp glowed softly beside the bed, casting warmth over a room that still somehow felt cold, like a gilded cage.
She sat on the edge of the mattress, the silk cool beneath her palms, and buried her face in her hands.
This was her life now.
Her mother's future balanced on every word, every step, every forced smile she made in this palace of glass.
And no matter how much she wanted to hate Adrian Kane, his words wouldn't leave her alone.
I don't want a doll. I want someone who can survive in my world.
For some reason, that terrified her more than anything else.