Amelia barely remembered how she got home that night.
Mrs. Knight.
The words echoed in her head like a mistake she couldn't undo.
What have I done?
She stared at the copy of the contract in her hands. The gold-embossed "Knight Holdings" logo felt heavier than paper should feel.
Three hundred thousand dollars.
Paid.
Just like that.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number.
She hesitated before answering.
"Yes?"
"Be ready by 8 a.m."
Alexander's voice.
Calm. Controlled. As if they hadn't just agreed to something life-altering.
"For what?" she asked, trying not to sound shaken.
"To move in."
Her heart skipped.
"Already?"
"Yes."
The line disconnected.
She stood frozen in her tiny apartment.
Move in.
This is insane. I don't even know him.
But the debt is gone.
The house is safe.
You chose this.
The Next Morning
A black luxury car waited outside her building.
Neighbors stared openly.
She felt exposed.
Like she was being taken somewhere she might not return from.
Inside the car sat Alexander Knight.
Immaculate as always. Dark suit. Silver watch. Expression unreadable.
He didn't greet her.
Just looked at her for a moment.
Assessing.
Why does he look at me like that?
As if I'm an investment.
"Sit," he said.
She did.
The car began moving.
Silence filled the space between them.
Finally, she spoke.
"There are things we need to clarify."
One brow lifted slightly.
"Go on."
"I'm not your property."
Something flickered in his eyes.
Possessiveness? Amusement?
"You signed a contract," he replied smoothly. "Not a slavery agreement."
"Then act like it."
His lips curved faintly.
Interesting.
She challenges me.
Most women around him tried to impress him.
She resisted.
That intrigued him more than he expected.
Alexander's Thoughts
She's different.
Not because she's poor.
Not because she's desperate.
But because she doesn't look at me like I'm salvation.
She looks at me like I'm a risk.
And she's right.
The Mansion
The gates opened slowly.
Iron. Tall. Intimidating.
Amelia swallowed as they drove inside.
The mansion rose like something out of a dream — or a warning.
White marble. Massive windows. Private security.
This isn't a house.
It's an empire.
Alexander stepped out first.
She followed.
"From today onward," he said calmly, "this is your residence."
Residence.
Not home.
A staff member approached.
"Welcome, Mrs. Knight."
The title made her chest tighten.
This feels too real.
Inside the Bedroom
A large master suite.
Floor-to-ceiling windows.
A king-sized bed.
One bed.
She froze.
"There must be another room."
"There are," he replied. "But not for appearances."
Her heart pounded.
"You expect me to share a bed with you?"
His gaze darkened slightly.
"For the public eye, we are a married couple."
"That doesn't answer my question."
He stepped closer.
Not touching.
Just close enough to feel his presence.
"I don't touch what isn't willing," he said quietly. "Relax."
Why does that make me more nervous?
She crossed her arms.
"Then what exactly do you want from me?"
His jaw tightened slightly.
"Loyalty. Public support. And obedience in situations that require it."
There it is.
The control.
"And if I refuse?" she challenged.
He looked at her steadily.
"You won't."
Her stomach flipped.
The confidence.
The certainty.
Does he think I'm predictable?
The Hidden Clause
Later, alone in the room, Amelia reread the contract carefully.
And found something she had missed.
Clause 17:
"The wife will reside in the master suite and maintain the appearance of a consummated marriage if required."
Her pulse raced.
Consummated?
He didn't mention that.
Was it optional?
Was it expected?
She felt anger rise in her chest.
He manipulated me.
At that moment, the bedroom door opened quietly.
Alexander stepped inside.
She stood immediately.
"You didn't explain Clause 17."
He paused.
So she read it carefully.
Good.
"It says 'if required,'" he answered evenly.
"Required by who?"
"Circumstance."
"That's vague."
"That's intentional."
She stared at him.
"You're used to controlling everything, aren't you?"
His eyes hardened slightly.
"Yes."
"Not me."
Silence stretched.
For a second, something dangerous passed between them.
Tension.
Challenge.
Unspoken attraction neither wanted to admit.
He stepped closer.
Close enough that she could smell his cologne.
Warm. Expensive. Intoxicating.
"If I wanted control over you," he said softly, "you would know."
Her breath hitched.
He noticed.
Of course he noticed.
He always notices.
Then he stepped back.
"You'll attend a charity gala with me tomorrow night."
"So soon?"
"Yes."
"And if I embarrass you?"
His gaze locked onto hers.
"You won't."
That confidence again.
He turned toward the door.
But paused.
Without looking back, he added:
"Do not mistake this arrangement for weakness, Amelia."
Her name on his lips felt different.
"And do not mistake my silence for submission," she replied.
A slow smile touched his face.
Good.
This year might not be as boring as I thought.
The door closed behind him.
Amelia exhaled shakily.
What have I walked into?
But somewhere deep inside her—
Beneath the fear.
Beneath the uncertainty.
Something else stirred.
Excitement.
And that terrified her most.