Chapter 6 CHAPTER SIX
Amelia’s POV
The morning began with silence. Not the peaceful kind that wraps you in a blanket, but the brittle sort that seeps under your skin and presses against your chest, making breathing feel like work. Damian’s side of the bed was already empty when I stirred awake. It was always like that, no trace of warmth, no lingering scent, just perfectly folded sheets as if he had never been there at all.
I lay on my back, staring at the high ceiling, letting the emptiness of the mansion seep in. There were days I pretended I liked it, the calm, the lack of noise. But more often, it was unbearable to be alone in a house built for two.
The shower steamed around me, water cascading down marble walls so white and polished they reflected my body like a cruel mirror. I tilted my head, studying the blurred image on the glass until my gaze slipped to my hips. My fingers traced the pale, lightning-shaped stretch marks that curved across my skin. They looked like faint thunderbolts, little reminders that my body had lived, changed, endured. I hated how they made me feel exposed, flawed. My mother once called them “imperfections” when she thought I wasn’t listening, but I had. And now, every time I looked in the mirror, her voice clung to me.
Damian had never noticed. Or maybe he had and didn’t care. I couldn’t decide which hurt more, indifference or judgment.
I dressed slowly, sliding into a soft cream dress that fell just above my knees, elegant but understated. I wanted to feel beautiful, but the mirror gave me back a stranger, one who lived in someone else’s house, someone else’s story.
The knock at the door came sharp and short before it opened. Damian stood in the doorway, already in a navy suit that fit him like armour. His tie was neat, his cufflinks gleamed, and his storm-grey eyes cut across the room without lingering. He was on the phone, voice clipped and commanding.
“No delays,” he barked. “Get the contracts signed today.”
His gaze flicked over me briefly, scanning me the way one might scan a checklist, not a man admiring his wife, but a CEO appraising whether his investment looked polished enough.
“Cancel the dinner meeting,” he said into the phone, then ended the call abruptly. His eyes locked on mine. “There’s a luncheon at The Grand Pavilion this afternoon—charity nonsense. I won’t make it. You’ll go.”
I blinked. “Alone?”
“You’ll represent me.” His fingers moved with precision as he adjusted his cufflinks. “Smile. Sit where they tell you. Do not answer questions you aren’t asked.”
The words scraped down my spine. Represent him. That was all. Iwasa was a reflection of his empire, a body in a dress meant to make him look good.
“I...” My throat tightened. I wanted to ask, what if they do ask? What if I fail? But the words tangled uselessly.
He slipped his watch onto his wrist, checked the time, and muttered, “Don’t embarrass me.” Then he left, his cologne trailing behind like smoke.
The silence he left was heavier than before.
The Grand Pavilion glimmered like a palace. Gold chandeliers dripped light from the ceiling, scattering over polished marble floors. The air hummed with delicate, rehearsed laughter from the city’s elite gathered in little clusters. Their perfume hung like a haze, sweet and suffocating.
I sat at the edge of the long table reserved for the Blackwoods, posture stiff, a smile carved onto my face. My hands trembled lightly in my lap, so I wrapped them around my wine glass. The crystal stem dug into my palm as though it might anchor me.
Eyes found me everywhere I turned. Curious. Judging. Whispering.
She doesn’t look happy.
Poor girl, married for money.
Damian never smiles at her.
No one said it aloud, but I heard it all the same. My skin prickled with every phantom murmur.
“Do you always grip your wine like it might save your life?”
The voice startled me. I turned, and there he was. Adrian Blackwood.
For a moment, the air shifted. His presence softened the edges of the room. His dark hair was slightly tousled, his navy suit worn with an ease that made it seem less like armour and more like a second skin. His eyes, warmer than his brother’s storm-grey, settled on me, not with judgment, but something dangerously close to concern.
I forced a breath. “Adrian.”
“Amelia.” He dipped his head with a polite curve of his lips before sliding into the empty seat beside me. The space instantly felt less suffocating. “Damian couldn’t make it, could he?”
I hesitated. “He’s… busy.”
Adrian’s mouth tilted, somewhere between a smile and a frown. “He usually is.”
For a heartbeat, I wanted to defend Damian, to say something that would prove my marriage wasn’t hollow. But the truth sat heavily in my chest.
Instead, I asked, “And you? You don’t usually come to these things.”
His laugh was quiet, almost conspiratorial. “Someone has to keep you from drowning in the shark tank.” He gestured subtly to the room, to the circling women with their painted smiles, to the men with eyes that stripped me bare. “They smell blood faster than anyone I know.”
I swallowed hard, lowering my gaze. “I feel like I’m bleeding already.”
Adrian’s voice softened, just enough that only I could hear. “Then let me stand between you and them.”
The words brushed against me like a hand I shouldn’t want, a promise I didn’t dare accept. My throat tightened, and I quickly turned back to my plate, afraid of what my face might reveal.
The meal stretched endlessly. Polite laughter, glasses clinking, the constant drone of speeches. I smiled where I was supposed to, clapped when others clapped, but my mind drifted. Now and then, Adrian would lean closer, whispering a quiet comment that made me hide a smile behind my glass. Small things, such as pointing out the crooked bow tie of a pompous businessman, or mocking the way Mrs. Cartwright’s pearls clattered every time she laughed.
They were small, harmless remarks. Yet they made me feel human, something Damian never did.
Guilt pressed sharply against my ribs. I shouldn’t have enjoyed it. I shouldn’t have let myself look forward to Adrian’s following words, his next glance. But I did.
When the luncheon finally ended, I excused myself quickly. The air inside felt too heavy. I needed to breathe.
The garden behind the Pavilion stretched wide, lined with sculpted hedges and fountains that glittered under the afternoon sun. I wandered, heels clicking against the stone path. The flowers were a riot of color: roses, orchids, lilies, too beautiful, too alive for the hollow ache inside me.
I stopped at the fountain, watching the water leap into the air and crash back down. My reflection stared back at me on the rippling surface, a stranger draped in designer fabric, diamonds catching the light.
“Escaping already?”
I was startled. Adrian’s voice drifted from behind me. He approached with that same easy stride, hands slipping casually into his pockets.
“I needed air,” I said, brushing hair from my face.
“And you found the best place for it.” His gaze swept the garden before settling back on me. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “It feels… less heavy out here.”
“Exactly why I come here whenever my family drags me to these things.” His smile was quick, but it reached his eyes. “Sometimes I think the flowers are the only honest things in the whole place.”
Something in me cracked at that: the honesty, the simplicity. I laughed softly, a sound that startled even me. “You might be right.”
We stood there, silence folding around us, but not the suffocating kind. This silence felt different, lighter, easier.
Then, as I shifted to step back, my heel caught on the stone. I stumbled, and before I could steady myself, Adrian’s hand shot out, gripping my elbow—warm, steady, grounding.
“Careful,” he murmured, his face inches from mine.
My breath hitched. His eyes held mine, and for a second too long, I forgot everything: the contract, the whispers, the weight of my ring. I only felt his hand, his warmth, the way my heart betrayed me with its rapid drum.
And then flash.
The sound of a camera shutter cracked through the quiet. I froze, blood turning to ice. Adrian’s hand lingered on my arm as we both turned, scanning the hedges, the shadows.
No one was visible. Just silence again, heavy and merciless.
Flash.
The sound ripped through the quiet like a gunshot. My blood turned cold, every nerve in my body snapping to attention. Adrian’s hand was still on my elbow, warm and steady, but suddenly it felt like a brand.
We both whipped our heads toward the hedges. Shadows. Nothing else. But I knew that sound wasn’t in my head. Someone was there. Someone had seen.
My pulse thundered, each beat a warning.
Adrian’s brows furrowed as he scanned the garden, but his grip on me didn’t loosen. “Amelia…” he started, his voice low, steady, but I couldn’t breathe.
A camera. A picture. Proof.
The image of Damian’s storm-grey eyes flashed in my mind, colder than the marble walls of our bedroom. If that photo found him, if it found anyone, everything would go wrong.
I took a step back, heart pounding, the silence pressing in so thick it choked me. Somewhere in the distance, footsteps crunched against gravel, retreating fast.
And in that instant, I knew two things with terrifying clarity:
Someone now held a weapon that c
ould destroy me.
It was only a matter of time before they used it.
