The morning after her wedding didn't come with breakfast in bed or a husband's embrace. Instead, Amelia woke up to silence and a stiff neck from sleeping in her curls and last night's emotional weight.
Sunlight poured into the room through tall windows dressed in sheer curtains. The decor was luxurious, almost museum-like gold accents, velvet armchair, and a chandelier too grand for one person.
But Amelia didn't feel like she belonged.
She pulled off the robe someone had neatly placed at the foot of her bed and changed into a modest ivory blouse and beige slacks from her suitcase. No one had shown her where the closet was or what she was expected to wear, but she had no intention of walking around the Stone mansion in a silk nightgown.
When she opened her door, a maid jumped slightly. Mid-twenties, short bob, uniform crisp.
"Good morning, ma'am," the maid said, bowing slightly. "Would you like breakfast in your room?"
"No, thank you," Amelia replied gently. "I'll come down."
The maid hesitated before nodding. "Very well. This way."
As Amelia followed her through the quiet hall, she could feel it eyes.
She passed two more maids and a sharply dressed butler who only offered polite, stiff greetings. Their eyes flickered over her, unreadable, like they were memorizing every detail of her existence. As if she were an intruder they were silently judging.
When she reached the dining room, she paused.
At the far end of the long mahogany table sat Alexander, dressed in a black tailored suit, sipping coffee and reading something on his tablet. He didn't look up.
"Good morning," she said, voice calm, even though her chest ached.
He turned a page. "Morning."
No kiss. No smile.
Amelia took a seat across from him. Within seconds, a server appeared to pour her orange juice.
"Thank you," she said politely.
The server didn't respond just bowed and disappeared like smoke.
Breakfast was quiet. A little too quiet.
The sound of her knife gently scraping the plate felt loud in the giant room. She glanced at Alexander a few times, but he was unreadable, entirely absorbed in business reports. She finally cleared her throat.
"Do you always work this early?"
"I don't have the luxury of sleeping in," he replied without looking up. "This empire doesn't run itself."
Amelia took a slow sip of juice. "Of course."
He glanced at her briefly, as if assessing whether she meant it sarcastically. Then he returned to his tablet.
"Do you plan to stay here all day?" he asked.
"I hadn't decided. Is that a problem?"
His jaw twitched slightly. "No. Just asking."
A pause.
"Will I be meeting your mother today?" she asked.
That got his attention.
Alexander finally looked at her—really looked at her. "She's not very fond of new people. Give it time."
Amelia held his gaze. "She's not fond of me."
"She's not fond of most people."
"And yet she was in the front row yesterday, smiling."
Alexander set the tablet down. "You don't have to worry about her. Just don't try to win her over. It's a waste of effort."
Her spine straightened. "What if I'm not doing it for her approval?"
He stared at her for a moment longer, then stood and adjusted his cufflinks.
"I have a board meeting in thirty minutes. You're free to do whatever you wish. The house is yours."
With that, he walked out, his footsteps echoing down the hall.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur.
Every hallway she walked through, she felt like she was being watched. Not openly. But subtly.
A cook whispering behind a pantry door. A gardener pausing his trimming when she walked past. Even the driver outside lowered his sunglasses when she stepped onto the front terrace.
She was the billionaire's wife now, and every set of eyes held a question behind them: Will she last?
By afternoon, Amelia wandered into the greenhouse by the west wing a quiet, beautiful space filled with orchids and lilies, bathed in sunlight. It was the only place in the house that felt... alive.
A soft voice spoke behind her.
"You're braver than most."
Amelia turned to see a woman in her mid-thirties slim, perfectly styled, with sharp cheekbones and an elegance that screamed old money. Her dark green dress was tailored, her lips a polished wine shade.
"I'm sorry?" Amelia said.
The woman stepped closer, her heels clicking softly. "To sit across from Alexander and speak so directly. Not many do that."
"You know him?"
The woman offered a smooth smile. "Intimately."
Amelia's stomach knotted. "And you are…?"
"Veronica. I used to be in your position. Well, almost." She tilted her head. "I was never married to him, but for two years, I was... his preferred companion."
Amelia's fingers curled around the edge of a flowerpot. "Is that so?"
Veronica stepped closer. "I just wanted to say this house isn't what it seems. People smile to your face and whisper behind closed doors. If you're not careful, you'll get eaten alive."
Amelia gave her a polite smile. "Thank you for the warning."
Veronica's smile faltered, clearly not expecting composure. She looked her over once more, then turned and left with a sway of confidence.
As soon as she was gone, Amelia sat on a bench, her hands trembling slightly.
She hadn't expected to face an ex-lover on her first day as a wife.
But if this was the world she had stepped into, she'd learn to play its games.
Quietly. Smartly.
No more trembling.
No more tears.
They would watch her but eventually, they would respect her.
And Alexander?
He would learn that marrying her wasn't a business strategy.
It was the beginning of something neither of them saw coming.