The sound of the laptop slamming shut echoed like a gunshot in the silence.
Amelia flinched.
Andrew didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. There was something infinitely more dangerous in the way he simply stared at her—calm, deliberate, calculating.
She took a shaky step back. "That file… that signature wasn't real. You forged it."
He tucked his hands into his pockets casually, like they were talking about the weather. "You shouldn't be in here."
"You lied to us," she hissed. "You pretended to save my family, but all you did was buy me."
His jaw tightened just slightly. "I didn't pretend anything. Your father knew exactly what he was doing."
"No," she said, voice rising. "He might have agreed to marry me off, but he would never—never—sign away our company like that. You forged his signature, Andrew!"
There was a beat of silence.
And then… that smile again. The one that didn't reach his eyes.
"So what if I did?"
Amelia's blood ran cold.
She staggered back another step. "You… admit it?"
He tilted his head. "Tell me, Amelia. Who do you think the law will believe? Your disgraced, bankrupt father who's drowning in debt and scandal? Or me—Andrew Reynolds—the man who pulled your family out of the gutter and gave his name to their daughter?"
She stared at him, her hands trembling.
"I'll go to the press," she said, though her voice wavered. "The police. Someone will believe me."
He laughed softly. "Go ahead. But when they ask how you accessed my private files, how you got into my locked study without permission, what will you say then?"
Her throat tightened.
"You broke into my office, Amelia," he added, voice dropping to a whisper. "That's a felony."
She shook her head in disbelief. "You planned this. All of it."
Andrew stepped closer, and she backed into the desk.
"I told you," he said, "you belong to me now. You signed the vows. You wear my ring. And in the eyes of the world, we're the perfect couple."
"I'll never be your wife," she spat, chin raised. "Not really."
Something flickered in his eyes. Not hurt. Not anger.
Possession.
"We'll see," he said.
Then he turned and walked out, shutting the study door behind him without another word.
Leaving her trembling in the dark.
She didn't sleep that night.
The shadows in her room felt heavier. The silence louder. The diamond on her finger felt like a shackle.
She tried to call her father.
No answer.
She tried again.
Straight to voicemail.
She finally fell asleep just before dawn, curled on top of the sheets in her wedding dress, like a princess trapped in a glass coffin.
The next morning, she woke to the smell of coffee.
And the sound of her new husband barking orders down the hallway.
She dragged herself out of bed and changed into one of the designer dresses laid out in the closet—tags still on, sizes perfect.
He had known her measurements.
She didn't want to think about that.
Amelia stepped out of the room and followed the voices toward the dining room. When she entered, Andrew was already seated at the head of the long mahogany table, phone to his ear, one hand lazily stirring his coffee.
He didn't look up when she entered.
"Three million in liquidity should cover it," he said into the phone. "Tell them to stop panicking—we've acquired half their board already."
Amelia stood in the doorway, watching him as the mask of the businessman slipped effortlessly back into place.
He hung up without a goodbye, then finally looked at her.
"You're late," he said flatly.
"I wasn't aware we had a breakfast schedule," she replied, sitting across from him.
He gestured to the untouched plates in front of them. "You'll need to attend a charity gala with me this weekend. Wear something black. Classy. Silent."
Her mouth fell open. "You expect me to pretend? Already?"
"I expect you to play your role," he said. "You're not here to love me, Amelia. You're here to be mine."
Her appetite vanished.
"What happens when the truth comes out?" she asked. "About the company. About the forged documents."
He sipped his coffee. "It won't. And even if it does, you're just the dutiful wife. No one will blame you. They'll pity you. You'll be the grieving heiress, stuck in a cold marriage to a cruel man."
Her hands clenched in her lap.
"You know what's funny?" she whispered. "That's the first honest thing you've said to me."
Later that day, she found herself wandering the east wing of the mansion—a place so large it felt more like a museum than a home.
Each room was colder than the last.
Everything perfect.
Everything fake.
She passed a painting of a woman she didn't recognize. Her expression was sad. Regal.
For a second, Amelia felt seen.
Then, from one of the side rooms, she heard a voice.
"You shouldn't push her like that."
A woman.
Amelia froze by the wall, heart racing.
"She's not a threat. You don't need to play this hard."
Then Andrew's voice answered, quieter, more bitter.
"She's not a threat now. But she will be. She's smart. Too smart."
"You married her. You could've chosen anyone, but you chose her. Why?"
A pause.
And then his voice again—low, unreadable.
"Because she was the only one who said no."
Amelia's breath hitched.
The sound of footsteps drew closer.
She slipped away before she was seen.
That night, she found herself in the garden, away from the walls, the pressure, the secrets.
The stars overhead mocked her. Beautiful. Distant. Untouchable.
She was about to return to the house when a voice behind her said, "You shouldn't be out here alone."
She turned.
It wasn't Andrew.
It was a man—mid-thirties, brown hair, a sharp suit loosened at the collar.
"Who are you?" she asked.
He smiled. "I work for your husband. Let's just say… I keep an eye on things."
Amelia narrowed her eyes. "You're security?"
"Among other things," he said. "Call me Elias."
She didn't trust the easy tone in his voice. Or the way he looked at her—not with lust, but curiosity.
"Your husband doesn't like surprises," Elias added. "And you're… very surprising."
Before she could respond, he handed her something.
A flash drive.
"What's this?" she asked.
He shrugged. "Let's call it a wedding gift."
She looked up at him, confused. "Why are you giving this to me?"
Elias smiled faintly. "Because not everyone in that house is loyal to Andrew Reynolds."
Before she could ask more, he turned and vanished into the dark.
Back in her room, Amelia locked the door.
Her hands trembled as she plugged the flash drive into the laptop.
Files loaded instantly.
Emails. Photos. Documents.
And at the top—one folder labeled "Operation Donovan."
Amelia clicked.
And the first thing she saw was a picture.
A grainy photo of her, taken from a distance.
The date stamped in the corner… was from over a year ago.
Months before the engagement.
Before the scandal.
Before she even knew Andrew Reynolds existed.
Her blood ran cold.
He'd been watching her long before the proposal.
Long before the marriage.
Long before her father ever lost a cent.
She hadn't been a last-minute solution.
She'd been the plan all along.