Amelia had never worn something that expensive in her life.
The red gown clung to her like liquid fire, the silk smooth against her skin, the slit along her thigh daring but elegant. The stylist had insisted on soft waves in her hair and minimal jewelry.
"Mr. Knight prefers timeless beauty," the woman had said.
Amelia stared at herself in the mirror.
I don't recognize this woman.
She looked powerful.
Confident.
Like she belonged beside a billionaire.
A knock came at the bedroom door.
Her heartbeat quickened.
"Come in," she said.
Alexander stepped inside.
And stopped.
For the first time since she met him—
He was speechless.
His dark eyes slowly traveled from her heels to her face.
Not rushed.
Not casual.
Careful.
Appreciative.
Something warm and dangerous flickered in his gaze.
"You're staring," she said, trying to sound unaffected.
"I am."
No denial.
No apology.
Heat rose to her cheeks.
"You clean up well, Mrs. Knight," he added smoothly.
Mrs. Knight.
Why does it sound different tonight?
He stepped closer, adjusting the bracelet on her wrist himself. His fingers brushed her skin.
The contact was brief.
But electric.
"You look…" he paused slightly, choosing his word carefully.
"…appropriate."
She narrowed her eyes.
"That was almost a compliment."
"It was."
He offered his arm.
"Ready?"
No.
"Yes."
The Grand Charity Gala
Cameras flashed as they entered.
But this time—
She didn't shrink.
She walked beside him.
Head high.
Graceful.
His hand rested lightly at her waist.
Steady.
Claiming.
Inside the ballroom, chandeliers glittered overhead. The city's elite gathered in clusters of wealth and whispers.
And every eye turned toward them.
"She's beautiful."
"She's unexpected."
"She won't last."
Amelia heard it all.
But she didn't react.
Because Alexander's thumb gently pressed against her waist in silent reassurance.
You're fine.
I've got you.
Why does that comfort me?
The First Crack of Jealousy
Halfway through the evening, a tall, charming man approached them.
"Alexander," he greeted warmly. "And you must be the famous wife."
He turned to Amelia with an easy smile.
"Daniel Wright."
She shook his hand politely.
"Amelia."
"May I borrow your wife for a dance?" Daniel asked casually.
Alexander's expression didn't change.
But something in his posture did.
Tightened.
Daniel noticed.
Smiled wider.
"It's just a dance."
Amelia looked at Alexander.
Waiting.
Why am I waiting for permission?
After a brief pause, Alexander nodded once.
"If she agrees."
His eyes met hers.
Sharp.
Intense.
A silent message.
Be careful.
Or maybe—
Remember who you belong to.
She swallowed.
"I'll be back," she said lightly.
Alexander released her waist.
But his jaw flexed as she walked away.
Alexander's Thoughts
I don't like this.
It's irrational.
It's unnecessary.
It's just a dance.
Then why does it feel like someone is testing boundaries?
Daniel placed a hand on her waist.
Too low.
Too familiar.
Alexander's fingers tightened around his glass.
She laughs easily.
She looks… radiant.
Why is that bothering me?
Because she's mine.
The thought came fast.
Uninvited.
Dangerous.
Mine for a year.
That's all.
The Dance Floor
Daniel leaned closer.
"You look stunning tonight."
"Thank you."
"Hard to believe Alexander married for love."
She stiffened slightly.
"What do you mean?"
"He doesn't have a heart for it."
The words hit deeper than she expected.
Maybe he's right.
Maybe this is just strategy.
But then she remembered Alexander pulling her close earlier.
Defending her.
Claiming her.
Her thoughts tangled.
Across the room, Alexander's eyes never left her.
And Daniel noticed.
"You should be careful," Daniel murmured softly. "Men like him don't fall. They own."
Before she could respond—
A hand gripped Daniel's shoulder.
Firm.
Controlled.
The music continued.
But the air shifted.
"I believe that's enough," Alexander said calmly.
Daniel smirked.
"Jealous?"
Alexander didn't blink.
"No."
But his hand slid around Amelia's waist again.
Pulling her against him.
Possessive.
The closeness stole her breath.
"May I?" he asked her quietly.
She nodded.
He led her into the next dance without waiting.
The Almost Kiss
His hand rested at her lower back.
Her palm against his chest.
They moved perfectly.
Naturally.
As if they'd done this before.
"You enjoyed that," he said quietly.
"You allowed it."
"I shouldn't have."
Her heart skipped.
"Why not?"
His eyes darkened.
"Because I didn't like how he touched you."
The honesty shocked her.
"You said you weren't jealous."
"I'm not."
"Then what are you?"
He leaned closer.
So close she could feel his breath against her cheek.
"Territorial."
Her pulse pounded violently.
"That's not romantic."
"It's not meant to be."
But his gaze dropped briefly to her lips.
And stayed there.
Time slowed.
The music softened.
The world disappeared.
If he leans in—
I won't stop him.
The realization terrified her.
He tilted his head slightly.
Their faces inches apart.
Her breathing shallow.
His hand tightened slightly at her waist.
Then—
He pulled back.
Just enough.
Not breaking the tension.
"I don't mix business with impulse," he said quietly.
Her chest rose and fell.
"You almost did."
"Yes."
And that frightened him more than anything.
End of the Night
Back in the car, silence filled the space again.
But this silence felt charged.
Different.
"You were jealous," she whispered finally.
He didn't look at her.
"I don't share what carries my name."
Her heart fluttered.
That shouldn't make me feel warm.
But it does.
As the city lights passed outside the window, neither of them noticed—
The line between contract and reality had just blurred.
And neither of them was prepared for what would happen when it disappeared completely.