Chapter 7
The morning air felt cold on Amelia's skin, but it wasn't just the chill of the breeze. It was the weight of reality settling on her chest.
She stood in front of the grand estate — a mansion so large it could have been mistaken for a hotel. Marble pillars kissed the sky, and a circular driveway stretched longer than the entire street she grew up on. Everything was glistening in soft gray stone and silver detailing. It screamed wealth. And it screamed not mine.
Her fingers gripped the edge of her thrift coat as she turned her head toward the man beside her.
"You ready?" he asked.
She didn't answer immediately. Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came. He didn't push her.
The man who had helped her — the same man who now claimed her as a contract wife — hadn't revealed much about himself. She didn't even know his full name until earlier that morning: Damian Carter. Wealthy. Sharp-tongued. And as emotionally guarded as a vault.
He didn't speak much during the ride. Just stared ahead while she sat silently beside him, her mind swimming in worry about Rian, her younger brother. The doctor's words echoed like thunder in her head: "It's $2,600. The surgery must happen within the next 48 hours."
She couldn't get the image of Rian's pale face out of her mind. She was doing this for him. Only for him.
"I said are you ready?" Damian asked again, this time with more clarity.
"I… I guess," she mumbled.
He gave a nod, then stepped out first and walked around to open her door. She hated that he did that — it made her feel weak, helpless, like a girl who belonged in his world.
As they walked inside, Amelia tried to prepare herself for anything — but nothing prepared her for this.
The Carter household wasn't just large. It was alive. The moment the door swung open, voices could be heard echoing from the other rooms. Laughter. Music. And sharp heels clicking across floors.
She nearly flinched when a woman came around the corner in a knee-length designer dress and sleek bun, holding a tablet and barking instructions to the butler.
"Mother's already in the parlor," the woman said without sparing Amelia a glance. "Everyone's been waiting."
Everyone.
Amelia felt her stomach drop.
She followed Damian through the gleaming white hallway, her footsteps muffled by the luxurious Persian rugs underfoot. Her reflection stared back at her from the marble floors. I don't belong here, it whispered.
When they finally reached the parlor, Amelia froze.
Six people were already seated.
All of them turned their heads at once.
There was a heavy pause — like everyone in the room took one collective breath and held it.
The eldest, seated at the center of the room like a queen, wore an elegant cream-colored gown and carried the kind of expression that revealed nothing but judgment. Beside her sat a man with silver hair and eyes just like Damian's — his father, she assumed. Then there were the siblings.
Four girls. Two boys.
The youngest girl, barely seventeen by the looks of her, scoffed aloud. "So this is the girl?"
"Mind your manners, Emily," said the woman to her right — she looked a little older, maybe in her early twenties, with honey-blonde hair curled neatly over her shoulder. She tried to smile politely at Amelia.
"Hi," she said. "I'm Ivy."
Next to her, another girl — her twin, perhaps, with matching features but a bolder shade of lipstick — gave Amelia a once-over, not as friendly but not unkind.
Then the third sister stepped forward — tall, poised, and already halfway toward Amelia before anyone could react.
"You must be Amelia." Her voice was warm, grounded. "I'm Camille — Damian's eldest sister. I've heard a lot about you."
Heard a lot about me? How? Amelia wanted to ask, but her throat tightened.
Camille stepped closer and pulled her into a gentle hug.
"You don't have to be nervous," she whispered so only Amelia could hear. "Not all of us bite."
But just as Camille stepped back, the fourth sister — a woman with sleek black hair and dagger eyes — stood up with folded arms.
"Funny how no one knew about this until yesterday," she said coldly. "Damian, when were you going to tell us you bought yourself a wife?"
The air froze.
Amelia looked down, her face flushing. That word — bought — stuck in her ribs like a knife.
"I didn't buy anyone," Damian said with a voice so cold it turned the room to ice. "And if you have a problem with it, Lila, take it up with me — not her."
So that was Lila. The one who hated her already. It wasn't hard to see why — Lila exuded control. She hated unpredictability. And Amelia's presence was unpredictable.
The two brothers — seated at opposite ends of the room — hadn't spoken yet. But as Amelia's eyes moved toward the younger one, her breath caught.
It was him.
The man from the restaurant.
The one she slapped.
He smirked at her now like a lion recognizing a wounded deer.
"Well, if it isn't my favorite waitress," he drawled. "Small world, huh?"
Amelia's mouth went dry. She gripped the side of her coat to keep her hands from shaking.
"You two have met?" Damian asked sharply, his eyes darting between them.
"Oh, briefly," the man said with a shrug. "Didn't get her name then. Didn't think I'd need it."
"His name is Seth," Ivy added quickly, clearly sensing the tension. "Ignore him — he's the sarcastic one."
Of course, he is, Amelia thought bitterly.
She wanted to disappear. To run. To scream. But she couldn't. Rian was waiting. Her life had already changed. There was no going back.
The rest of the "introduction" went by in a blur — polite nods, passive-aggressive comments, veiled insults, and subtle stares. Camille stayed close to her side like a shield. Ivy and her twin, Isla, tried to make small talk about books and favorite music, while Emily just rolled her eyes at everything.
Lila never sat back down.
When the family meeting ended, Damian walked her upstairs to the guest wing.
"You handled that well," he said.
Amelia gave him a look. "You think so?"
"They didn't throw anything," he replied. "That's a good start."
She shook her head. "Is this what every day's going to be like?"
"No," he said flatly. "Some days will be worse."
She laughed bitterly. "At least you're honest."
He didn't smile. Instead, he paused outside a room and opened the door.
"This one's yours," he said.
"Thanks."
Just as she was about to step inside, he added, "The contract begins officially tomorrow. You'll meet with the family lawyer at noon."
She turned to face him.
"I know you didn't want this," he continued, eyes fixed on the floor. "But you'll get your brother's surgery. And I'll hold up my end of the deal. But from here on out… everything changes. Don't forget that."
Amelia looked him in the eye.
"I won't," she said. "I can't."
He nodded once and walked away.
As the door closed behind her, she leaned against it and finally let out the breath she'd been holding since morning.
What have I done?