Amelia stood in the center of the massive living room, arms crossed tightly over her chest.
Ethan walked in as if nothing had happened.
Calm. Controlled. Untouchable.
"You said this is a contract," she began. "Then let's make the rules clear."
A faint smirk touched his lips. "Very well."
He gestured toward the long dining table. A folder was already placed there.
"Rule number one," he said smoothly. "You will move into this penthouse immediately."
"I'm not leaving my apartment."
"You already have."
Her stomach dropped. "What?"
"I had your belongings transferred this morning."
"You had no right!"
"I have every right. You're my wife."
The word hit differently this time.
She took a deep breath. "Fine. What else?"
"Rule number two," he continued, ignoring her anger, "You will attend public events with me. Smile when required. Act like a loving wife."
"And if I refuse?"
His eyes darkened slightly.
"You won't."
Silence stretched between them.
"And rule number three?" she asked quietly.
Ethan stepped closer.
"You will not fall in love with me."
Her heart skipped.
"That won't be a problem," she replied instantly.
His gaze lingered on her face longer than necessary.
"Good," he murmured. "Because I have no intention of falling for you either."
But the way his voice softened betrayed him.
And deep down…
Both of them knew—
This arrangement was already far more dangerous than either had planned.
Ten minutes later, Amelia stood in front of the mirror in a stunning white dress she didn't even remember trying on.
The stylists had worked quickly.
Too quickly.
"You look perfect," one of them whispered.
Perfect.
She didn't feel perfect.
She felt trapped.
When she stepped into the grand hall, flashes of cameras exploded instantly.
Reporters shouted questions.
"Mr. Blackwood! When did you get married?"
"Was this a secret relationship?"
"Is this a business alliance?"
Ethan's hand suddenly rested on her waist.
Warm. Firm. Possessive.
She stiffened.
He leaned closer, his lips barely brushing her ear.
"Smile."
Through clenched teeth, she whispered, "I hate you."
Without changing his expression, he replied softly,
"Get used to me."
The cameras kept flashing.
But neither of them noticed—
The way her fingers subconsciously gripped his sleeve.
Or the way his hold on her tightened just slightly.
This was no longer just a contract.
It was becoming a battlefield.
And neither of them intended to lose.
The questions kept coming.
"Mrs. Blackwood! How did you meet?"
Amelia froze for half a second.
Ethan answered smoothly, "It was fate."
She almost choked.
Fate?
He squeezed her waist slightly — warning.
"Y-Yes," she forced a smile. "It was… unexpected."
Laughter rippled through the reporters.
One bold journalist stepped forward. "Was this marriage arranged for business reasons?"
Ethan's expression turned icy.
"My personal life is not a business transaction."
The message was clear.
Back off.
But Amelia felt something strange.
He could have said it was a contract.
He could have made it sound cold.
Instead, he sounded almost… protective.
The conference ended quickly after that.
The moment they stepped into the private elevator, the smile dropped from her face.
"You enjoyed that, didn't you?" she snapped.
"I did what was necessary."
"You humiliated me!"
"I protected you."
She blinked.
"Protected me from what?"
He pressed a button and the elevator began rising.
"From the men who were waiting to see weakness."
Silence fell.
"You think I'm weak?" she asked quietly.
His gaze softened for just a second.
"No," he said. "That's the problem."
Her breath caught.
Before she could respond, the elevator suddenly jerked.
The lights flickered.
And then—
Darkness.
"What just happened?" she whispered.
"Power fluctuation," Ethan replied calmly.
But the elevator wasn't moving.
Amelia's breathing quickened.
"I don't like small spaces."
He noticed immediately.
"Are you claustrophobic?"
"No," she said too quickly.
Another flicker of lights.
She grabbed his arm without thinking.
He went still.
"You're shaking," he murmured.
"I'm not."
The space felt smaller.
Closer.
His scent surrounded her.
His warmth.
His heartbeat — steady, controlled.
Unlike hers.
"Relax," he said quietly, his voice lower now. "I'm here."
The words hit differently.
For the first time since this madness began…
She felt safe.
And that scared her more than anything else.
The elevator suddenly jolted back to life.
The lights turned on.
Amelia immediately stepped away from him as if burned.
The doors slowly slid open.
Standing outside—
Was an elderly man with sharp eyes and a cane.
Powerful.
Observant.
Unimpressed.
Ethan's jaw tightened. "Grandfather."
Amelia blinked. Grandfather?
The old man's gaze swept over her from head to toe.
"So," he said slowly, "this is the wife."
His tone carried doubt.
Judgment.
Amelia straightened her back instinctively.
"Yes, sir," she said politely.
The old man stepped closer.
"You don't look strong enough to stand beside a Blackwood."
Ethan's expression hardened. "That's enough."
But Amelia surprised both of them.
"With respect," she said calmly, meeting the old man's eyes, "I don't need to look strong."
A pause.
"I just need to be."
Silence filled the hallway.
For a moment, the old man simply stared at her.
Then—
A faint smile appeared.
"Interesting," he muttered.
He turned to Ethan.
"You may keep her."
Keep her?
Amelia's eyes widened slightly, but she said nothing.
As the old man walked away, Ethan looked at her differently.
Not cold.
Not distant.
But… impressed.
"You handled that well," he admitted quietly.
She crossed her arms. "Don't get used to it."
A small smirk touched his lips.
Too late.
He already was.
And somewhere deep inside—
So was she.