WARNING
1145 Words
Amanda's POV
My feet seemed glued to the bottom stairs as I watched Scott assess me, his eyes traveling from my hopeful, composed face down to the silk dressing gown I was still wearing, finally settling on the briefcase he had just carelessly tossed aside.
The annoyance I had noted was palpable, thick enough to mix with the sharp chrome scent of his travel-weary Alpha pheromones.
I managed to push out a greeting, attempting the gentle tone of a relieved wife.
“Scott. You're back. Carter said you were at an off-site conference. I…I was worried.”
He didn't move toward me and neither did he offer a kiss or even a touch.
Off course I knew I was being delusional. He simply unbuttoned the top of his expensive trench coat, his movements economical and detached.
“My assistant did inform you correctly,” he stated, his voice flat, completely devoid of emotion, apology or warmth.
“It was a critical trade acquisition in Eastern Europe. The firm could not afford failure.”
“Fourteen days,” I murmured, stepping down, allowing a fraction of my hurt to surface.
“It was our honeymoon period. I didn't even know if you were safe.”
Scott finally met my gaze, and the look he gave me was utterly chilling. It was the same look he gave a piece of faulty machinery or a misplaced document, just pure, cold impatience.
“That is Beta sentiment, Amanda," he corrected, his voice dropping slightly, lending his words' authority.
“You are Mrs. Knight now. Your role is to understand the scope of the Alpha commitments. Sentimental worry is inefficient and irrelevant. I was conducting business for this household.”
The word Beta landed like a small, sharp stone, reminding me precisely of my place. I was expected to be a pillar of stability, not a wellspring of emotional need.
“I apologize,” I whispered, bowing my head slightly, immediately retreating into the ‘doormat’ persona I had perfected over two years.
“I simply meant, I wish you had informed me of the length of your absence.”
Scott sighed, a deep, weary sound that made me feel like an intolerable burden. He finally moved, walking past me and toward the kitchen.
“We do not always have to know each other's whereabouts. You are your own person just like I am my own person and besides, I was busy. I assumed you would handle things here.”
He reached for the refrigerator, pulled out a bottle of imported mineral water, and stood drinking it, his back partially to me.
I watched the stiff set of his shoulders, noticing the subtle tension that even two weeks of high-stakes business had failed to relieve.
“I made sure your office was immaculate when you left,” I offered, desperate to re-establish my utility.
“And the household staff has been perfectly managed. Your father called regarding the foundation charter. I directed him to Carter, per your standing instructions.”
“Good,” he said, taking a large swallow. He finished the water and set the bottle down with a resounding click, his focus entirely on the bottle, not on me.
He turned toward the grand staircase.
“I will be occupying the master suite, naturally. I expect dinner to be ready in two hours. And arrange a dry-cleaning pick-up for these.”
He gestured vaguely at the soiled trench coat he had thrown onto the antique chair.
“Of course,” I replied automatically.
“I'll instruct the staff. Should I prepare a bath for you? Or perhaps a massage to help you relax?” I asked, venturing a hopeful step closer.
His reaction was immediate and absolute as he took a sharp step back, his eyes narrowing, his lips twisting into a subtle but unmistakable expression of disgust.
“Don't touch me, Amanda,” he said, his voice flat, edged with something that felt like revulsion.
“I am stressed. I am travel-worn. I do not want unnecessary physical contact. And I think you have forgotten what you are. You are a beta, and your pheromones are far too... neutral to offer any real soothing effect anyway.”
The humiliation was overwhelming. And of course, I knew he was speaking the truth.
My Beta scent, my very essence, was deemed too ‘neutral’ to even offer comfort.
He started up the stairs, and I realized he hadn't even showered or changed clothes before asserting his command over the house.
“Scott,” I called out, my voice stopping him midway up the stairs.
“Our marriage has begun, but we haven't spoken. What…what are the expectations now? For us?”
He didn't turn around but rather leaned one hand against the mahogany banister, finally offering his answer to my deepest question, delivered with the cold finality of a judge.
“The expectations are stability and silence, Amanda. You have your title. You manage the household. You remain in the background, exactly as you did in my office. You will not cling to me, and you will not interfere with my life or my business, unless specifically instructed. And secondly, we do not know each other really well which is why you should stop calling me by my full name because we are not on a first name basis. I am still Mr. Knight to you. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” I whispered. I had traded the oak door of the corporate suite for the isolation of the master mansion, but the boundary remained just as impenetrable.
He continued his ascent.
“And Amanda,” he added without looking back, “the master suite is large. The bed is mine. You will find that the chaise lounge or the sofa in the sitting area is perfectly comfortable for a single occupant.”
He disappeared into the suite, leaving the echoing marble hall colder than before.
I finally allowed myself to sink onto the bottom step, the reality of my new life crushing the fragile euphoria I had protected for weeks. The vows were empty.
The love was imaginary. I had entered a contract for perpetual, official abandonment.
I was his wife, but I was still only his Beta servant. A corporate doormat, now domestic. The fact that I didn't get the delicacy or the right to call his name hurt even more, but then, I had no other choice because I was still a fool who believed that I would be enough someday.
My first task as Mrs. Knight was to collect his soiled coat and take it to the dry cleaner.
And that is what I did for five good years.
- Writer
