Marriage of Heart and Blood

London rain always sounded different from any other. Sharper. Meaner. Like it was trying to cut through steel and concrete just to remind people that nothing in the city was ever truly safe. Amelia Harwood liked that. Storms made life honest. She stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of her penthouse office, watching the rain slam against the glass as the city below blurred into a smear of headlights. Her reflection stared back-green eyes cool and sharp, long curls falling in wet spirals down her back, and her suit hugging curves she never apologized for. It was almost funny how soft she looked, considering how many grown men flinched when she walked into a room. Almost. "Amelia," a voice called from the doorway, breathy and nervous-so not Annie. Annie never sounded scared. Which meant this i***t was already testing her patience. Amelia spoke without turning. "If you're here to tell me something stupid, I swear on my father's grave I'll push you out this window." A soft gulp. "M-Miss Harwood... your mother is downstairs." That made her shoulders stiffen. Her mother? Here? At the office? At nine in the evening? "Send her up," Amelia said, voice flat. She didn't ask why. Her mother never did unannounced visits unless it was something she had decided Amelia would not like. At all. Amelia smoothed the front of her black silk blouse and tugged her blazer tighter around her waist. She looked like power-tailored, effortless, lethal. Her body was trained, her mind sharper than broken glass, and her soul... well, that part had been scarred in ways no one could see. Except maybe Annie. Or her mother on a good day. But vulnerability was something Amelia didn't entertain unless she was in the privacy of her own mind-and even there it was rare, like trying to spot a star in the middle of the city's light-polluted sky. The door opened again, gently this time. "Darling," her mother breathed. Amelia turned. Her mother, Grace Harwood, walked in wearing a navy trench coat, hair swept into a bun, and that soft but steel-lined expression that always made Amelia feel like a child and an adult at the same time. "Mother." Her voice softened by two percent. That was generous. Grace smiled, the kind of smile that made her look younger than her age. "You're working late." "When am I not?" Amelia said dryly. Her mother stepped closer, her eyes softening at the sight of her daughter. "You look tired." "I look expensive," Amelia corrected. "Very different things." Grace sighed-the long, dramatic mother-sigh all parents used to express disappointment and love at the same time. "You've barely visited home this month." "I've been busy," Amelia replied. "You know, doing the thing Dad left me to run. The company that feeds this country." Grace gave her a look. "Sarcasm doesn't work on me, sweetheart." "It works on the rest of the world," Amelia said, leaning against her desk. "So. Why are you here? And why do I feel like I'm going to need wine for whatever you're about to say?" Her mother straightened, suddenly serious. Ah. Good. So it was one of those visits. "Amelia," Grace said gently. "We need to talk about your future." "I have one." Grace shook her head. "Not business. Your personal future." Amelia's soul left her body. "Mother," she groaned. "If this is about grandchildren-" "It's not." "Thank God." "But it is about marriage." Amelia inhaled sharply through her nose, closed her eyes, and counted to five before opening them again. "No." "You haven't even heard-" "No." "Sweetheart-" "Mother, I don't know what delusion consumed your brain on the drive here, but I am not marrying anyone." Grace stepped closer. "This isn't optional." Amelia blinked. Slowly. Then even slower. "...What?" "I've arranged your marriage," Grace said in the calmest voice anyone had ever used to deliberately end their own life. Amelia's voice dropped to arctic temperature. "You... arranged... what?" Her mother clasped her hands. "I know you're angry-" "I'm homicidal." "-but listen-" "No." "-because this is important." "Mother, I'm twenty-three, not thirteen, and I run a multi-billion-pound empire. I don't need a husband. I don't even need a boyfriend. I don't even need people, period." Grace winced. "Yes, yes, you're an independent warrior princess-" "I'm a CEO, not a Disney villain." Her mother pressed her lips together. "His name is William Fernández." Amelia froze. The name was familiar-too familiar. "Owner of the top business in the continent," Grace continued carefully. "Twenty-five years old. Intelligent. Powerful. And-" "No." Amelia sliced the air with her hand. "I don't care if he's God with a six-pack. I am not marrying him." Grace met her eyes. "Your father arranged it." ... Silence fell like a blade. The air left Amelia's lungs, replaced by something heavy and burning. "My father arranged... this?" she whispered. "Yes," Grace said softly. "Before he died. It was one of his last decisions. He trusted this man, trusted his family. He believed this alliance would protect you." And that- That broke Amelia's shield for just a second. Her father's voice echoed in her head. His warmth. His laugh. The way he'd told her to be strong, to be smarter than everyone else, to never let fear rule her. She swallowed hard. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?" Amelia whispered. "Because you were grieving. And then you were building your company. And then you became... this." Grace gestured vaguely. "A hurricane with legs." Fair. Still insulting, but fair. "Amelia," her mother said softly. "He wants to meet you tomorrow." "No." "Yes." "I am not meeting some arrogant, overpaid, probably emotionally unavailable-" "He's very handsome." "-man who thinks his money impresses me." Grace's smile turned sly. "Oh, trust me. It's not his money that impresses women." "Mother!" But Grace simply picked up her purse, kissed Amelia's cheek, and walked toward the door. "You'll meet him at the Royal Lancaster Hotel. 8 p.m. Wear something nice, and try not to threaten him." "No promises," Amelia muttered. Grace looked back. "Sweetheart... you might be surprised. He might be good for you." "He won't be." "He might challenge you." "He'll die trying." Grace sighed. "Just go." And then she left. The door clicked shut. Amelia stared at the empty space where her mother had stood. She let out a sharp exhale, pinched the bridge of her nose, and muttered, "I hate men." A small knock came again. Annie peeked inside-blonde curls bouncing, brown eyes sparkling with chaotic best-friend energy. "I heard yelling," Annie said. "Do I need to hide a body?" Amelia pointed at the door. "My mother arranged a marriage." Annie blinked. "Oh." "Oh," Amelia echoed. "Like... with a person?" "No, Annie. With a goat." Annie raised a hand. "Sarcasm noted. Who's the unlucky man?" "William Fernández." Annie's mouth dropped. "THE William Fernández? Amelia, half the women in Europe want him." "Good. They can marry him." "But your dad arranged it?" "Yes." Annie's expression softened. "Then maybe he had a reason." Amelia glared. "Don't you dare teamwork-with-my-mother me." Annie grinned. "Okay, fine. But are you going?" "I don't know." "Translation: yes." "Translation: shut up." But Annie just walked in, hugged her from behind, and rested her chin on Amelia's shoulder. "You're scared," Annie whispered. Amelia scoffed. "I don't get scared." "Yes, you do. Not of men, not of business, not of danger... You're scared of love." Amelia felt her jaw clench. Hard. "I don't love," she said coldly. Annie squeezed her. "Okay. But maybe someone will love you in a way that doesn't feel like a trap." Amelia didn't respond. Because deep down-a place she locked tightly-Amelia feared one thing more than death: Needing someone. Depending on someone. Loving someone enough to lose them. The scar across her back burned at that thought-phantom pain, memory pain, the kind that never faded. Annie pulled away. "I'll be at your apartment after work tomorrow. Wear black. Men get scared when you look like you might kill them." Amelia smirked. "Perfect." Annie winked. "Also, if he's hot, don't be a bitch." "Annie." "A tiny b***h is fine. But not full bitch." "Out." Annie left laughing. Alone again, Amelia walked to the mirror. Her forest-green eyes held storms. Her scar felt heavy. Her father's memory whispered warnings. And somewhere deep in her bones, she felt tomorrow shift something in her life. Something dangerous. Something she wouldn't be able to stop once it started. "William Fernández," she muttered. She didn't know him. She didn't want him. But he was coming. And Amelia Harwood never backed down from a fight. Even if the fight might end with her heart on the line.