You're Not My Wife
1490 Words
The first thing Amelia noticed was the silence.
No shouting.
No crashing bottles.
No gambling arguments.
Just... silence.
Slowly, her eyelids fluttered open.
Above her hung a magnificent crystal chandelier, its tiny prisms catching the morning sunlight pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
For a brief moment, Amelia wondered if she was dreaming.
This wasn't her room.
Her tiny apartment had stained ceilings and peeling paint.
This room looked like something from a luxury magazine.
She quickly sat upright.
A sharp headache shot through her temples.
"...Where am I?"
Her voice sounded weak.
The memories came rushing back.
Richard.
The suitcase full of money.
The black SUV.
The bride auction.
The man who had spent one hundred million dollars...
Her breathing quickened.
She threw the expensive silk blanket aside and immediately looked down at herself.
She was still wearing the white evening gown from the auction.
Untouched.
She let out a shaky breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
Thank God...
Before she could gather her thoughts, the bedroom door slowly opened.
An elderly woman dressed in a neat black-and-white uniform entered, pushing a silver breakfast trolley.
She smiled politely.
"I see you're awake."
Amelia instantly climbed out of bed.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Mrs. Agnes."
She carefully placed the tray on a nearby table.
"I've served the De Luca family for over thirty years."
"De Luca?"
"The owner of this mansion."
Amelia's eyes widened.
"The man who bought me."
Mrs. Agnes hesitated.
"...Yes."
"I want to leave."
The older woman sighed softly.
"I'm afraid that isn't possible."
"Why not?"
"This house has rules."
"I don't care about your rules!"
Amelia's voice echoed through the bedroom.
"I was sold like an animal!"
"I never agreed to come here!"
"I just want to go home!"
Mrs. Agnes looked at her with quiet sympathy.
"My dear..."
"...sometimes home is the one place we can never return to."
Amelia's eyes filled with tears.
"I have nowhere else."
The older woman remained silent.
She had seen many women brought into this mansion over the years.
Some arrived frightened.
Others arrived angry.
But this girl...
She looked completely broken.
"Eat something."
"I'm not hungry."
"You haven't eaten since yesterday."
"I said I'm not hungry."
Mrs. Agnes nodded.
"As you wish."
She turned toward the door.
Just before leaving, she paused.
"If you wish to leave..."
"...you'll have to speak with Mr. De Luca."
The door quietly closed behind her.
Amelia looked around the enormous bedroom.
Everything felt expensive.
The furniture.
The paintings.
The curtains.
Even the air somehow smelled rich.
Yet none of it mattered.
To her...
It was simply another prison.
Determined, Amelia walked toward the bedroom door.
She twisted the golden handle.
It opened.
No guards.
No locked doors.
She stepped into a long marble hallway lined with elegant paintings and antique decorations.
Maybe...
Just maybe...
She could escape.
She hurried toward the grand staircase.
The front entrance came into view.
Freedom was only a few steps away.
She reached for the large golden handle.
Before she could pull it open...
A deep voice echoed behind her.
"Planning to leave already?"
Amelia froze.
The voice was calm.
Cold.
Authoritative.
Slowly...
She turned around.
Damien De Luca stood at the top of the staircase.
He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, one hand tucked casually into his pocket.
His expression revealed nothing.
He slowly descended each step with quiet confidence.
Every movement carried the authority of a man used to being obeyed.
When he finally stopped in front of her...
Their eyes met for the first time since the auction.
For one brief second...
Something flickered across Damien's face.
"Soph..."
The name almost escaped his lips.
He stopped himself immediately.
His jaw tightened.
The warmth disappeared from his eyes as quickly as it had appeared.
Amelia noticed.
"What?"
Damien looked away first.
"...Nothing."
Silence settled between them.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Amelia finally broke it.
"Why did you buy me?"
Amelia's voice echoed through the grand foyer.
Neither of them looked away.
For a long moment, Damien simply stared at her.
His expression remained unreadable, but his eyes... his eyes betrayed something he refused to acknowledge.
She looked too much like Sophia.
Too much.
Finally, he spoke.
"Don't flatter yourself."
Amelia frowned.
"What?"
"I didn't buy you because I wanted a wife."
His voice was calm, almost emotionless.
"You were the highest bid."
"That's all."
A bitter laugh escaped Amelia's lips.
"So you spent one hundred million dollars on a stranger for no reason?"
Damien took one step closer.
The air between them suddenly felt heavy.
"I don't owe you an explanation."
"You owe me more than that."
Her voice rose.
"You bought me like I wasn't even human!"
"I had a life!"
"I had dreams!"
"I had a home!"
Damien's eyes darkened.
"Home?"
He let out a humorless chuckle.
"The man who sold you for money..."
"...that's what you call home?"
Amelia fell silent.
The words hurt because they were true.
But hearing them from him only made her angrier.
"You don't get to judge me."
"I'm not judging you."
"Then stop acting like you know everything!"
For the first time...
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Damien's lips.
It vanished almost immediately.
"You have courage."
"I have common sense."
She folded her arms.
"And unlike everyone else around here..."
"I'm not afraid of you."
Mrs. Agnes, who had quietly returned to clear the breakfast tray, nearly dropped a plate.
No one spoke to Damien De Luca like that.
No one.
Damien studied Amelia for several seconds.
Instead of anger...
He looked almost... intrigued.
Then his expression turned cold again.
"Listen carefully, Amelia Quinn."
He spoke each word slowly.
"So there is no misunderstanding between us."
He took another step forward.
"You're not my wife."
The words landed like ice.
"And you'll never replace her."
Amelia's jaw clenched.
"I never asked to."
Damien continued as if she hadn't spoken.
"You'll stay in this mansion."
"You'll follow the rules."
"You'll go where you're told."
"And you will never mistake my decision to buy you for affection."
His voice became even colder.
"You are here for one reason."
"And when that reason is fulfilled..."
"...you'll leave."
Amelia stared at him.
For a second, she thought she would cry.
Instead...
She laughed.
A short, disbelieving laugh.
Damien frowned.
"You think that's funny?"
"No."
She shook her head.
"I think you're pathetic."
Mrs. Agnes gasped softly.
Even the guards exchanged surprised glances.
No one had ever dared insult Damien to his face.
Amelia stepped closer until only a small distance separated them.
"You keep talking about your wife."
"You keep comparing me to someone I've never met."
"I'm not interested in taking anyone's place."
Her eyes burned with determination.
"So stop looking at me like I'm a ghost."
The words hit Damien harder than he expected.
For the briefest moment...
He saw Sophia standing before him again.
Then reality returned.
This wasn't Sophia.
This was Amelia.
A stubborn, fearless young woman who refused to bow her head.
Without another word, Damien turned and walked away.
"Mrs. Agnes."
"Yes, sir."
"Show Miss Quinn the east wing."
"Of course."
He stopped walking but didn't turn around.
"And make sure she stays away from the west wing."
"Understood."
Damien disappeared upstairs.
Amelia frowned.
"The west wing?"
Mrs. Agnes forced a small smile.
"Some doors are better left unopened."
That only made Amelia more curious.
---
An hour later...
Mrs. Agnes had left Amelia alone to settle into her room.
The mansion was so enormous that it felt impossible to memorize the hallways.
Curiosity eventually got the better of her.
She wandered through corridor after corridor, admiring towering bookshelves, priceless paintings, and antique sculptures.
Everything about the mansion whispered wealth.
Everything except the silence.
It felt... lonely.
As she turned another corner, she noticed a hallway unlike the others.
The lights were dimmer.
Fresh white lilies rested in elegant vases along the walls.
At the very end stood a pair of dark wooden doors.
They were slightly open.
Amelia hesitated.
Mrs. Agnes had warned her.
But curiosity won.
She gently pushed one door open.
The room inside looked untouched.
As though time itself had stopped.
A piano stood beside a large window.
Books remained neatly arranged on a shelf.
A delicate perfume still lingered in the air.
Then...
Her eyes landed on the enormous portrait hanging above the fireplace.
She froze.
The woman in the painting wore a graceful white dress.
She smiled softly, her dark hair cascading over one shoulder.
Her eyes...
Her nose...
Even the shape of her lips...
Amelia slowly walked closer.
Her heart pounded against her ribs.
She looked at the portrait.
Then at her reflection in the polished glass covering it.
Her breathing caught.
"...No..."
She reached out with trembling fingers.
"She..."
Her voice barely escaped her lips.
"...looks exactly like me."
Behind her...
A floorboard creaked.
Someone was standing at the doorway.
Watching her.
- Writer
