CHAPTER ONE
1091 Words
Six years ago…
Amanda Andrew should have trusted her instincts.
From the moment she stepped into the grand ballroom, turned to a wedding venue, something in her chest curled too tightly. The lights were too bright. The silence behind the smiles was too heavy. And the man she was about to marry… wasn’t even looking at her.
Still, she smiled.
Because this wasn’t about love.
This was about a deal - a contract.
The orchestra began its soft waltz. Her mother’s favorite tune. Her mother—who couldn’t even be here because she was in a hospital bed, fighting for her life. Amanda had agreed to this contract marriage to save her, to afford treatments no daughter her age should ever have to think about.
Amanda walked down the aisle alone, her cream silk gown flowing behind her like spilled moonlight. All eyes were on her, whispering, envying. Her almond eyes flicked toward the press pit—reporters with lenses as long as their intentions. She didn't flinch.
Damien Devy stood under the floral arch like a statue carved from frost. His charcoal suit molded to his body like a second skin. Gray eyes, distant. Brows unbothered. He didn’t offer a smile. He didn’t even look up until she reached him.
She handed her bouquet to the bridesmaid. Her fingers brushed Damien’s by accident. He didn’t react.
The officiant stepped forward and cleared his throat.
“We are gathered here today to witness the union of Amanda Andrew and Damien Devy, in marriage not only as a joining of two individuals, but two legacies.”
There were murmurs of approval from the guests. Amanda’s spine stiffened. This wasn’t a marriage—it was a merger.
The officiant glanced between the two of them. “Before we proceed with the vows, the couple has requested that the live feed pause for a brief interlude before the official declaration.”
Amanda blinked. Live feed?
She glanced behind her.
The massive LED screen at the back, initially broadcasting scenes of the decor and crowd reactions, flickered.
Then—
A gasp sliced through the room.
Amanda turned fully.
The projector had switched to behind-the-scenes footage. It must have been captured by a security camera—possibly a staff feed—but it had no business showing what it showed now.
Damien.
In a hallway.
Pinned.
By Vivian Hale.
Her hands clutched his lapels. Her body arched into his. Her lips—God—her lips grazed his.
Amanda’s breath caught.
The video cut just before Damien’s hands pushed Vivian away. But that part didn’t make the screen. Just the image of him—close, complicit.
Silence exploded louder than any scream.
Her fingers went numb.
Someone gasped behind her. Another voice whispered, “Did he just—?”
Amanda turned, slowly.
Damien was frozen. Expressionless. He didn’t rush to explain. He didn’t reach for her hand. His jaw clenched, but his eyes didn’t even meet hers.
The bouquet dropped from her hand with a muted thud.
The officiant, flustered, looked between them. “Uh—perhaps we should…”
Amanda didn’t wait.
She reached up and tore the veil from her head. It snagged on her earrings, but she didn’t care.
Vivian Hale stood near the corner of the ballroom, dressed in a silk gown too white for a guest. Her smirk cut through the chaos.
She planned this.
The timing. The angle. The humiliation.
Amanda’s world tipped sideways.
She turned to Damien, stepped close, and whispered—low and icy—so only he could hear, “You’ll regret letting the world believe I wasn’t enough. One day, you’ll watch me become everything you threw away.”
Then she walked away.
Her heels cracked against the marble like a war drum. She didn’t cry. She didn’t tremble. She walked out of that ballroom with a spine made of steel and fury in her bones.
Behind her, Damien didn’t follow.
Didn’t say her name.
Didn’t try to explain.
And that—that was the part that hurt the most.
>>>
The hallway outside the ballroom was colder, dimmer, quieter—yet no more forgiving.
Amanda ripped off the heels that suddenly felt too heavy. Her phone buzzed in her clutch with a dozen messages—none from Damien.
She shoved it away.
A door opened behind her. She didn’t need to turn to know who it was.
“Amanda,” his voice called. Calm. Too calm.
She didn’t stop walking.
“I didn’t kiss her.”
She froze.
Her back remained to him, shoulders stiff. “That’s your defense?” she said without turning. “You didn’t kiss her?”
“She set me up.”
Amanda spun. “Then maybe you should’ve had the sense not to let her get that close in the first place.”
His face twitched. Not guilt. Irritation.
“She said she needed to speak. I told her after the ceremony. She pulled me in.”
“And conveniently,” Amanda said, voice bitter, “that’s the part the camera cut off.”
Damien stepped closer. “I didn’t know anyone was filming.”
“But she did.”
They stared at each other. A battlefield between them.
“I trusted you,” Amanda whispered. “Even if this was business… I still trusted you not to humiliate me.”
He sighed. “This changes nothing. We still have to go through with the contract.”
She laughed—a cold, hollow sound. “You think I care about that damn contract anymore?”
He didn’t answer.
“Do you know why I said yes to this?” Her voice cracked. “It wasn’t for fame. Or your money. I needed help. My mom—”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t,” she snapped. “You think I’m just some naive little girl clinging to her pride. But I gave up everything for this. And you… couldn’t even look at me.”
Damien’s lips parted. “Amanda—”
“No.” Her eyes filled. “Don’t say my name like you care. You had the chance to stop that scene. To defend me. And you didn’t.”
He was silent.
Amanda stepped back. “I hope you remember this moment. Because I will. Every time I rise higher, every time I make something of m
yself—I'll remember you stood there and let them humiliate me.”
He reached for her arm.
She flinched away.
And then, she left.
This time, for good.
- Writer
