A Perfect Mismatch

The champagne glass in Amelia Carter’s hand trembled. Not from nerves. Not from the cold but from the phone beneath the table. Ethan’s thumb moved across the screen again, quick and deliberate, while his other hand remained wrapped around hers for the cameras. Click. Flash. Smile. Amelia lifted the corners of her mouth. Across the table, her mother beamed with satisfaction, completely unaware or perhaps simply unwilling to notice that her daughter was barely holding herself together. "Beautiful," Victoria declared, dabbing the corner of her mouth with a silk napkin. "You two are absolutely beautiful. The press is going to eat this up." Amelia nodded. She had heard that word a thousand times tonight. Beautiful. Perfect. Lucky. She didn't feel lucky. Ethan squeezed her fingers gently. The gesture was practiced. Mechanical. Like a robot executing a command it had performed a million times before. He leaned closer, pressed a kiss to her temple, and she caught something faint on his collar. A floral scent. Sweet. Delicate. Not her perfume. Her stomach twisted. But she didn't pull away. She never pulled away. "That's my girl," Ethan whispered against her ear. His breath was warm. His words were practiced. "Smile like you mean it, babe." So Amelia smiled. --- The dinner was a symphony of performance. Victoria talked endlessly about the wedding, the venue, the guest list, the designer flying in from Paris just to sew Amelia's dress. Ethan nodded along, charming her mother with his dimpled grin, his hand firmly planted on Amelia's thigh under the table. Amelia wanted to throw up. She watched him. Really watched him. The way his gaze flickered to his phone every few seconds. The way his fingers twitched, itching to type another message. The way he laughed too loudly at her mother's jokes—like he was performing. Because he was. Ethan Montgomery was good at appearances. For three years, he had played the perfect fiancé so convincingly that even Amelia sometimes wondered if she had imagined the cracks. Victoria adored him. Their friends admired him. The press loved them together. Everyone saw a charming, successful man preparing to marry the woman he supposedly adored. Amelia was the only one who knew how carefully constructed that image was. te man beneath the mask? Amelia had seen glimpses. The late-night calls he took in the bathroom. The occasional lipstick stain he blamed on "work events." The way he sometimes looked at her like she was a trophy, not a person. And yet, every time she tried to ask, he made her feel ridiculous. "You're overthinking, babe." "She's just a colleague." "I love you. Only you. Why can't you just trust me?" So she stopped asking. She swallowed her doubts and pretended they were nothing. --- Under the table, Amelia's eyes drifted down. A w******p notification appeared on Ethan’s screen. Lola: Can’t wait to see you tomorrow. ❤️ Amelia stopped breathing. For several seconds, she could hear nothing but the blood rushing in her ears. She looked at Ethan. He was still smiling at her mother. Still holding her hand. Still playing the perfect fiancé. But Amelia could no longer see the man everyone else saw. She looked at her mother. Victoria was laughing at something Ethan said, her wine glass raised in a toast. The perfect family. The perfect engagement. The perfect lie. "Mom," Amelia wanted to scream. "Who is Lola? Why is she sending hearts to my fiancé?" But she didn't. Because she knew Victoria's response. She had heard variations of it before. "All men have female friends, Amelia. Don't be the jealous wife before you're even a wife." So Amelia swallowed. She pressed her nails into her palm until the pain distracted her. --- "Amelia, darling, you haven't touched your food." Victoria's voice cut through the fog. Amelia blinked. Her mother was staring at her plate the grilled lobster sat untouched, cold and glistening under the chandelier light. "I'm not hungry, Mom." "Nonsense. You're going to be a bride. You need energy. Eat." Ethan rubbed her back. The gesture was warm. His eyes were elsewhere. "Listen to your mother, babe. You're already too thin. You'll look sick in your wedding photos." Something inside Amelia tightened. Sick? She was sick. Sick of the knots in her stomach. Sick of smiling when she wanted to scream. Sick of the perfume that wasn't hers clinging to his collar. But she didn't scream. She picked up her fork and pushed the lobster around her plate. "I'll eat at home," she said softly. "I'm just tired." Victoria sighed dramatically. "You've been tired for months, Amelia. Maybe you need to see a doctor. Or maybe..." She glanced at Ethan with a knowing smirk. "...maybe you need to stop overthinking everything." Ethan chuckled. "She's a worrier. Always has been. But that's why I love her someone has to keep me grounded." Grounded. Amelia wanted to laugh. The man who was receiving hearts from "Lola" was telling everyone she was the one who needed grounding. --- The dinner ended at 10 PM. Victoria kissed Ethan on both cheeks. "You'll come over tomorrow, yes? We have the cake tasting." "Wouldn't miss it, Mama V." Ethan's grin was blinding. "Your daughter is going to have the best wedding Lagos has ever seen." Victoria beamed. "That's my future son-in-law." Amelia stood frozen by the door. The night air hit her face, and she realized she had been holding her breath for hours. She exhaled slowly. The tension in her shoulders didn't leave. Ethan walked her to the car. His hand was on the small of her back. The gesture was possessive. Proprietary. Like she was a trophy he had won. "Get home safe, babe." He kissed her forehead. "I love you." She heard the words. She felt his lips on her skin. But something was wrong. His eyes were already darting to his phone again. His body was already pulling away. He's going somewhere, Amelia thought. He's not coming home with me. She didn't say anything. She just nodded and climbed into the backseat of the Rolls-Royce. The door closed. The engine hummed. And for a moment, Amelia was alone. --- The car pulled away from the restaurant. Amelia leaned her head against the cool glass window. The city lights blurred past neon signs, street vendors, couples walking hand in hand. Everyone seemed so happy. So normal. So untouched by the rot that was eating her alive. She closed her eyes. She wanted to cry. But the tears wouldn't come. She had cried so many times over the years that her eyes felt dry. Empty. Hollow. "Miss Amelia." A voice. Deep. Flat. Unassuming. She opened her eyes. The rearview mirror caught a pair of brown eyes calm, observant, completely unreadable. Marcus. Her mother's driver. He had been with the family for a few years now, and in all that time, Amelia had never seen him smile. Not once. "Yes?" she asked, her voice hoarse. "Your mother called. She said you should eat when you get home. She's sending someone with food." Amelia snorted. "Of course she is." Marcus didn't respond. He just kept driving. His hands were steady on the wheel. His jaw was set. He looked like a man who didn't care about anything—especially not the rich girl in his backseat. And that was fine. Amelia didn't care about him either. But then he spoke again. "You've been quiet." Amelia looked up. "I'm tired." "That's not what I said." Her eyes narrowed. "Then what exactly are you saying?" Marcus met her gaze briefly in the rearview mirror. "You're usually louder." "Are you complaining?" "Just making an observation." "You're my mother's driver, Marcus. Observing me isn't part of your job." Silence. Amelia stared at the back of his head. His hair was cut low, simple. His shoulders were broad under his uniform jacket. He had a child she knew that much. A little girl. Victoria had made a snide comment once about Marcus being "a single father working as a driver, how sad." Amelia had felt sorry for him that day. For a split second. But then he had opened his mouth and called her "spoiled" to her face, and the sympathy had vanished. Now, sitting in the dark, she felt... unsettled. "Marcus," she said slowly. "Do you think people can change?" He paused. The car slowed at a red light. "Depends on the person," he said. Amelia hesitated. "Do you ever get the feeling that someone isn't who they pretend to be?" Marcus's eyes flicked toward her in the mirror. "Sometimes." "And what do you do?" "Pay attention." "Even when you don't want to know the answer?" His hands tightened slightly around the steering wheel. Especially then. Marcus was quiet for a long time. Too long. The light turned green. He drove forward. When he finally spoke, his voice was low. Careful. "I think some people are good at hiding things," he said. "And I think some people spend too much time ignoring their gut because they're afraid of what they'll find." The words hit her like a slap. Amelia opened her mouth to respond to snap at him, to remind him of his place but nothing came out. Because he was right. She was afraid. Terrified of what she might find if she actually looked. --- They arrived at her house. A sprawling mansion in Banana Island. Lights blazed from every window. Guards stood at the gate. The perfect home for the perfect family. Marcus pulled the car to a stop. He got out and opened her door. Amelia stepped out. The night air was cool against her skin. "Thank you," she murmured. Marcus nodded. He didn't say anything. But as she walked toward the front door, she felt his eyes on her back. She paused at the entrance. Turned. "Marcus." "Yes?" She bit her lip. She wanted to ask him something. Something important. Something that had been burning in her chest. Do you see something I don't? But the words wouldn't come. "Goodnight," she whispered. Marcus dipped his head. "Goodnight, Miss Amelia." She walked inside. The door closed behind her. The silence of the mansion swallowed her whole. --- Her bedroom was cold. Amelia sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the engagement ring on her finger. The diamond sparkled under the soft lamp light. Fifty carats. Worth more than most people made in a lifetime. And it felt like a shackle. She pulled out her phone. Opened w******p. Ethan's last message stared back at her: "Home safely, babe. Love you. Dream of me. 💋" She scrolled up. Past the selfies. Past the romantic texts. Past all the words that meant nothing. Then she saw it. Ethan's contact photo. His smiling face. His perfect teeth. His dimples. She stared at it for a long time. Who is Lola? The question burned in her chest. Why is she sending hearts to my fiancé? Amelia wanted to call him. Wanted to demand answers. But she knew how it would go. He would laugh. He would call her paranoid. He would make her feel small and silly. And then he would shower her with gifts and kisses until she felt guilty for doubting him. Just like always. She set the phone down. She walked to her vanity and stared at her reflection. Her eyes were red. Her cheeks were hollow. She looked like a ghost wearing designer clothes. Is this who I've become? she thought. A woman who sees a message from "Lola" and just... swallows it? She thought about her mother. Victoria's words echoed in her head: "All men have female friends. Don't be the jealous wife." But her gut was screaming something else. Something ugly. Something she didn't want to admit. Ethan is hiding something. And I've been pretending not to see it for years. --- At the same time, across Lagos, Marcus parked his car in front of his small apartment. He sat in the driver's seat for a long moment, staring at nothing. His mind kept drifting back to earlier that day. Earlier that afternoon, Marcus had seen Ethan in a supermarket parking lot where he stopped by to pick a few things for his daughter, Tolu. He wasn't alone. A woman stood beside him, close enough that there was no space between them. Her hand had rested against Ethan's chest while he whispered something into her ear. She laughed, Ethan smiled. Then his hand had settled briefly against her waist. Marcus had looked away. He had told himself there were innocent explanations. He still wanted to believe that. But the look in Ethan's eyes hadn't been innocent. But Marcus had seen the look in Ethan's eyes. The same look he had seen in other men's eyes. The look of a man who wasn't where he was supposed to be. Marcus had driven away without saying anything. He had tried to forget it. But now, sitting in his car, he couldn't shake the image. Amelia Carter could be spoiled, stubborn, privileged, and completely unaware of how different her world was from his. But Marcus had noticed something else over the years. she was the kindest woman he had ever met.She always asked about his daughter with genuine warmth. She always said please and thank you unlike her mother, who treated him like furniture.. And tonight, for the first time, he had seen just how unhappy she really was. It's not my business, he told himself. I'm just the driver. She's just the rich girl. What happens to her is not my problem. But even as he thought it, he knew it was a lie. The sadness in her eyes. The way she stared at Ethan's phone like it held her entire future. The tremor in her voice when she asked if people could change. She knows, Marcus realized. She knows something is wrong. She just doesn't want to admit it. He got out of the car. He walked up to his apartment. He opened the door and saw Tolu asleep on the couch, her teddy bear clutched to her chest. He knelt beside her and brushed her hair from her face. "Daddy's home," he whispered. She stirred but didn't wake. Marcus looked at his daughter and made a silent promise. I'm going to protect you from this world, baby. I'm going to make sure no one ever hurts you. But as he stood up, another thought crept in. What about Amelia? Who's protecting her? He shook his head. He was just a driver. He had no right to interfere. Still, he couldn't stop thinking about the supermarket. About the woman with the tight dress. About Ethan's arm wrapped around her waist. And about Amelia's hollow eyes in the rearview mirror. --- Back in her mansion, Amelia made a decision. She picked up her phone. Her fingers hovered over Ethan's contact. She wanted to ask. She wanted to scream. But instead, she typed something else. "Can we talk tomorrow? Just us?" She hit send. The reply came almost immediately. "Of course, babe. I love you. Goodnight." Amelia stared at the message. Three words. "I love you." They used to make her heart flutter. Now they made her stomach turn. She set the phone down. She removed the engagement ring from her finger and placed it on the nightstand. The diamond gleamed in the darkness like a mocking eye. Tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow, I'm going to ask him about Lola. I'm going to ask about the perfume. I'm going to stop being afraid. But even as she made the promise, a part of her knew the truth. Ethan would have an answer. A perfect, smooth, practiced answer. And she would pretend to believe him. Because that was what she always did. --- Marcus lay in his small bed, staring at the ceiling. He couldn't sleep. His phone buzzed. A message from Victoria: "Be at the house by 7 AM tomorrow. Amelia has the cake tasting." He typed back: "Yes, ma'am." He set the phone down. His mind drifted to the supermarket again. To Ethan. To the woman. Should I tell her? He argued with himself. No. It's not my place. I don't even know if it was anything. But then he remembered Amelia's voice. The tremor. The fear. "Do you think people can change?" Marcus closed his eyes. No, Amelia, he thought. I don't think they can. Not unless they want to. And I don't think your fiancé wants to. He turned on his side. Tolu was breathing softly in the next room. And for the first time in years, Marcus felt something he couldn't ignore. A fierce, protective rage. Not for himself. For her. For the woman who smiled like she was dying inside.