Chapter three
1086 Words
Chapter Three – Jealous Rivals and Family Secrets
Amelia had never felt so utterly out of place.
The gala had ended hours ago, yet her body still buzzed with exhaustion and nerves. She stood barefoot on the cold marble floor of Damian’s penthouse, staring out at the skyline that glittered like a million watchful eyes. The gown lay draped over a chair, the diamonds locked away in a velvet case she didn’t dare touch again.
Her reflection in the glass startled her: her hair was pinned in elegant curls, her makeup was artfully applied, and her figure was wrapped in silk. She looked nothing like the woman who had walked into Weston Enterprises that morning begging for mercy.
And yet, inside, she was the same Amelia: terrified, desperate, and painfully aware she was living someone else’s life.
“Can’t sleep?”
His voice curled through the silence. She turned sharply. Damian stood in the doorway, jacket off, shirt unbuttoned at the collar. Even undone, he radiated power, as though the world bent slightly to accommodate him.
Amelia folded her arms, trying not to notice the way her pulse quickened at the sight of him. “It's hard to sleep when you’ve just lied to the entire city.”
He crossed the room in slow, deliberate strides, stopping beside her. “You call it lying. I call it performance.”
She shot him a look. “You make it sound like we’re on stage.”
“We are.” His eyes met hers, dark and unreadable. “The audience is ruthless. Show weakness, and they devour you.”
Something in his tone made her shiver. She wondered what he had endured to make him speak that way, but before she could ask, he handed her a glass of water. She took it, fingers brushing his. A spark jolted her, unexpected and unwelcome.
“Get some rest, Amelia,” he said softly, almost gently. Then he turned and walked away, leaving her staring after him, her heart a tangle of confusion.
The next morning, the tabloids were merciless.
Amelia sat at the breakfast bar, clutching her coffee like a lifeline as Damian skimmed through the papers with infuriating calm.
“They’ve already dug up everything,” she muttered, heat flooding her cheeks as she saw a grainy photo of her outside the bakery. “My family, the shop, even my college transcript. They know everything.”
“Of course they do,” Damian said without looking up. “That’s the cost of living in my world.”
Her throat tightened. “It feels like drowning.”
Finally, he glanced at her, eyes sharp. “Then learn to swim.”
The words stung, but before she could snap back, his phone buzzed. He answered, his expression hardening instantly.
“Yes?” A pause. His jaw clenched. “I’ll deal with it.”
He hung up and stood abruptly. “Get dressed. We’re going to the Weston board meeting.”
Amelia blinked. “What? Why?”
“Because,” he said, already striding toward the door, “the board thinks this engagement is a stunt. And you’re going to prove them wrong.”
The boardroom was colder than any ballroom, despite the polished oak and leather chairs. Twelve men and women, all dripping with old money and sharper than knives, eyed Amelia with thinly veiled disdain as Damian led her in.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Damian announced smoothly, “you’ve all met Amelia Dawson, my fiancée.”
The words rang like a challenge. Amelia forced her shoulders back, her pulse thundering in her ears.
An older man with steel-gray hair leaned forward. “Forgive my bluntness, Damian, but this feels… convenient. We’ve never heard of this young woman before. And now she’s your fiancée?” His gaze swept over Amelia like she was dirt tracked onto the carpet. “Where exactly did you meet?”
Amelia’s throat went dry. She opened her mouth, but Damian beat her to it.
“At her family’s bakery,” he said easily, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “I stopped in one morning, and… let’s just say I never stopped going back.”
Laughter rippled around the table, but not kindly. Amelia forced a smile, clutching Damian’s hand under the table. His grip tightened, steady and commanding.
“Is that true, Miss Dawson?” another board member asked, eyes narrowing.
“Yes,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “I didn’t expect him to notice me. But he did. And… here we are.”
Silence. For a terrifying moment, Amelia thought they saw through her, that the whole façade would crumble then and there. But Damian’s gaze never wavered, his presence a shield she hated needing but couldn’t deny.
Finally, the chairman cleared his throat. “Very well. We’ll take you at your word, Damian. For now.”
The meeting moved on, but Amelia could feel the doubt lingering in the air, sharp and dangerous.
When they finally left the building, Amelia collapsed into the car seat, every muscle trembling.
“That was brutal,” she whispered.
Damian studied her for a long moment. Then, to her surprise, he said, “You did well.”
Her head snapped up. “What?”
“You held your own.” His lips curved slightly, not quite a smile, but something close. “Most would’ve cracked.”
The unexpected praise warmed her, though she tried to fight it. “I almost did,” she admitted.
“But you didn’t,” he countered. “That matters.”
For a moment, silence stretched between them. The city blurred past the windows, but Amelia felt only the weight of his gaze, heavy and unreadable.
Then Damian’s phone buzzed again. He answered, his tone sharp. “What is it?” His eyes darkened. “Put him through.”
A pause, then his expression hardened like steel. “If Ethan Weston thinks he can undermine me, he’s mistaken.”
Amelia frowned. “Ethan?”
Damian hung up, his jaw tight. “My half-brother.”
Something in his tone made her shiver.
“He wants what’s mine,” Damian said, eyes narrowing. “And he’ll use anyone, including you, to get it.”
Amelia’s stomach sank. She had signed a contract, thinking her biggest challenge would be playing the role of fiancée. But now, she realized she had stepped into the middle of a war.
And she wasn’t sure she could survive it.
- Writer
