Ambrose's POV
Standing tall before the mirror, I couldn't tear my eyes away from my reflection, even as the servants flitted around me like shadows. Some fussed with my hair, adjusting strands that refused to cooperate, while others hovered near my wardrobe, comparing fabrics and colors, debating which suit would best reflect my stature. Yet none of it mattered. I was distracted—hopelessly so.
The distraction had begun the moment I woke up, a strange, unnerving sense of loss settling deep inside me. My hands had instinctively reached across the bed, searching for something—someone—that had been there with me during the night. But all I found was the cold, empty space beside me. Was it a dream? It felt too real to be a dream.
I remembered her—vividly. She had been there, so close to me, warm and soft, like something I hadn't touched in what felt like an eternity. I seldom let women into my space, not after the endless stream of gold diggers and opportunists that had once lined up to be close to me. But her...she was different. The heat of her body still lingered in my palms, the softness of her skin, those luscious lips I had bitten into. Her scent was intoxicating, something floral, maybe sweet, that I couldn't quite place. And the way she moaned, so softly, like a melody in the dark—it was maddening.
She had shuddered beneath me with every kiss, her spine trembling as if she couldn't handle the pleasure. The memory of her surrender, the way she melted against me, filled me with a hunger I couldn't shake. I wanted her, craved her more deeply than I had allowed myself to want anyone in a very long time. She felt too real, too vivid to be just a fleeting dream, but when I woke up, she was gone.
She had vanished like mist in the morning sun, leaving me yearning for her even more, an insatiable ache gnawing at my chest. My heart beat faster as I thought of her—was she real? Or had my mind conjured her up in the quiet moments of sleep? My throat tightened as I swallowed nervously, my Adam's apple bobbing up and down.
I had never wanted to touched a woman quite like that before—not with such raw, uncontrollable desire. It wasn't supposed to happen, not again. But she...her presence still haunted me, and I felt the hunger rising once more. That maddening pull that made me want to search for her, to find her, to know if she had been real.
"What about this one, Sir?" A maid's voice broke through my reverie as she held up a red tie, her words pulling me back to the present. Irritated, I gave her a blank look, about to dismiss her suggestion when the door creaked open behind her. My mother peeked in, her eyes betraying the disappointment she tried to hide.
She wasn't thrilled about me attending this party. It was nothing more than a shallow event, orchestrated to push me into meeting the daughter of the Cruz family and deciding whether or not I would marry her. Honestly, I couldn't care less who she was or what she looked like. This marriage was purely a business transaction. After so many years on this earth, I had learned one thing: money was all that mattered. Love, on the other hand, was a ridiculous illusion, a game the poor played to comfort themselves. My mother didn't share this view, of course. Her pursed lips and the gentleness in her eyes were proof enough of that.
I sometimes wondered if there would ever be another soul on this planet who could love me unconditionally like she did. I doubted it. No woman would fall in love with me, not truly. They only wanted the fortune I carried. I had experienced that time and time again.
"Mom, what brings you here?" I asked, trying to soften my tone as the maid quietly stepped aside. It was then I noticed the small box in her hand, which she slowly opened, revealing a black tie.
"I got you a tie," she said softly, her voice holding a hint of hope. It was a simple, yet elegant black tie.
"I thought it would look good with your all-black attire today," she added with a smile as she handed it to me. I held it in my hands, admiring it. She had an eye for elegance, always did. But when I looked closer, I saw something more—my name, delicately embroidered into the fabric.
"Mom! This is beautiful," I said, genuinely touched by her thoughtful gift. But even with my words of gratitude, her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. She stepped closer, placing her hand on my cheek, her gentle touch filled with concern.
"I still think you shouldn't get married if you don't have feelings for her. Please, don't go," she urged, her voice barely concealing the sadness that lingered beneath the surface.
I couldn't tell her the truth, that nothing she said would change my mind. This marriage had nothing to do with love and everything to do with securing our future. But she kept trying, and for her sake, I played along, hoping to ease the sadness in her eyes.
"Mom, I'll be okay," I told her softly.
"Promise me. Promise me that if you meet her and don't feel anything, you won't marry her," she persisted, her voice filled with an almost desperate plea.
"Okay, okay," I conceded, sighing. "If I meet her and there's nothing there, I won't marry her. Are you happy now?"
She studied me for a moment, as if searching for the truth in my words, before finally nodding.
"But you can't lie to me," she said firmly. "I'll know if you're lying."
"I know, Mom," I replied, taking her hand from my cheek and squeezing it gently. "I'll keep that in mind."
She didn't look entirely convinced, but a small smile finally crept onto her lips. Nodding, she reached for the tie in my hand. "Okay, then. Let me tie this for you. And good luck."
"Thank you, Mom," I said as she carefully adjusted the tie around my neck. Her touch was warm, steady, and filled with love. Though I knew she still harbored doubts, she let them rest—for now.
As she stepped back, her eyes lingered on me, full of hope and worry. I couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt, but I pushed it aside. This wasn't about emotions. This was about ensuring a future—one where love played no part.