Amara
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The first thing I noticed was the silence—not the tender, lulling kind that wraps you in warmth and coaxes you into a peaceful awakening, but a heavy, unrelenting stillness that seemed to settle over everything. It pressed against my chest like an unwelcome weight, whispering that the world had shifted while I slept, leaving me stranded in unfamiliar territory.
The soft golden light seeped through the sheer curtains, painting delicate patterns on the polished floor, but it offered no comfort. I blinked, my eyes trailing upward to a high, vaulted ceiling that stretched endlessly, adorned with intricate moldings and gilded accents that spoke of obscene wealth. It felt cold, impersonal—a far cry from the cozy familiarity I once called home. This wasn't my room. It wasn't even close.
Then it hit me. The wedding. The vows. The kiss.
My stomach twisted as last night's events came rushing back. The reckless deal. Ronan Blackwood. His cool, calculated smile as he slipped that ring onto my finger.
Mrs. Blackwood. The words tasted foreign, like something I had stolen rather than earned.
I sat up in the oversized bed, the silk sheets pooling around me like a trap. Everything in the room screamed wealth—sleek furniture, polished wood floors, and a chandelier that sparkled even in daylight. But the space felt cold, lifeless, as if no one truly lived here.
A sharp knock on the door made me flinch. Before I could answer, the door opened, and Ronan walked in, his presence commanding as ever. He was already dressed for the day, his dark suit perfectly tailored, the crisp white shirt open at the collar. He looked at ease, as if marrying his enemy's daughter was just another line item on his agenda.
"Good. You're awake," he said, his voice a smooth rumble. "We have a busy day ahead."
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, planting my feet on the cool floor. "I wasn't aware I'd signed up for your itinerary."
Ronan smirked, leaning casually against the doorframe. "You signed up for a lot more than that last night, Mrs. Blackwood."
The way he said it, like he was staking a claim, made my skin prickle. I shot him a glare, refusing to let him see how much he unsettled me. "What exactly does this 'busy day' entail?"
"You'll be moving into my home. Permanently," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "The staff will pack your things from the Kingsley estate. By tonight, everything will be here."
I stood, squaring my shoulders. "And if I refuse?"
His eyes darkened, the smirk fading into something far more dangerous. "Then you'd be going against the terms of our agreement. And I don't think you're in any position to break those terms."
Anger bubbled in my chest, but I swallowed it down. He was right. I had tied myself to this man with no way out, at least for now. But that didn't mean I had to make it easy for him.
"I'll move," I said, lifting my chin. "But don't expect me to play the obedient little wife."
Ronan chuckled, a low, amused sound that grated on my nerves. "Obedient? No. But convincing? That's non-negotiable. We have appearances to keep, and you'll do your part."
He pushed off the doorframe and walked toward me, his gaze never wavering. I resisted the urge to take a step back, standing my ground as he stopped just a breath away.
"Remember, Amara," he said softly, his voice like velvet wrapped around steel. "You came to me. You chose this. Now you'll see it through."
The weight of his words settled on my chest, heavy and inescapable. I clenched my fists, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "And what about you, Ronan? What do you get out of this?"
His lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. "You'll find out soon enough."
••
The rest of the day dissolved into a haze of movement and efficiency, each moment blurring into the next as Ronan's staff descended on my life like a well-oiled machine. My belongings were plucked from the familiarity of the Kingsley estate, packed with precision, and transported to a new realm that felt more like an exquisite cage than a home. By evening, I found myself standing in the heart of his sprawling penthouse, feeling like a misplaced artifact in a world I didn't belong to.
The space was a masterclass in contrasts—dark, angular furniture set against the expanse of floor-to-ceiling windows that framed a breathtaking view of the city. The skyline sparkled like a constellation of possibilities, but inside, the atmosphere was void of warmth, as though life itself had no claim here. It was undeniably beautiful, meticulously designed to awe, yet it bore the same detached elegance as the man who owned it—a place meant to impress, not to live.
"Welcome home," Ronan said from behind me, his voice laced with mockery.
I turned to face him, crossing my arms. "Is this where you bring all your acquisitions?"
He arched a brow, clearly amused. "Only the special ones."
I rolled my eyes, walking past him toward the window. The city lights stretched out before me, glittering and endless. Somewhere out there, my stepmother was probably seething, Nate was undoubtedly plotting, and my father's empire was still hanging in the balance.
"What's the next step in your master plan?" I asked, my voice tinged with sarcasm.
Ronan joined me at the window, his reflection sharp and commanding in the glass. "We make them believe it," he said simply. "Every look, every touch, every word. They'll have to believe we're madly in love."
"And if they don't?"
He turned to me, his gaze piercing. "Then we both lose. But don't worry, Amara. I don't intend to lose."
The intensity in his voice sent a shiver down my spine. For a moment, I wondered if I had made a deal with the devil himself. And for the first time since this whole mess began, I wasn't entirely sure I could win.
••
As I turned away from Ronan, my phone buzzed on the counter. I picked it up, my brows furrowing at the unknown number flashing on the screen.
The message was short, but it hit like a punch to the gut: "You think this marriage will protect you? Think again."
My heart raced, the words blurring as a chill ran down my spine. My first instinct was to delete it, but before I could move, Ronan's voice cut through the air like a blade.
"Something you'd like to share?"
I spun around, clutching the phone tightly. His gaze was sharp, his expression unreadable as he crossed the room toward me.
"Just a spam message," I said quickly, hoping my voice sounded more confident than I felt.
Ronan didn't look convinced. He stopped inches from me, his towering presence swallowing the space between us. Without asking, he reached for the phone, his fingers brushing mine as he plucked it from my grip.
He read the message, his jaw tightening. "Who sent this?"
"I don't know," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
Ronan's gaze darkened, a storm brewing behind his silver-grey eyes. "Let me make one thing clear, Amara. Whatever threats come your way, they'll deal with me first. You're my wife now, and that means no one touches you without answering to me."
His words were meant to be reassuring, but the possessive edge in his tone made my chest tighten. I wasn't sure if I felt safer—or more trapped.
"Ronan," I started, but he silenced me with a look.
"Trust me on this," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Whoever sent this will regret it."
I swallowed hard, nodding, but the unease in my chest didn't fade. The message was a warning, and I had a sinking feeling that this marriage was only the beginning of the chaos to come.
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