AMELIA
Amelia's heels clicked against the marble floor as she was ushered into the towering glass building that bore his name: Black Enterprises. The air inside was cold, sterile, a perfect reflection of the man she was about to meet. She kept her shoulders straight and her head high, even as unease coiled in her stomach.
"Miss Moranos," the assistant said, motioning for her to enter the office. The doors were large, heavy, a statement. As if he needed to remind everyone of his power with every inch of this place.
She walked inside, and there he was. Damien Black stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, the skyline of the city stretching out behind him like his personal empire. He didn't turn immediately, giving her the sense that he wasn't in any hurry to acknowledge her presence. The audacity of it made her blood simmer.
"Mr. Black," she said coolly, folding her arms.
He turned then, slowly, and the weight of his gaze pinned her where she stood. His dark eyes scanned her from head to toe— not leering, but assessing, like she was a puzzle he intended to solve.
"You're late," he said, his voice low and smooth, like a blade sliding through silk.
Her jaw tightened. "I wasn't aware I had a curfew."
The corner of his mouth twitched, though it wasn't quite a smile. "Punctuality is a virtue, Amelia. But I suppose I shouldn't expect much from someone who didn't want to be here."
Her stomach twisted at the sound of her name on his lips. It shouldn't have.
"I didn't come here because I wanted to. Let's make that clear right now."
He moved closer, his steps deliberate, and stopped a few feet away from her. Close enough to make her feel the sheer force of his presence. He was taller than she expected, his tailored suit cutting an imposing figure, but it was his eyes that unnerved her most. Cold, calculating, and just a little amused, like he already knew how this would end.
"Your father made the arrangement," he said, his tone maddeningly calm. "You're just here to honor it."
"Honor?" she shot back, her voice sharper than she intended. "You're talking about this like it's some sacred vow, but we both know what it really is. A business deal. A transaction."
"And yet," he said, his voice softening to a dangerous murmur, "here you are."
Her pulse spiked. She hated the way he looked at her, like he'd already won some game she didn't even know she was playing.
"Don't mistake my presence for compliance."
This time, he did smile. It was small, sharp, and entirely unsettling.
"Oh, I don't. I expect you to fight. I'd be disappointed if you didn't."
She blinked, caught off guard by the statement. He was toying with her, testing her, and she refused to let him see her flinch.
"Why me?" she asked, straightening her spine. "Why not someone else? If this is just business, you could've chosen anyone."
He tilted his head, studying her like she was an equation he was solving in real time.
"Why not you?" he countered.
"That's not an answer," she shot back.
"No," he admitted, taking another deliberate step closer, "but it's all you're getting."
The heat of her anger surged, but before she could retort, he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper.
"This is happening, Amelia. Whether you want it or not. So you can fight, you can rebel, you can hate me all you want. But in the end you'll still be mine."
She stiffened, her breath catching at the sheer audacity of his words. His gaze held hers, unrelenting, and she realized then that this wasn't a man who backed down. But neither was she.
"If you think for one second," she said, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her, "that I'm going to roll over and let you control me, you're delusional."
Damien's smirk deepened, as if her defiance only amused him.
"Good. I'd hate for this to be boring."
He stepped back then, breaking the tension but not the hold he seemed to have over the room.
"Your father has already signed the papers. The wedding is in a week. Until then, consider this your chance to adjust to the idea."
She laughed, the sound bitter and biting.
"Adjust? You're delusional if you think I'm going to adjust to anything."
He didn't respond right away. Instead, he returned to his desk, his movements unhurried, and picked up a sleek black pen.
"You don't have to like it, Amelia," he said, his tone once again calm and calculated. "You just have to."