AMELIA
Amelia sat rigid at the vanity, her reflection staring back at her with cold detachment. Her skin, powdered and flawless, glowed under the soft light, and the veil trailing over her shoulders gleamed like chains made of silk. The stylists fluttered around her, chattering as if this were just another wedding, just another blushing bride being prepared for the happiest day of her life.
She wanted to scream.
"You're absolutely glowing," one of the women said, tugging gently at the pinned curls cascading down Amelia's back. "Mr. Black will be speechless."
Amelia's nails dug into her palms. Speechless, or calculating which part of me to use first? she thought bitterly. Damien Black didn't care about her glow, or her gown, or the way they'd painted her lips the color of crushed roses. He cared about the power this marriage would give him—the leverage over her family, the statement it would send to his enemies.
She turned her head slightly, catching a glimpse of her gown in the mirror. It was stunning, she supposed, with its delicate lace bodice and shimmering train. But all she could think of was how heavy it felt. Like a cage disguised as something beautiful.
Her father's voice interrupted the tension building in her chest. "Amelia."
She didn't look up, didn't need to. His tone was heavy with guilt, the same guilt she'd seen on his face since the moment he'd told her about the marriage. She clenched her fists tighter, the anger boiling beneath her calm surface threatening to erupt.
"You need to calm down," he said softly, as if speaking to a frightened animal.
That was enough to snap her control. Amelia pushed the chair back abruptly, the legs scraping against the floor. The room fell silent as the stylists froze, wide-eyed at her sudden movement. Her veil slid from her shoulders, pooling on the floor like a ghost.
"Out," she said coldly, looking at the women. "Leave. Now."
The stylists exchanged nervous glances but obeyed, filing out of the room quickly. When the door clicked shut, Amelia turned to face her father, her voice sharp as a blade.
"Don't you dare tell me to calm down," she hissed. "You sold me to a man who terrifies even you, and now you want me to sit quietly and behave? To go along with this nightmare like it's nothing?"
Her father's face was drawn, the lines of stress carving deeper into his features. He didn't answer right away, instead sinking into the armchair by the window, looking more defeated than she'd ever seen him.
"This isn't what I wanted for you," he said finally.
"Then why didn't you say no?" she snapped, her voice cracking.
"Because saying no to Damien Black isn't an option," he said, his tone hollow. "You think I don't know what I've done? That I haven't thought of every other way out of this? I've made mistakes, Amelia. Mistakes that cost us everything. He's the only thing keeping us alive right now."
Her chest tightened, her anger flaring again. "So this is about survival? You're giving me to him because you think it'll save you?"
"It's about saving both of us," he said firmly, though his voice wavered.
Amelia turned away, her fists trembling at her sides. She couldn't look at him—couldn't bear the sight of the man who had always been her protector now standing as the architect of her cage.