AMELIA
The bedroom loomed before her like the maw of a beast, dark and silent, waiting to devour her whole. She hovered just inside the doorway, her hands clutching the delicate veil still pinned to her hair. The weight of the day pressed against her chest—every vow, every forced smile, every mocking glance from Damien etched into her skin like scars.
The room was large, suffocating so, its walls lined with dark wood paneling and bookshelves that stretched up to the ceiling. A low-burning fire crackled in the marble hearth, casting flickering shadows across the room. It should have been warm, welcoming even, but all Amelia could feel was the icy chill that settled deep in her bones.
He was already there, seated in a leather armchair near the expansive floor-to-ceiling window. His silhouette was outlined by the city lights beyond the glass, a glass of whiskey held loosely in his hand. For a moment, she thought he didn't notice her presence. His posture was relaxed, his gaze fixed on the skyline as if she weren't even worth acknowledging.
She took a hesitant step forward, her gown rustling faintly against the polished floor. The sound made her wince—it was too loud in the oppressive silence of the room. For a fleeting moment, she considered retreating, slipping out into the hallway to put as much distance as possible between them. Maybe he'd let her go. Maybe he didn't care enough to follow.
Then his voice shattered her fragile hope.
"Close the door."
The words were low and even, not a request but a command.
Her heart jolted, and she froze, her fingers tightening on the veil. For a moment, she couldn't move, couldn't breathe.
"Amelia," he said again, his tone sharper this time, cutting through her hesitation like a blade. "Close. The door."
Her pulse thundered in her ears as her hand fumbled for the doorknob. The soft click of the door shutting felt final, like a lock sliding into place on her cage.
She stayed where she was, her back pressed against the cool wood, her breath shallow and unsteady. He still didn't look at her, his gaze seemingly transfixed by the city beyond the window. She wished he'd stay like that—silent, distant, uninterested.
But of course, Damien Black was never uninterested.
"Come here."
The command was quiet, but it carried enough weight to make her stomach twist. He didn't raise his voice, didn't need to. It wasn't the volume that mattered—it was the promise of what would happen if she didn't obey.
Her feet felt rooted to the floor. She didn't want to move closer to him, didn't want to feel the suffocating heat of his presence bearing down on her.
"Amelia," he said, finally turning his head to face her. His dark eyes locked on hers, unrelenting and sharp, like a predator sizing up its prey. "Don't make me repeat myself."
Her chest tightened as she forced herself to take a step forward. Then another. Each movement felt heavier than the last, like she was dragging herself into the jaws of the beast.
When she was close enough to see the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, she stopped.
"That wasn't so hard, was it?" he murmured, setting his glass of whiskey on the table beside him. He stood then, towering over her, his presence suffocating. He reached out, his hand brushing against the delicate lace of her veil.
"You're trembling," he said softly, almost curiously, as if her fear was something fascinating to him.
She forced herself to meet his gaze, though her pulse hammered in her throat. "What do you want from me?" she asked, her voice trembling but laced with defiance.
His smirk deepened. "You're my wife now, Amelia," he said, his tone deceptively gentle as his fingers brushed the strand of hair curling against her cheek. "What I want is for you to start acting like it."
Her heart pounded as he stepped closer, the warmth of his breath brushing against her skin. She hated how much space he took up, how much power he wielded over her without even trying.
"Let me make something clear," she said, summoning what little courage she had left. "I didn't agree to this, and I never will. You may have forced me into this marriage, but that doesn't mean I belong to you."
His eyes darkened, the smirk fading into something colder. For a moment, the air between them crackled with tension, sharp and electric. Then he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he whispered, "You already do."
Her breath caught, and she fought the urge to step back. She couldn't let him see her falter.
Damien pulled away, his expression unreadable, and turned back to the window. "Go to bed," he said casually, dismissing her as if she were no more important than a piece of furniture. "We have a long road ahead of us, Mrs. Black."
The dismissal stung more than she wanted to admit, but she turned on her heel and walked toward the bed, her hands trembling as she removed the heavy veil from her hair. She refused to cry, refused to let him see how much this night had crushed her.
As she climbed under the covers, she swore to herself that she wouldn't break. She wouldn't let Damien Black own her. No matter how much he thought he already did.AMELIA
The bedroom loomed before her like the maw of a beast, dark and silent, waiting to devour her whole. She hovered just inside the doorway, her hands clutching the delicate veil still pinned to her hair. The weight of the day pressed against her chest—every vow, every forced smile, every mocking glance from Damien etched into her skin like scars.
The room was large, suffocating so, its walls lined with dark wood paneling and bookshelves that stretched up to the ceiling. A low-burning fire crackled in the marble hearth, casting flickering shadows across the room. It should have been warm, welcoming even, but all Amelia could feel was the icy chill that settled deep in her bones.
He was already there, seated in a leather armchair near the expansive floor-to-ceiling window. His silhouette was outlined by the city lights beyond the glass, a glass of whiskey held loosely in his hand. For a moment, she thought he didn't notice her presence. His posture was relaxed, his gaze fixed on the skyline as if she weren't even worth acknowledging.
She took a hesitant step forward, her gown rustling faintly against the polished floor. The sound made her wince—it was too loud in the oppressive silence of the room. For a fleeting moment, she considered retreating, slipping out into the hallway to put as much distance as possible between them. Maybe he'd let her go. Maybe he didn't care enough to follow.
Then his voice shattered her fragile hope.
"Close the door."
The words were low and even, not a request but a command.
Her heart jolted, and she froze, her fingers tightening on the veil. For a moment, she couldn't move, couldn't breathe.
"Amelia," he said again, his tone sharper this time, cutting through her hesitation like a blade. "Close. The door."
Her pulse thundered in her ears as her hand fumbled for the doorknob. The soft click of the door shutting felt final, like a lock sliding into place on her cage.
She stayed where she was, her back pressed against the cool wood, her breath shallow and unsteady. He still didn't look at her, his gaze seemingly transfixed by the city beyond the window. She wished he'd stay like that—silent, distant, uninterested.
But of course, Damien Black was never uninterested.
"Come here."
The command was quiet, but it carried enough weight to make her stomach twist. He didn't raise his voice, didn't need to. It wasn't the volume that mattered—it was the promise of what would happen if she didn't obey.
Her feet felt rooted to the floor. She didn't want to move closer to him, didn't want to feel the suffocating heat of his presence bearing down on her.
"Amelia," he said, finally turning his head to face her. His dark eyes locked on hers, unrelenting and sharp, like a predator sizing up its prey. "Don't make me repeat myself."
Her chest tightened as she forced herself to take a step forward. Then another. Each movement felt heavier than the last, like she was dragging herself into the jaws of the beast.
When she was close enough to see the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, she stopped.
"That wasn't so hard, was it?" he murmured, setting his glass of whiskey on the table beside him. He stood then, towering over her, his presence suffocating. He reached out, his hand brushing against the delicate lace of her veil.
"You're trembling," he said softly, almost curiously, as if her fear was something fascinating to him.
She forced herself to meet his gaze, though her pulse hammered in her throat. "What do you want from me?" she asked, her voice trembling but laced with defiance.
His smirk deepened. "You're my wife now, Amelia," he said, his tone deceptively gentle as his fingers brushed the strand of hair curling against her cheek. "What I want is for you to start acting like it."
Her heart pounded as he stepped closer, the warmth of his breath brushing against her skin. She hated how much space he took up, how much power he wielded over her without even trying.
"Let me make something clear," she said, summoning what little courage she had left. "I didn't agree to this, and I never will. You may have forced me into this marriage, but that doesn't mean I belong to you."
His eyes darkened, the smirk fading into something colder. For a moment, the air between them crackled with tension, sharp and electric. Then he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he whispered, "You already do."
Her breath caught, and she fought the urge to step back. She couldn't let him see her falter.
Damien pulled away, his expression unreadable, and turned back to the window. "Go to bed," he said casually, dismissing her as if she were no more important than a piece of furniture. "We have a long road ahead of us, Mrs. Black."
The dismissal stung more than she wanted to admit, but she turned on her heel and walked toward the bed, her hands trembling as she removed the heavy veil from her hair. She refused to cry, refused to let him see how much this night had crushed her.
As she climbed under the covers, she swore to herself that she wouldn't break. She wouldn't let Damien Black own her. No matter how much he thought he already did.