AMELIA
The morning light spilled into the room, harsh and unforgiving, piercing through the heavy curtains that lined the windows. Amelia sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her hands. The golden band around her finger caught the sunlight, mocking her. She had spent the entire night tossing and turning, her stomach churning with the weight of what she'd been forced into.
The bedroom was eerily silent, the faint hum of the city outside muffled by the thick walls of Damien's penthouse. Or rather, their penthouse now. She had been given a glimpse of its grandeur last night when the staff had ushered her inside, but it hadn't registered. Now, in the cold light of day, she realized just how oppressive the place was. The high ceilings, the polished marble floors, the dark wood furniture—it all screamed power and wealth, but it also felt like a prison.
Damien was nowhere to be seen. He had left the room hours ago, leaving her with nothing but the silence and her own racing thoughts. She wondered if this was part of his game—giving her time to stew, to let the reality of her new life sink in. If so, it was working.
Her gaze drifted to the door, half-expecting him to walk in at any moment. She didn't want to see him. Not yet. Not when her head was still spinning with questions she didn't have answers to.
Why had her father agreed to this? What had he done to bring Damien Black into their lives? And what exactly did Damien want from her? It wasn't love, obviously. It wasn't even desire, not really. No, this was about power. About control.
Her stomach twisted as her father's words echoed in her mind: "You have to. For the family."
The family. That was what it always came back to, wasn't it? Every decision her father had ever made, every deal, every gamble—it was all under the guise of protecting the Moranos name. And now, she was the one paying the price.
Amelia stood and began pacing the room, her bare feet cool against the marble floor. She couldn't just sit here, couldn't let herself spiral. She needed answers.
Her eyes landed on the door again. Damien had mentioned an office last night—something about conducting business. If he wasn't here, that's where he'd be. She hesitated for a moment, then squared her shoulders. She wasn't going to let him keep her in the dark.
The penthouse was massive, larger than she'd realized the night before. She wandered through the maze of hallways, her steps slow and deliberate as she took in the sheer luxury of the space. Everything was meticulously designed, from the abstract art hanging on the walls to the glinting glass chandeliers that reflected the morning sunlight.
Eventually, she found the office. The door was slightly ajar, and she pushed it open cautiously. The room was everything she expected: dark wood shelves lined with books, a sleek black desk that looked more like a throne than a workspace, and large windows overlooking the city below.
She stepped inside, her gaze sweeping over the desk. It was tidy, but not perfectly so. Papers were stacked neatly in one corner, and a black notebook sat open near the center. She hesitated, glancing toward the door.
He wasn't here. If he caught her snooping, there would be hell to pay. But curiosity burned in her chest, overpowering her caution.
She stepped closer and reached for the notebook. The handwriting was sharp, precise—just like Damien. Her brow furrowed as she scanned the notes. Names, dates, locations. None of it made sense at first, but as she read further, something began to click.
She froze as she came across her father's name.
Charles Moranos. The date next to it was familiar—too familiar. It was the same year her father had told her about a failed business deal, the same year their family's fortune had taken a nosedive.
Her stomach dropped.
The next page listed another name she didn't recognize, followed by the words: eliminated threat.
Her breath caught in her throat, and she stumbled back, clutching the notebook tightly. What the hell is this?
Before she could make sense of it, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway. Panic surged through her veins as she scrambled to put the notebook back in its place. She backed away from the desk just as Damien appeared in the doorway, his dark eyes narrowing the moment they landed on her.
"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice calm but laced with danger.
Amelia's heart pounded in her chest, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. "Looking for answers," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "You've kept me in the dark long enough."
His smirk was slow and deliberate, his expression unreadable. "Careful, Amelia. Curiosity has a habit of getting people hurt."