The silence in the room was thick, heavy with unspoken truths. Amelia sat on the edge of the velvet chaise in Damien's private lounge, her fingers trembling slightly as they clutched the steaming cup of tea he had just placed before her.
Damien stood near the window, his silhouette cast in sharp contrast against the morning light that trickled in through the drawn curtains. The suit he wore was pristine, every button and crease perfect, but his jaw was tight—tense in a way that betrayed the storm raging beneath his composed exterior.
"Why are you doing this?" Amelia's voice cracked the silence like a whip.
He didn't turn around immediately. When he did, his expression was unreadable, those dark eyes of his giving away nothing. "Because it's the only way."
"You think this is the only way to save your reputation? "By dragging me into this… lie? Her words were laced with disbelief and anger. "What about what I want, Damien? Or did that never matter to you?"
Damien walked slowly toward her, his hands tucked into his pockets. "This isn't about what either of us wants, Amelia. It's about survival. Yours. Mine. My company. And yes—about fixing the mess that my father's legacy left behind."
Amelia stood now, setting the untouched tea aside. "And you think marrying your enemy's daughter will magically make it all disappear?"
His lips twitched into a bitter smile. "Not magically. Strategically."
Her breath caught. The room felt colder than it had moments ago. "You've always been calculated, Damien. "But this…" she looked away, trying to suppress the sting in her chest, "this is a new low."
He said nothing for a while. Then, in a voice quieter than she expected, "I didn't want it to be you."
She looked up sharply. "Then why me?"
"Because you're the only one who fits. You're smart, you're capable… and most importantly, the public already knows who you are. They remember your father. They remember the feud. If we come together, it sends a message."
"A message of betrayal," she whispered, more to herself than him.
He stepped closer, close enough that she could smell the faint scent of his cologne—sharp, clean, just like him. "A message that we've put the past behind us. That we're ready to build something stronger… even if it's built on the ashes of everything that came before."
Amelia felt her resolve crack. Just slightly. "So that's it? You want me to put on a smile, say 'I do' in front of the cameras, and pretend that we're not standing on opposite sides of a war?"
Damien pulled a velvet box from his pocket and opened it slowly. Inside was a ring—an elegant band of white gold, with a single, brilliant sapphire surrounded by diamonds. Simple. Stunning. Deceptive.
Amelia stared at it, her throat tight.
"We will be getting married in a month," he said, his voice like stone. "The engagement announcement goes live tonight."
She didn't reach for the ring. Instead, she looked up at him, her eyes searching his face for something—anything—that felt real.
"What happens when the cameras are off?" she asked softly.
There was a long pause.
"We go back to being who we were," Damien said finally. Two people who don't trust each other. Who never truly did."
Her heart twisted.
And yet, despite everything… she took the ring.
Amelia held the ring in her palm, its cool metal pressing into her skin like a cruel reminder. It wasn't just a piece of jewelry—it was a chain, a silent vow to play a role in a story she never chose to be part of.
She looked up at Damien. "And what happens if I say no?"
His gaze darkened. "Then you leave with your mother's medical bills unpaid, your family home is sold at auction, and the media dig up every piece of dirt they can find on your father. I won't be the one to do it, but believe me, the board won't hesitate. You're not just marrying me, Amelia. You're saving your past."
Her chest tightened. This wasn't a proposal. It was blackmail, wrapped in velvet and diamonds.
"I'll announce the engagement," he continued. You'll move in by the end of the week. Appearances matter, Amelia. The illusion has to be perfect."
She closed the ring box and slipped it into her purse without another word.
Damien's tone softened, almost as if he could sense the war in her eyes. "You won't regret this."
"I already do," she replied coldly.
He didn't stop her as she walked past him, head high, heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. But when she reached the door, she paused.
"I'll play my part, Damien," she said without turning around. "But don't confuse obedience with forgiveness."
Then she walked out, leaving Damien staring at the door with a look he rarely allowed himself to show—doubt.
Later That Night…
Amelia stared at her phone screen, heart pounding as her social media exploded.
"Breaking: Damien Blackthorn and Amelia Hart announce engagement!"
The post was everywhere—fashion blogs, business news, entertainment columns. Her inbox was flooded with messages, and her phone wouldn't stop buzzing. Some congratulated her. Others called her a traitor. A gold digger. A fool.
She hadn't even changed her relationship status yet.
She tossed the phone onto her bed and rubbed her temples. Everything was happening too fast. Too loud. Too fake.
Her mother knocked gently on the door before entering.
"I saw the news," she said, her voice calm but cautious. "Is it true?"
Amelia hesitated. "It's… complicated."
Her mother sat beside her, eyes filled with concern. "Does he treat you well?"
That was the part Amelia couldn't answer. Damien wasn't cruel, but he wasn't kind either. He was a storm—calm on the surface, dangerous underneath.
"He treats me like a business deal," Amelia said finally. "But at least it's one I agreed to."
Her mother's eyes searched for hers, and for a moment, Amelia thought she might cry. But she just reached for her hand and squeezed it.
"You're stronger than you think."
Three Days Later – The Mansion
The Blackthorn estate was less of a home and more of a fortress—tall gates, polished floors, and walls that held too many secrets. Amelia walked through the grand foyer, her suitcase rolling behind her, and felt entirely out of place.
A maid greeted her politely and showed her to her room. It was massive—too grand, too sterile. A vase of white lilies sat on the bedside table, their scent too sweet, almost suffocating.
She was unpacking when Damien knocked once and entered without waiting.
"You'll be staying here until the wedding," he said, hands in his pockets again.
Amelia didn't look at him. "And after that?"
"We'll move to the penthouse. Fewer eyes there."
"So the lie gets to be more private?" she said dryly.
He didn't respond to the jab. Instead, he stepped closer. "We have dinner with the board tonight. Wear something appropriate."
She turned to him, lifting an eyebrow. "And what's appropriate in your world, Damien? Something that screams 'look at our perfect engagement'?"
He smirked faintly. "You catch on quickly."
"I'm not here to be your puppet."
"No," he said. "You're here to be my wife."
The word hung heavy in the air. Wife. Not partner. Not a lover. Just… wife. A title with no meaning behind it. Yet.
That Evening – The Boardroom Dinner
Amelia wore a sleek black dress Damien's assistant had left for her. It hugged her figure modestly, elegant and safe. She applied soft makeup, tied her hair into a low bun, and wore the sapphire ring Damien had given her.
It looked beautiful on her finger.
But it felt like a shackle.
The boardroom was full of powerful men and women who barely looked at her, aside from the occasional glance of polite approval. Damien stood beside her, arm lightly wrapped around her waist. The perfect couple. The perfect lie.
He leaned down during dinner and whispered, "Smile."
She did.
It was hollow, but it fooled everyone.
Later That Night
Back in her room, Amelia sat on the edge of her bed, staring at herself in the mirror.
Who was this version of her? The girl in the expensive dress with a fake smile and a ring that wasn't chosen out of love?
A knock came at the door. Damien.
She opened it, surprised to find him holding a small gift box.
"What is it now?" she asked.
"A peace offering," he said.
She took it and opened the lid. Inside was a delicate necklace, simple and silver, with a tiny charm in the shape of a feather.
"It was my mother's," Damien said quietly. She wore it when she married my father. I thought you should have it."
Amelia looked at him, truly looked at him, and for the first time… saw something fragile behind the stone mask.
"Why are you giving this to me?" she asked.
"Because I know this isn't easy for you," he said. "And because… maybe we're not just playing parts anymore."
Her breath hitched.
"I don't want your pity," she whispered.
He stepped closer. "It's not pity."
She didn't stop him when he fastened the necklace around her neck.
And when his fingers brushed her skin, for just a moment, the walls between them didn't feel so high.
Amelia stood by the window long after Damien left. The city lights blinked below like stars scattered on earth, cold and indifferent. Just like her new reality.
She reached for the necklace, her fingers brushing against the feather charm resting near her collarbone. A part of her wanted to rip it off—to reject this entire illusion—but another part... a quieter, more fragile part of her... held onto it.
Maybe it was the only piece of this lie that felt real.
The Next Morning
Amelia was already awake when sunlight spilled into her room. She'd barely slept. Her mind had kept replaying Damien's gesture—the necklace, the softness in his voice. It didn't fit the image she had of him. Ruthless. Calculated. Cold.
But perhaps there was more to Damien Blackthorn than met the eye.
Still, she couldn't afford to let her guard down.
A knock came, sharp and precise.
"Yes?" she called.
Damien's assistant, a sharply-dressed woman named Celeste, entered with a clipboard and a knowing smile. "Good morning, Miss Hart. Mr. Blackthorn asked me to go over your schedule today."
"Schedule?" Amelia frowned. "I didn't realize being fake-engaged came with a full-time job."
Celeste didn't laugh. "You're expected at a charity gala tonight. Press coverage will be heavy. He wants you to wear something from the Blackthorn collection. A team will arrive in an hour for fittings."
"Of course," Amelia muttered, forcing a smile.
Celeste left, and Amelia sank onto the edge of the bed, her mind already buzzing. She was expected to smile, to look in love, to charm the media and the board—all while hiding the storm inside her chest.
She opened her phone and scrolled through the public reactions to their "engagement." Comment after comment painted her as either a lucky Cinderella or a manipulative gold digger. No one knew the truth.
But the worst comments were from people who once knew her. College classmates, ex-colleagues, even old neighbors—all make assumptions.
She sold herself for power.
She's just like her father.
Damien could do better.
She gritted her teeth and threw the phone aside. Let them talk. Let them guess.
She knew her truth—and that had to be enough.
That Evening – The Gala
The charity gala was held at one of the most prestigious venues in the city, a glass-domed hall adorned with crystal chandeliers and floating candles. It looked like a fairy tale. But to Amelia, it was a masquerade—beauty hiding manipulation.
Damien arrived first, greeting sponsors and board members like a king among businesspeople. He wore a black tuxedo, perfectly tailored, his presence commanding the room with ease.
When Amelia stepped out of the car in a sleek crimson gown, the crowd gasped. Cameras flashed. Phones clicked. She walked gracefully, the silver feather necklace glittering under the lights, and approached Damien.
He turned, offering his hand.
She took it.
And just like that, the illusion became art.
"You clean up well," he murmured, lips barely moving.
She smirked. "You make a convincing prince."
"And you, a flawless queen."
They moved in sync, a well-rehearsed dance despite having never practiced. Every look he gave her, every time his hand brushed hers, it all seemed genuine to the onlookers.
But under that perfect choreography, tension thrived.
Over dinner, the host took the stage. "Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the newly engaged couple—Damien Blackthorn and Amelia Hart!"
A spotlight fell on them.
Applause roared.
Amelia forced a smile.
Damien leaned close. "You're doing great."
"You mean lying?" she whispered back.
He caught her eyes. "Surviving."
After the Gala
They rode back to the mansion in silence. Damien looked out the window, his expression unreadable. Amelia watched him from the corner of her eye, curious about the man beneath the suit and sharp edges.
"Why did you really choose me?" she asked softly.
He didn't answer immediately. "Because you're strong."
She blinked. "That's not what people say."
"I don't care what people say. You stood up to me in front of my entire board. You risked your job for your principles. That kind of strength... it's rare."
The sincerity in his voice caught her off guard.
For the first time, Amelia didn't feel like a pawn in Damien's game—but maybe a partner, however twisted the partnership might be.
Back at the Mansion
Amelia entered her room, heels in hand, dress unzipped halfway, her body aching from the long night of forced smiles and whispered lies. She sat in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection.
Was this really her life now?
Then her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: "You don't belong in his world. Be careful who you trust."
Her breath hitched.
She stared at the message, heart pounding.
Another buzz.
Unknown Number: "The Blackthorns destroy everything they touch."
Amelia's fingers trembled. She glanced toward the door, then back at the message.
Who sent this?
And why did it feel like the beginning of something darker?