Amelia POV

 The knock on the door startled me awake. For a brief moment, I had forgotten where I was-forgotten the weight of the ring on my finger and the cold reality of my new life. But the moment was fleeting. The knock came again, louder this time, and I knew I couldn't ignore it. Dragging myself out of bed, I opened the door to find a maid standing there, her expression unreadable. "Mrs. Cole," she said, her voice soft but firm, "Mr. Cole has instructed me to have you pack your things and move into his room." The blood drained from my face. His room? The thought of sharing a space with Maxwell sent shivers down my spine. My mind raced back to the nickname Lisa had so gleefully thrown around-the Beast of Cole Industries. The fear coiled in my stomach like a living thing. What if he lost his temper? What if he decided to harm me? What if he decided I was no longer useful to me and killed me? Would anyone care if he did? Then it hit me, "Why would anyone care if I'm alive or not! I'm invincible to everyone around me". "Mrs. Cole?" the maid prompted, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts. "I-yes, of course," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. The maid nodded and stepped aside, waiting for me to gather my things. My hands trembled as I packed, the oppressive silence of the mansion pressing down on me. I told myself that I could handle this. I had endured worse. This was nothing. But as I followed the maid down the long, winding corridors to Maxwell's room, my resolve wavered. When we finally arrived, the room was empty. "Where is Mr. Cole?" I asked, relief flooding me despite my trepidation. "Gone to work," the maid replied simply, her tone brisk. "He leaves very early. Mr. Cole does not joke about his work, not even when he's unwell." I nodded, a part of me grateful for his absence. Perhaps this would give me time to adjust-if such a thing was even possible. The maid excused herself, mentioning that she had to prepare breakfast for Rebecca. I watched her go, feeling the tension in my shoulders ease ever so slightly. But my reprieve was short-lived. Minutes later, another knock came at the door. This time, it was a different maid. "Mrs. Cole," she said, her tone more formal, "Mrs. Rebecca has requested your presence downstairs." My heart sank. Maxwell's mother. The memory of her cold greeting the night before was still fresh in my mind. Her icy demeanor, the way her eyes had scanned me like I was something she'd scraped off her shoe-it all came rushing back. I wanted to refuse, to hide away in this unfamiliar room and avoid her altogether. But I knew better. Rebecca Cole was not a woman to be kept waiting. I turned to the mirror, hastily adjusting my appearance. The makeup I'd stolen from Lisa sat on the dresser, and I quickly dabbed some on, hoping to hide the tired lines on my face. Maybe if I looked presentable, Rebecca would treat me with a shred of kindness. I said a quick prayer before leaving the room. When I entered the grand living room, Rebecca was already seated, her posture rigid and her expression severe. She turned to me, her piercing eyes scanning me from head to toe, just as she had the night before. "So," she said, her voice cold and sharp, "this is what my son has chosen. Or rather, what he has been forced into." Her words were like a slap to the face. "I-I'm sorry if I've done something to offend you," I managed to say, my voice shaking. Rebecca's lips curled into a bitter smile. "Offend me? No, my dear. You've done nothing but exist, and that's offense enough." I flinched, her words cutting deep as they reminded me of Margaret's cruel words. "You," she continued, her tone dripping with disdain, "are a dirty little pig playing dress-up. A gold digger who thought she could trap my son with her pathetic little schemes." "I didn't-" She raised a hand, silencing me. "Spare me the excuses. Do you think I don't know what women like you are after? You saw an opportunity and leaped at it, didn't you? Well, let me make one thing clear, Amelia. You may carry the Cole name now, but you will never be a Cole. You're unfit to be one!" I felt the tears prick at the corners of my eyes but refused to let them fall. Not in front of her. "Do you understand me? Rebecca pressed, her voice rising. "Yes," I whispered. "Yes, what?" "Yes, ma'am," I corrected, my voice trembling. Rebecca smirked, clearly satisfied with my submission. "Good. Now, I expect you to behave appropriately. No scandals, no mistakes, and no embarrassing this family more than you already have. Is that clear?" "Yes, ma'am." "Dismissed," she said with a wave of her hand as if I were nothing more than a servant. I turned to leave, my head spinning with shame and anger. Back in Maxwell's room, I sat on the edge of the bed, clutching the wedding ring on my finger. The cold metal felt like a shackle, binding me to a life I hadn't chosen. My mind replayed Rebecca's cruel words over and over. Dirty little pig. Gold digger. You will never be a Cole. I thought of my mother's voice, echoing Rebecca's venom with her cruel remarks over the years. It was as though I had traded one cruel master for another. But this seemed different. I was trapped here for the rest of my life. Tears streamed down my face, and this time, I didn't stop them. For the first time in years, I allowed myself to cry. Not for the life I'd lost, but for the one I had never been allowed to have. Later That Day, Rebecca summoned me again, this time to the dining room. The table was set with an extravagant spread, but the atmosphere was anything but welcoming. "Sit," she ordered as I entered. I obeyed, my nerves on edge. Rebecca sipped her tea, her eyes never leaving me. "Do you know how many women have thrown themselves at my son over the years?" she asked, her tone conversational but laced with malice. I shook my head, unsure if she expected an answer. "Hundreds," she said, setting her cup down with a sharp clink. "Beautiful, intelligent, accomplished women. And yet, here we are. With you." I swallowed hard, my throat tightening with every word. "You're a disappointment, Amelia. To this family and Maxwell. But don't worry," she said, her lips curling into a cruel smile. "I'll make sure you don't ruin everything we've built. You'll be kept in your place." Her words were a punch to the gut, but I forced myself to stay composed. "Yes, ma'am," I said quietly, my voice barely audible. Rebecca's smile widened, and for a moment, I thought I saw a glint of satisfaction in her eyes. "Good," she said, leaning back in her chair. "Now, be a dear and fetch me more tea." As I stood to leave, my hands trembling with suppressed anger, I vowed to myself that I would endure. I had no choice. But I would find a way to survive this-no matter what it took.       

Amelia POV

 The night stretched on endlessly. The clock on the wall ticked louder with every passing second, and its glowing numbers-12:15 a.m.-mocked me with their stillness. Maxwell wasn't home. Again. It's been two days since we got married and I haven't seen him. I paced the room, the vastness of the mansion swallowing every sound except my restless footsteps. The staff moved about with mechanical efficiency, their faces betraying nothing. No one seemed worried about Maxwell's absence, almost as if his late-night disappearances were a routine. But for me, this wasn't normal. I hated how the unease coiled in my chest. I hated that I was waiting up for him, a man who had made it painfully clear that he wanted nothing to do with me. But most of all, I hated how my heart clenched at the thought of him out there, battling demons I didn't yet understand. I didn't know why I waited for him. I thought to myself, "Could it be out of duty, or maybe I just wanted to get to know the stranger I married a little". The creak of the front door cut through my thoughts like a knife. I froze, straining to listen. Footsteps. I stepped into the hallway, and there he was-Maxwell Cole. My enigmatic husband stood in the dim light, his suit rumpled, tie askew, and the faint scent of whiskey trailing him like a shadow. "You're awake." His voice was low, and rough, as his dark eyes flicked to mine for the briefest of moments. I hesitated, searching for something to say that wouldn't provoke him. "Do you want something to eat? Or... a shower, perhaps?" His lips curled into a bitter smirk. "Don't start playing the perfect wife now. We both know what this is." The sharpness of his tone stung, but I kept my expression neutral. "I was just-" "Don't," he snapped, cutting me off. "Don't think. Don't assume. And don't try to help. I don't need anything from you." Then he said in a mean tone, "It's not like you have any to offer me though!" His words landed like slaps, but what struck me most was the weariness beneath them. His shoulders sagged under an invisible weight, his steps unsteady as he moved past me. My eyes instinctively dropped to his leg-his limp was more pronounced tonight. Before I could stop myself, I reached out. "You're going to fall." He whirled around, his glare icy. "I'd rather fall than let you touch me," he spat, his voice laced with venom. The rejection pierced deeper than I cared to admit. He stood there for a moment as if daring me to speak again, before limping toward his room and slamming the door shut behind him. I returned to my room, tears burning in my eyes. My chest felt heavy, the weight of old memories pressing down-my mother's cruel words about my inadequacies, Lisa's mocking laughter ringing in my ears. Rebecca's cruel taunts and now Maxwell's scorn had simply added another layer to wounds I thought had long scarred over. But as much as I tried to push him from my mind, I couldn't. His limp, the bitterness in his eyes, the scar I'd glimpsed on our wedding day-it all lingered, begging to be understood. The next morning, I woke early, determined to maintain some sense of dignity. Knock softly. Be polite, Amelia. Don't intrude. That was my mantra as I rapped on Maxwell's door before stepping inside. What I saw stopped me cold. Maxwell stood by the window, shirtless, the morning light casting a golden glow over his sculpted frame. But it wasn't his physique that caught my attention-it was the long, jagged scar running down his back. Before I could stop myself, I gasped. He turned sharply, his dark eyes locking onto mine with a mix of anger and vulnerability. "What the hell are you doing?" "I-I'm sorry," I stammered, averting my gaze and stepping back. He crossed the room in three strides, his presence overwhelming. His hand gripped my arm, firm but not painful. "I don't need your pity. Do you hear me?" "I wasn't-" "Don't lie," he growled, his face inches from mine. "Stay out of my way, Amelia. This is the last warning I'll give you." I nodded, swallowing hard, and he released me. I fled the room, my heart pounding. But the image of his scar stayed with me, an unspoken story etched into his skin. I couldn't help but wonder about the history behind the scars on his back and left cheek. And also the limping. Later that afternoon, Maxwell returned from wherever he'd been, his expression unreadable. Without a word, he tossed a garment bag onto the bed. "Get dressed," he said curtly. I unzipped the bag to reveal an elegant black dress, the fabric cool and smooth beneath my fingers. It was stunning, far too extravagant for someone like me. "I don't think I'm the right-" "You'll do what I say," he interrupted, his tone sharp. "This is business, not pleasure. You're my wife, at least on paper, so you'll play the part." His words were clipped, but there was something in his eyes-a flicker of frustration, or perhaps regret? Two stylists arrived shortly after to do my hair and makeup. They worked silently, transforming me into someone I barely recognized. My reflection in the mirror was almost foreign-a woman with soft waves cascading down her shoulders, her face glowing with confidence I didn't feel. When Maxwell came to check on me, he didn't offer a compliment. Instead, his gaze swept over me briefly before he said, "Don't embarrass me tonight. Be on your best behavior". The event was lavish, the room buzzing with energy and the scent of wealth. I stayed close to Maxwell, acutely aware of every eye on us. His hand rested lightly on my lower back, guiding me through the crowd with practiced ease. "Smile," he whispered through clenched teeth. I tried, but the effort felt hollow. Then I saw her-Lisa. She was draped on her boyfriend's arm, her lips curling into a cruel smile as her eyes landed on me. "Well, well, if it isn't Amelia," Lisa drawled, her voice dripping with mockery. "Playing dress-up, are we?" I opened my mouth, ready to respond, but Maxwell beat me to it. "Lisa," he said coolly, his tone sharper than I'd ever heard. "If you have something to say to my wife, I suggest you think carefully before speaking." Lisa's smirk faltered and I could sense fear radiating from her. "I was just joking-" "Don't," Maxwell interrupted. "Not here. Not ever." His hand tightened on my waist, drawing me closer. Then, to my shock, he leaned down and pressed his lips to mine. The kiss was brief but deliberate, a message to everyone watching. As he pulled back, his voice softened just enough for me to hear. "Keep your head high, Amelia. You're my wife, and no one gets to disrespect you." The room spun around me as I tried to process his words and his actions. For the first time since our marriage, I wondered: was there more to Maxwell than the cold, unfeeling mask he wore? Or was this just another part of his game?

Maxwell POV

 The office was a sanctuary of silence, but it was the kind that threatened to explode. I sat behind my desk, reviewing the numbers flashing across my screen with a practiced efficiency. Each figure confirmed what I already knew: someone was attempting to undermine me. My office door creaked open, and Mark, my right-hand man, stepped inside, his face taut with unease. He placed a folder on the desk. "You were right," Mark said, his voice low. "The report was filed anonymously, but it's a strategic hit. If we don't address this now, it could escalate into a full-blown PR nightmare." I opened the folder, skimming through the contents. False accusations, doctored financial statements-someone was trying to paint me as a corrupt CEO siphoning funds. "Ethan Liam," I muttered, venom lacing my words. Mark nodded. "He's the only one with the resources and motive to pull this off. He's been circling like a vulture ever since your last acquisition." I leaned back in my chair, running a hand through my hair. Ethan had always been a nuisance, but this? This was war. "I'll handle it," I said, my tone cold and final. Mark hesitated. "There's more." I raised an eyebrow, gesturing for him to continue. "A video came in... anonymously. It's about your wife." My chest tightened as he handed me a USB drive. I plugged it into my computer, and the screen flickered to life. Amelia appeared, sitting in the living room of our mansion. She was reading a book, her face serene and oblivious to the hidden camera capturing her every move. A note followed, displayed in bold white letters: "This one looks naïve and doesn't fit your style, but I like her anyway." The rage that erupted inside me was instant and all-consuming. My hands curled into fists as I stared at the screen. "Where did this come from?" I demanded, my voice a low growl. Mark shook his head. "No sender information. It's a threat, Maxwell. Someone's testing you." I slammed the desk, the sound echoing through the room. "Whoever it is, they've crossed the line. Find them." Mark nodded and left without another word. I sat back, trying to rein in the storm brewing inside me. The thought of someone watching Amelia, using her as a pawn, made my blood boil. She didn't deserve to be dragged into this, not when I'd been the one to force her into this marriage. Yet even as I seethed, my thoughts strayed to her face-her reaction this morning when she saw the scar on my back. I had expected disgust or fear. Instead, I had seen something I couldn't place-pity, maybe, or perhaps understanding. It unsettled me. Amelia was a puzzle I hadn't anticipated. She didn't flinch at my scars, didn't shrink away from my anger. Instead, she faced me with a quiet resilience that both intrigued and irritated me. Why wasn't she scared of me? I had built my reputation as a ruthless businessman and a man no one dared to cross. They called me the Beast of Cole Industries for a reason. In the boardroom, I was relentless, intimidating, and cold. I had shattered competitors with a single move and dismantled empires with a signature on a dotted line. And yet, my wife wasn't intimidated. I pushed the thought aside as my phone buzzed. It was my secretary, Claire. "Mr. Cole, I have an urgent matter to discuss," she said, her tone clipped. "Come in," I replied, sitting up straighter. Claire entered a stack of documents in her hands. She placed them on my desk and began to explain. "A new report has surfaced. It's another attack on your integrity, but this time, it's targeting your international holdings." I skimmed the documents, my jaw tightening. This was Ethan's handiwork again-his fingerprints were all over it. He was poking the beast, daring me to retaliate. As Claire continued briefing me, my mind raced. Ethan wasn't just after my company-he was after my legacy, my empire. And now, he was dragging Amelia into it, using her as leverage. I couldn't allow that. "Send a team to secure the mansion," I ordered. "Double the security detail. I want eyes on Amelia at all times." Claire nodded, but she hesitated before leaving. "Sir, if I may... do you think Ethan is capable of going further? Beyond business?" I met her gaze, my expression hard. "Ethan Liam is capable of anything. That's why I intend to crush him before he gets the chance." Once she was gone, I leaned back in my chair, my thoughts returning to Amelia. She was naïve, yes, but there was a strength in her I hadn't expected. She had stood up to Lisa last night, and though I had stepped in to shut Lisa down, Amelia had held her ground. It was foolish. She didn't belong in this world of power plays and ruthless ambition. But now that she was in it, I had to protect her-even if it meant keeping her at arm's length. As the hours passed, I immersed myself in strategy, planning my next move against Ethan. But the video and its chilling message lingered in the back of my mind, a constant reminder of the threat looming over us. By the time night fell, I was exhausted, but sleep was the furthest thing from my mind. I stood by the window, staring out at the city lights, my reflection faintly visible in the glass. The scar on my cheek seemed darker in the dim light, a constant reminder of the battles I'd fought and the enemies I'd made. But this battle was different. This wasn't just about me anymore. It was about her. The phone on my desk buzzed again. Another message flashed on the screen, and my stomach dropped as I read it: "The game's just begun, Beast. Let's see how long your queen survives." I clenched the phone in my hand, my mind racing. The stakes were higher now, and the enemy was closing in. But if they thought they could take Amelia, they were about to find out just how far I was willing to go to protect her. The video replayed in my mind, every frame fueling the fire in my chest. Amelia, sitting there, completely unaware she was being watched, turned into someone's twisted entertainment. I couldn't shake the thought. Why did it bother me so much? She wasn't someone I chose-this marriage was a necessity, a means to an end. Yet, the sight of her being used as a pawn in someone else's game made my blood boil in a way I hadn't felt in years. I gritted my teeth, pacing the office. The anger wasn't just about the invasion of my privacy-it was about her. Amelia. Her soft, calm presence had been a disruption to my carefully ordered chaos since the moment she walked into my life. She wasn't what I expected, and that infuriated me. My hands clenched into fists as memories from last night surfaced. She had stood there in the dining room, wearing that sleek black dress that hugged her figure perfectly. She looked... beautiful. Stunning, even. And the worst part? She didn't even seem to know it. I had looked away and forced myself to act indifferent, but the image lingered. Her confidence when she faced Lisa, and her refusal to back down-it was reckless, yes, but it was also admirable. I'd seen a flicker of strength in her, a reminder that she wasn't as docile or naïve as I wanted to believe. Yet, it didn't change anything. Women like Amelia weren't to be trusted-not anymore. I had learned that lesson the hard way. My ex-wife had been beautiful too, and look where that had led me. Betrayal, humiliation, and a scar that ran deeper than the one on my cheek. No, I couldn't afford to let my guard down. Not for her. Not for anyone. But this was different. The video wasn't just a threat against me-it was against her. And the idea of someone using Amelia to get to me made me want to destroy everything in my path. She was in this game now, whether she liked it or not. And while I didn't trust her, I sure as hell wasn't going to let anyone else hurt or bully her other than me. Did they want to test me? Fine. Let them come. But if they thought I'd let them take Amelia, they were dead wrong. She was mine to protect, even if I kept her at arm's length.