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.

Amelia POV

The massive chandelier in the dining room sparkled with cold light, its brilliance casting stark shadows across the long table where I sat, alone, poking at the untouched food on my plate. The grandeur of the Cole estate, with its towering walls and cold, gleaming floors, felt more like a gilded cage than a home. It had only been a week since I was thrust into this life as Mrs. Amelia Cole, and already I knew I'd traded one nightmare for another. The sharp clatter of heels against marble snapped me out of my thoughts. Rebecca Cole entered the room like a storm, her piercing green eyes narrowing as they landed on me. "Why is the table set like this?" she barked at one of the maids before turning her scornful gaze back to me. "Amelia, what are you doing just sitting there? Do you think you're a queen now that you've married my son? What do you think you're doing?" Her words were like knives, each one cutting a little deeper into my already fragile heart. "I... I thought the staff-" I stammered, but she cut me off with a wave of her perfectly manicured hand. "Don't you dare make excuses," she snapped. "You are part of this family now, and you will earn your place. Get up and make yourself useful. Help the staff clean this mess. Or do you expect us to wait on your hand and foot like some pampered princess?" I swallowed hard, my hands trembling as I pushed back my chair and stood. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Cole," I murmured, lowering my gaze to the floor. "It's Mrs. Rebecca to you," she corrected sharply. "Don't forget your place, you dirty thing." My throat tightened, and I forced myself to nod. Every step I took toward the kitchen felt heavier than the last. I had hoped-naively, perhaps-that this marriage would offer me an escape from my mother's constant criticism and Lisa's petty cruelties. But now, I realized I'd simply exchanged one prison for another. I never failed to remind myself of the mistake I had made. Maybe, just maybe, I should have listened to my inner voice telling me to run but I didn't dare to do so. By the time I reached the kitchen, my heart was pounding in my chest. The maids whispered among themselves, their glances filled with a mix of pity and disapproval. I wanted to disappear, to shrink into nothingness. Instead, I grabbed a tray of dishes and began the humiliating task of cleaning up the dining room. As I worked, the door to the dining room opened again, and this time, the air seemed to grow colder. Maxwell's towering figure filled the doorway. His dark suit clung to his broad shoulders, and his piercing green eyes-so much like his mother's-swept over me with a look that was equal parts annoyance and indifference. "Mother, what is this nonsense?" he demanded, his deep voice cutting through the tension like a blade. Rebecca turned to him, her expression softening into something that almost resembled affection. "Oh, Maxwell, I'm simply teaching your wife some discipline. She needs to learn how things work in this family." Maxwell's eyes flicked to me, and for a moment, I thought I saw something-concern, maybe?-flicker across his face. But it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. "If she's going to live here, she'll follow the rules," he said flatly, his tone devoid of emotion. "But don't waste your time, Mother. She's hardly worth the effort." His words hit me like a slap, and I fought to keep the tears from spilling down my cheeks. I wanted to scream, to demand why he had married me if he despised me so much. But I couldn't. I didn't have the strength. Rebecca smirked, clearly pleased with her son's response. "You're right, Maxwell. She's not worth much at all. But I suppose she serves her purpose." I didn't dare ask what that purpose was. Instead, I kept my head down and continued cleaning, the humiliation burning in my chest like a hot coal. When the dining room was spotless, I retreated to the small bedroom I had been assigned. It wasn't the luxurious master suite I'd expected as Maxwell's wife, but a plain, sparsely furnished room tucked away in a quiet corner of the estate. It was clear they didn't see me as part of the family-just an inconvenience to be hidden away. I sank onto the bed, my head in my hands. The reality of my situation was suffocating. I had hoped, even prayed, that this marriage would be the start of something better. But instead, it felt like the end of everything I had ever dreamed of. As the hours dragged on, the weight of the day settled over me like a heavy blanket. I thought about my mother's cold smile as she shoved me toward this life, about Lisa's smug look of triumph as I packed my bags. They had gotten exactly what they wanted: financial security and a scapegoat to bear the burden of their greed. But what about me? What did I get? Just then, a soft knock at the door startled me. I wiped at my tear-streaked face and sat up. "Come in," I called, my voice trembling. The door creaked open, and one of the younger maids, a kind girl named Rosa, stepped inside. She held a small tray with a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits. "I thought you might need this," she said softly, her eyes filled with compassion. I managed a weak smile. "Thank you, Rosa," I whispered, taking the tray from her. She hesitated for a moment, as if she wanted to say something, then sighed and shook her head. "You don't deserve this," she said finally. "Any of it. You're too kind for people like them." Her words brought a fresh wave of tears to my eyes, and I blinked them away. "I'll be fine," I said, though the words felt hollow. Rosa gave me a sad smile before leaving, and I was once again alone. I sipped the tea, letting its warmth soothe my aching heart, and stared out the small window at the dark sky. Somewhere out there, a better life awaited me. I just had to find the strength to reach for it. But for now, I was trapped, a prisoner in a gilded cage, surrounded by people who saw me as nothing more than a pawn in their games. And yet, deep down, a small part of me refused to give up hope. I had survived my mother's cruelty. I had endured Lisa's taunts. Surely, I could survive this, too.