Amelia POV

The faint rays of dawn seeped through the thin curtains of my small, drab room, but they brought no warmth, no comfort. The cold emptiness of the Cole estate mirrored the hollowness in my chest. Another day awaited, another cycle of humiliation and loneliness. I clutched the delicate teacup Rosa had brought me the night before, its warmth long gone, just like my hope for this marriage. The thought of facing Rebecca again made my stomach churn, but I had no choice. This was my reality now, as Maxwell's wife in name only. The day began as it always did-with the cold, clipped orders of Rebecca ringing through the halls. The moment I stepped into the grand kitchen to fetch myself a glass of water, I was met with sneers from two maids gossiping in hushed tones near the counter. They didn't bother to lower their voices when they saw me. "Can you believe it?" one of them whispered loudly, her tone dripping with disdain. "She walks around like she belongs here, but we all know she's nothing more than a charity case", they said bursting into laughter. The other maid chuckled. "Mrs. Rebecca made sure to put her in her place yesterday. Did you see how she fumbled with the dishes? Pathetic." Their laughter stung more than it should have. I forced my feet to move, gripping the glass tightly as I filled it with water. I wouldn't let them see how much their words hurt. But when I turned around, my trembling hands betrayed me, and the glass slipped, shattering on the tiled floor. "Of course," one of the maids sneered. "Can't even hold a glass properly. What a waste of space." "I-I'm sorry," I stammered, bending down to pick up the shards. My fingers fumbled, and a sharp piece of glass sliced into my skin. Blood welled up instantly, but I bit back a cry of pain. "Leave it," the other maid snapped, her tone sharp. "You'll just make more of a mess. Go get a broom if you're so determined to be useful." I nodded, tears burning in my eyes as I hurried out of the kitchen, clutching my bleeding hand. The humiliation was suffocating, but I told myself I could endure it. I had to. But for how long? Later that afternoon, Rebecca summoned me to the drawing room. She sat on one of the ornate chairs, her posture regal and intimidating. A large stack of correspondence lay on the table before her, and her sharp green eyes pierced through me as I entered. "You're late," she snapped. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Rebecca," I said quietly, my hands clasped tightly in front of me. She waved a dismissive hand. "Sit. You're going to help me with these letters. Since you're married to my son, you might as well make yourself useful to us." I sat down and reached for one of the letters, but Rebecca's voice stopped me cold. "Not like that!" she barked. "Do you have no sense of decorum? Hold it properly. Honestly, you're such a waste." Her words, each one sharper than the last, cut through my fragile composure. I tried to follow her instructions, but my hands shook so badly that I accidentally knocked over a pen. Rebecca sighed dramatically. "You're hopeless," she muttered. "How Maxwell ended up with someone as useless as you, I'll never understand." I lowered my head, the sting of her words mingling with the ache in my chest. I wanted to defend myself, to tell her that this wasn't the life I had chosen, that I had been pushed into this marriage just as much as Maxwell had. But I knew better than to argue. As the days passed, the staff seemed to take their cues from Rebecca. Their glares grew bolder, their whispers louder. Tasks that should have been theirs were suddenly mine. Cleaning up the dining room, fetching drinks for guests, scrubbing the floors-things no one else in my position would ever be asked to do. One morning, I found myself in the grand foyer, scrubbing a particularly stubborn stain from the marble floor. My knees ached against the cold, hard surface, and my hands were raw from the harsh cleaning solution. "Amelia," one of the senior maids, Clarissa, called out from the top of the staircase. Her voice was tinged with mockery. "When you're done there, the upstairs hallway needs dusting. And don't take all day about it." I bit my lip to keep from snapping back. Instead, I nodded and murmured, "Yes, Clarissa." As I moved to stand, Clarissa smirked. "Oh, and don't forget the baseboards. Mrs. Rebecca likes them spotless." Maxwell's frequent absences only made things worse. He left early in the morning for work and returned late at night, if at all. When he was home, he barely acknowledged me, his cold indifference stinging more than I cared to admit. One evening, as I sat in the small bedroom assigned to me, I heard his voice in the hallway. My heart leaped involuntarily, a foolish hope blooming in my chest. I stepped out of my room, intending to greet him, but the icy look he gave me stopped me in my tracks. "Do you need something?" he asked, his tone flat and unwelcoming. "N-no," I stammered, retreating into my room. The door clicked shut behind me, and I sank onto the bed, tears streaming down my face. One afternoon, as I carried a tray of tea into the drawing room, Rebecca deliberately bumped into me, causing the tray to tip and the tea to spill onto the carpet. "You clumsy fool!" she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. "Look at what you've done! Do you know how much this carpet costs?" "I'm sorry," I said, my voice barely above a whisper as I knelt to clean the mess. Rebecca crossed her arms, her lips curling into a cruel smile. "Sorry isn't good enough, Amelia. You're an embarrassment to this family. You don't belong here." Her words were the final straw. As I knelt on the floor, scrubbing at the stain with trembling hands, something inside me shifted. The weight of their cruelty, the endless humiliation-it was too much. That night, as I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, I made a silent promise to myself. I would endure this for now, but I wouldn't let them break me. I would find a way to reclaim my dignity, to prove that I was more than the weak, pitiful woman they saw me as. Because somewhere deep inside, I knew that I deserved better. I just had to find the strength to fight for it but I didn't know if I dared to fight.

Amelia POV 

  A sharp knock yanked me from my restless sleep. My body ached from the weight of exhaustion, the bruises of yesterday's silent battles pressing against my skin like invisible shackles. I forced my eyes open, adjusting to the dim light filtering through the heavy curtains. The mansion remained eerily quiet, the way it always was-cold, hollow, like an abandoned palace where ghosts whispered through the corridors. Another knock. More urgent this time. "Mrs. Cole." The voice was flat, indifferent-one of the housemaids Maxwell had instructed to 'handle' me. "Get ready. Mr. Cole wants to see you." Maxwell? At this hour? My gaze flickered to the old clock on the wall-6:00 AM. My stomach twisted. Maxwell hadn't spoken to me in weeks. Not really. He tolerated my existence the way one tolerated an uninvited guest. Now, suddenly, he wanted to see me this early. I swallowed the lump in my throat and got dressed. A simple navy blue dress. Modest, forgettable. My fingers trembled slightly as I brushed through my tangled hair, forcing myself to look presentable. Even if Maxwell barely looked at me, I couldn't afford to give him another reason to despise me. With quiet steps, I made my way downstairs, my heartbeat loud against the silence. Maxwell stood in the grand living room, his back to me, his hands tucked in his pockets. Even from a distance, I could feel the tension radiating from him, the icy detachment that had become his armor. "You're coming with me." The words landed like a command, not an invitation. I hesitated. "Where?" Maxwell turned, his sharp gaze cutting through me like a blade. "A business trip. Three days." I blinked, stunned. Three days? Maxwell barely tolerated my presence in his home-why would he suddenly drag me along? "You don't need to pack anything," he added flatly. "You're the wife of Maxwell Cole. You'll dress like one." And with that, he walked out. No explanation. No room for argument. I followed, my heart hammering. The car ride was suffocating. Silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken words. I stole a glance at Maxwell, but his expression was unreadable, his jaw clenched as he stared out the tinted window. We pulled up to a luxury boutique, the kind I'd only seen in magazines. Maxwell strode inside without waiting for me, his presence commanding immediate attention. "Fix her something appropriate," he instructed the staff coldly. "Pack for three days." No one even looked at me for approval. They simply obeyed. A whirlwind of dresses followed. Each time I stepped out, Maxwell barely glanced at me before dismissing the choice. Too simple. Too flashy. Too dull. It was humiliating, standing there like a mannequin while he decided how I should look. Then, they slipped a black-red gown onto me. The fabric clung to my curves, a slit teasing up my leg. I stepped out, my pulse quickening under Maxwell's gaze. Something shifted. His eyes flickered with something-desire? Possession? Something darker? No. Impossible. His expression hardened almost instantly. "We'll take it." That was it. No compliment. No acknowledgment. Just another cold decision. We left, and soon, I found myself on his private jet, staring out at the endless sky. The realization hit me like a punch to the chest. This was my first time flying. My first time leaving the country. And yet, it wasn't freedom. It was a gilded cage with a different view. When we landed in Singapore, I followed closely behind him, my heart hammering with unease. We were whisked to a five-star hotel, grand enough to steal anyone's breath-anyone who wasn't too trapped to appreciate it. As we stepped into our suite, Maxwell finally turned to me. "Get ready by eight. We're attending a dinner party." Then he was gone, leaving me standing there, feeling like a stranger in my own life. At precisely 8 PM, Maxwell walked in, dressed in a sharp black suit. He barely spared me a glance before his clipped tone landed like a slap. "Don't embarrass me tonight. A lot of important people will be watching. You're a Cole now so you should act like one." I swallowed the sting, nodding. A trophy. That's all I was. The ballroom was grand, the chandeliers reflecting a million shattered versions of me. Maxwell kept his hand firm on my waist, guiding me through the sea of influential men and elegant women. I felt like a doll being paraded around-a beautiful, voiceless accessory. Then, the commentator's voice rang through the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen, let us welcome our esteemed guests-Mr. And Mrs. Maxwell Cole-for the opening dance." Panic seized me. Dance? Before I could react, Maxwell's hand was on mine, leading me to the dance floor. The music swelled, and suddenly, we were dancing. And for the first time, something changed. His grip was firm, but not harsh. His gaze softened-just for a second like he'd forgotten to keep his walls up. My breath caught. Was this the real Maxwell? Was the man hidden beneath layers of cold indifference? But then, the moment shattered. As the dance ended, he leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. "Try not to make a fool of yourself next time." His voice was low, mocking. The words ripped through me like glass. I turned away, needing air. Needing escape. The poolside terrace was quiet, the cool night breeze a temporary relief. My hands gripped the railing as I stared at my reflection in the water. I was tired. So, so tired. Maybe it was time to leave. Run. Escape. But where would I go? "Amelia Cole." The voice behind me was smooth, almost amused. I turned to find a woman with long blonde hair and, a round face, her lips curling into a knowing smile. She looked at me like I was less. Like I was something she could crush. "Why did Maxwell choose someone so weak and naive to be his wife?" Before I could react, she shoved me. The world tilted. The cold water swallowed me whole. Sinking Into Silence Panic exploded inside me as I thrashed, my hands clawing desperately toward the surface. But I couldn't swim. The dress was too heavy, dragging me down. I gasped, but only water filled my lungs. My vision blurred, the lights above twisting into distorted shapes. She stood above, watching. Waiting. Like she wanted to see me drown with a smile of victory on her face. And for the first time, I stopped fighting. Maxwell's cold words echoed. Rebecca's cruel taunts. Lisa's mocking laughter. Margaret's disdain. Would this be my end? Would I die a weak, unwanted woman? No. My body convulsed as my last breath slipped away. My mind surrendered. And then- Darkness.