CHAPTER 3

Amara's POV:

When my mother and I entered my bedroom, she helped me pack some of my things. She didn't want me to carry all my belongings, reminding me that the Briggs family was wealthy and I didn't need to stress about arranging everything I owned.

We finished packing the boxes around 1 a.m., and my mother looked exhausted. She stretched and yawned, then told me, "I have to go back to my room to meet your father. Good night, my daughter."

"Okay, Mom, but I'm still not happy about this marriage. Can't you speak to my father again about it?" I asked my mother. I looked at her face with my blue eyes that glimmered with hope at the thought of her agreeing.

"No, Amara. I want you to marry and give me a grandchild. I cannot speak to your father about this again. Don't worry—when you get to the city, I will call you from time to time to check how you're faring," my mother said, and hot tears streamed freely down my face.

I didn't know why I felt so unhappy about getting married and going to the city. It had always been my dream to marry a handsome, good man, but fear gripped me, and anxiety coursed through my veins.

I asked my mother, "Mom, what if the man doesn't like me? I don't know him, and I haven't seen him before. If he truly wants me, he should have come here since I was already married to him—and before I even knew about it."

"Hmm, Darlington will love you once he sets eyes on you. I don't know if his father told him, but this was an agreement between your father and his father. You should be a good wife to him and not forget your home training. I know the first year of marriage isn't easy, with you adjusting to your new home and your husband's way of life. As you know, he grew up in the city and isn't here with us. But I am certain he will love you very much. So don't be negative about anything—always keep a positive mindset," my mother said, but I stubbornly disagreed.

I asked her, "Mom, what if Darlington already has a woman in his life? I know most of these city men act like nymphs. I was there, and the way they gawked at me made it seem like they wanted to eat me raw. I don't like the idea of going to the city. I want a man from here," I protested again.

"This is unlike you, my daughter. Don't worry—I doubt Darlington would be in any relationship he desires, as his father would have told him about you. He's your husband, and you shouldn't worry so much. Now come and go to bed to get a good sleep. You have a long trip tomorrow," my mother said as she approached me again and led me to the bed in my room.

I went to relieve myself in the restroom. I stepped out of the bathroom and thought my mother had returned to her room, but she still stood there, waiting for me to lie on the bed like I was her baby.

My mother carefully pulled the bedcover over me while I slowly drifted to sleep, knowing I would miss the warm comfort of my parents' home the next day. I would head to a man's house whom I had never met. I knew nothing about him. I wondered if he would accept me or throw me out and remind me that he never came to my family's house to marry me.

All these thoughts lingered in my mind. However, I had a dream, and in it, I saw a tall man. I couldn't see his face, but he looked tall and attractive, and he stared at me with curiosity. He seemed familiar, like I had seen him before.

He approached me and pulled me into an embrace, and as I tried to look at his face, I still couldn't see it or know if he was my husband—the new man I would live with. I woke up and saw my mother in my room.

"Amara, are you still in bed? Get up; it's almost 6 a.m." My mother walked over and pulled open my room curtains, and I yawned and stretched as I sat up carefully on the bed.

I got out of bed and greeted her, "Good morning, Mom."

"Morning, my dear, go and take your bath quickly. The car driver will arrive soon; let me go and prepare your breakfast," my mother said as she quickly exited my bedroom. She didn't give me a chance to protest again.

I sighed and went into my bathroom for a quick, refreshing bath. I stepped out, only to find that my two big boxes of clothes had already left my room. I saw a yellow dress on the bed that my mother had chosen for me to wear.

I wasn't good with fashion, and my mother always picked out a yellow dress. She excelled at fashion and turned heads, making people stare at her a second time. I think that's what my mother used to win my father's heart—with her high fashion style and striking looks. But me... I felt too local to be considered fashionable.

I was cute anyway, so why did I need to dress hot to entice a man? I preferred wearing loose, baggy dresses to hide all my shapes. In short, when I went to the market to pick a dress, I bought one that fit loosely.

After schooling in the city, I disliked for any man to gawk at me, so I made it a priority to buy loose-fitting dresses that matched my height but hung baggy enough to hide all my curves.

I didn't find pleasure in looking cute. I remembered one of my roommates telling me that if I wore a seductive dress, I could make the president's son fall in love with me and become a perfect seductress.

But no, I wanted to look decent and not too flashy. I didn't like drawing attention, and it made me feel vulnerable, like one of those predatory men whose eyes tracked my every move might kidnap me soon.

I sighed and dried my wet body. I rubbed on my orange cream, and after that, I picked up the yellow dress and slipped it on. My mother returned to my bedroom.