Chapter 3

(Amara's POV)

My mother and I entered my large bedroom, and she stayed to help me pack some of my things. She didn't want me to carry all my loads, reminding me that the Briggs family was wealthy and I didn't have to stress about packing everything I owned.

We finished packing my two large boxes around 1 a.m. My mother was exhausted. She stretched, yawned, and said, "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, looking at her face with my shining blue eyes that glimmered with hope—hoping she would agree.

"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 know how you're faring," my mother said.

Hot tears streamed freely down my eyes.

I didn't know why I wasn't happy about getting married and going to the city. It had always been my dream to marry a handsome good man. But I was scared. Anxiety ran through my veins.

"Mom, what if Darlington does not like me?" I asked. "I don't know him. I haven't seen him before. If he truly wanted me, he should have been here since I was already married to him and before I even became aware of it."

"Hmm, Darlington will love you once he sets his eyes on you. I don't know if his father has told him, but this was an agreement between your father and his father. It would be best if you were a good wife to him and did not discard your home training. I know that the first year of marriage isn't easy—you adjusting to your new home and your husband's way of life. As you know, he grew up in the city and is not here with us. But I am certain that he will love you very much. So don't be negative about anything. Always have a positive mindset," Mom said.

But I stubbornly disagreed.

"Mom, what if Darlington already has a woman in his life?" I pressed. "I know some of these city men are equivalent to nymphs. I was there, and the way they gawked at me was as if they wanted to eat me raw. I don't like the idea of going to the city. I want a man from here."

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

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

Mom carefully covered me with the white duvet, and I slowly drifted to sleep, knowing I would miss the warm comfort of my parents' home the following day. I would be going to a man's house whom I had never met. I knew nothing about him or his family. I wondered if he would accept me or throw me outside and remind me that he never came to my family's house to marry me.

All these thoughts lingered in my mind.

That night, I had a dream. In my dream, I saw a tall man. I couldn't see his face, but he was tall and attractive, and he stared at me with curiosity. He looked familiar, like I had seen him before.

He approached me and pulled me into an embrace. As I tried to look at his face, I couldn't see it clearly—to tell if he was my husband, the new man I was going to 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." Mom walked up and pulled my room curtains open. 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 daughter. Go and take your bath quickly. The car driver will soon be here. Let me go and prepare your breakfast," my mother said, quickly exiting my bedroom. She wasn't giving me a chance to protest again.

I sighed and went into my bathroom to have a quick, refreshing bath. When I got out and stepped into my room, I found that my two big boxes of clothes were already gone—and on the bed lay a yellow dress my mother had chosen for me to wear.

I was not good with fashion. My mother prioritized choosing that yellow dress. She was so good at fashion that heads turned to stare at her for a second time.

I think that was what my mother used to win my father's heart—her high fashion style and formidable looks. But me... I was too local to be considered fashionable.

I am cute anyway, so why must I dress hot to entice a man? I preferred wearing baggy dresses to hide all my curves and shape. In short, when I went to the market to select a dress, I bought loose-fitting ones.

After schooling in the city, I disliked any man gawking at me. So I made it a priority to buy loose-fitting dresses that were only my height but too baggy—enough to hide all my curves and big boobs.

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

But no. I wanted to look decent and not too flashy. I didn't appreciate drawing attention. It made me feel vulnerable—like I would be kidnapped soon by one of those predatory men whose eyes were monitoring my every move.

I sighed, drying my wet body. I rubbed my orange-scented cream, and after that, I picked up the yellow dress and wore it. My mother returned to my bedroom again.