Chapter 3

Strangers in the Same House

Amelia woke to the cold silence of the penthouse.

She wasn’t used to silence. Back in her family’s tiny apartment, life was always loud. Her father’s grumbling. Tyler’s cartoons playing too loud in the next room. Even the occasional argument from the neighbors upstairs. But here… it was so still, it felt like the air had frozen in place.

The luxury of the mattress beneath her felt too soft, too foreign. She hadn’t slept so much as drifted in and out of restlessness, her mind plagued by dreams that didn’t belong to her—dreams of city lights, cold gray eyes, and golden contracts sealed in desperation.

She glanced around the room again. Nothing had changed.

Too white. Too perfect. Too… soulless.

Like him.

Amelia took a long breath and pulled the sheets off. It was time to face the day, even if it meant seeing him again. Lucas Stone. The man she’d married only hours ago, but who still felt like a stranger—no, a threat.

She opened the walk-in closet and froze.

Everything had been replaced.

Gone were her thrifted dresses, her worn flats and faded cardigans. In their place were rows of designer gowns, perfectly folded cashmere, shoes still wrapped in tissue, and bags with brand names she couldn’t even pronounce. The air inside smelled like expensive perfume and sterile money.

A note lay on the vanity, printed on thick, white paper.

“Wear the black.”

—L.S.

Just that. Cold and commanding. Like him.

She found the black dress easily—an off-shoulder silk piece that hugged her curves in a way that made her hesitate. It was the kind of dress worn by women who had power. Confidence. Influence.

Amelia had none of those.

But she wore it anyway.

⸻

The living room was empty when she stepped out. She expected Lucas to be gone, working whatever business deals billionaires made before breakfast. But the scent of coffee drifting from the kitchen proved otherwise.

She found him leaning against the kitchen island, dressed in a sharp gray suit and crisp white shirt, flipping through his phone.

Without looking up, he spoke. “Took you long enough.”

Her fingers tightened around the strap of her purse. “Sorry. I didn’t know I was expected at a specific time.”

“You’re my wife now,” he said, finally looking up, his gaze sweeping over her. “People will watch the way you walk. The way you breathe. You’re late, and the media’s already waiting.”

Her stomach turned. “Media?”

Lucas grabbed a mug of black coffee and handed it to her, but she didn’t take it. “We’re attending the Stone Foundation Gala this morning. It’s a breakfast event. For charity.”

She blinked. “You’re telling me this now?”

His mouth curled at one end. “Did you expect a honeymoon, Amelia?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he turned and walked toward the elevator that opened directly into the penthouse.

“Let’s go,” he called over his shoulder.

⸻

The car ride was silent.

Lucas’s driver, ever stoic, maneuvered through morning traffic while Amelia sat stiffly beside her “husband,” the tension in the car sharp enough to cut glass.

She glanced sideways at him. His jaw was set, his gaze focused out the window. As if he couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge her presence unless it was absolutely necessary.

This wasn’t a man who married. This was a man who bought.

And she… was his purchase.

Her hands fidgeted with the hem of her dress.

“How long do we have to do this?” she finally asked, breaking the silence.

Lucas’s voice was calm. Controlled. “Six months. You’ll play the role. Then we’ll divorce quietly, and you’ll disappear.”

“Disappear?”

He turned his head slightly, his eyes unreadable. “You’ll sign an NDA. Take your check. And vanish. That’s how this works.”

She swallowed, hard. “And if I don’t?”

He leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper meant only for her ears.

“Then I’ll make sure your family disappears instead.”

Her heart slammed in her chest, panic tightening her throat. She looked at him, truly looked—and saw no mercy.

Only ice.

⸻

The gala was held in a glass-domed ballroom overlooking Central Park. Cameras flashed as they exited the car. Amelia barely had time to adjust her dress before Lucas slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her to his side.

“Smile,” he whispered. “You’re Mrs. Stone now.”

The press swarmed like vultures. Shouts rang out—

“Mr. Stone, when did you get married?”

“Who’s the mystery woman?”

“Is this a publicity stunt?”

“Is she pregnant already?!”

The last question made her stomach drop.

Lucas didn’t flinch. Instead, he pulled her closer, lowered his head, and pressed a kiss to her temple.

It was all for show. She knew that.

But her body betrayed her with a tiny shiver.

They walked inside, hand in hand.

Amelia barely recognized anyone in the crowd. Wealthy CEOs. Magazine editors. Fashion moguls. Everyone was dressed to perfection, sipping champagne and pretending they didn’t care who was watching.

Except they were all watching her.

A woman in red approached them. Tall, statuesque. Ice-blonde hair twisted into a perfect bun. Eyes sharp as razors.

She didn’t smile.

“Lucas,” she said with familiarity. “I was wondering when you’d introduce us to your… wife.”

Lucas’s jaw tightened. “Amelia, this is Vanessa Roth. Board member. Media mogul. And entirely too nosy.”

Vanessa’s gaze raked Amelia up and down like she was a puzzle missing half its pieces. “Charming. And where did you two meet?”

Lucas didn’t miss a beat. “At a charity gala. She was… unforgettable.”

Vanessa arched a brow. “How poetic. You usually date models and heiresses.”

Lucas’s smile was lethal. “Exactly.”

The insult wasn’t subtle. Amelia bit down the sting and smiled politely. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Vanessa leaned closer. “Don’t take it personally, sweetheart. Lucas burns through women faster than he changes suits.”

She walked away before Amelia could reply.

“Lovely woman,” Amelia muttered.

Lucas smirked. “You’ll get used to her.”

“No,” she said under her breath, “I don’t think I will.”

⸻

As the morning dragged on, Amelia’s heels began to ache. Her cheeks hurt from forced smiles. And her mind screamed with every fake laugh and every judgmental glance tossed her way.

She stepped outside for air and leaned against the railing, her chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm.

A man in a gray suit lit a cigarette beside her.

“You don’t belong here.”

She turned sharply. “Excuse me?”

He smirked. “I said—you don’t belong here. But then, Lucas always did love collecting broken things.”

Her brows furrowed. “Who are you?”

He took a slow drag. “Gabriel Stone. His younger brother.”

Her heart skipped. Lucas had a brother?

“He never mentioned you.”

Gabriel laughed bitterly. “He wouldn’t. We haven’t spoken in years.”

Something in his voice made her pause. Anger. Pain. Resentment.

“You should be careful,” Gabriel added. “Lucas doesn’t do anything without a reason. If you’re here, it’s because he wants something.”

He flicked his cigarette into a champagne glass and walked away, leaving her with more questions than answers.

⸻

Back in the car, Lucas glanced at her.

“What did my brother say to you?”

So he’d been watching.

“Nothing,” she said. “Just that I don’t belong here.”

Lucas’s jaw tightened.

“That’s not up to him.”

She turned to face him. “Then tell me—why am I really here?”

He looked at her for a long, heavy moment.

Then, for the first time since the contract was signed, he said something that made the hairs on her neck stand on edge.

“Because I needed someone who would suffer for me—and never ask why.”