THE BILLIONAIRE'S FORGOTTEN BRIDE

The wedding hall smelled of roses and betrayal.Golden light spilled from the chandeliers, catching the curious eyes of the city’s elite. Amelia’s fingers trembled against her bouquet, though she kept her chin high. She could hear the whispers anyway.“She doesn’t belong here.”“Why her?”“A pawn, nothing more.”They were right. This wasn’t about love—it was survival.Her father’s debts had crushed them. Her family’s honor hung by a thread. And the man who saved them now stood at the altar, tall and unyielding.Damien Blackwood.The city’s most ruthless billionaire. Impeccably suited, dark eyes unreadable, lips pressed in a line that spoke of indifference rather than joy.When the priest told him to kiss the bride, Damien leaned in, his lips brushing hers for the briefest moment. To the crowd, it was romance. To Amelia, it was a contract sealed.“Remember your place,” he whispered.Her heart sank. Even on her wedding day, she was nothing but his pawn.That was two years ago.Now, Amel

The drive back to the Blackwood mansion was silent, suffocating even. The hum of the car engine was the only sound Amelia could hear, and yet every beat of her heart pounded in her ears louder than the tires on the road.She sat stiffly beside Damien, stealing glances at him when she dared. His profile was sharp, distant, the same as it had always been—but the way he looked out the window now was different. Not cold, not calculating, but lost. He wasn’t glaring at her, wasn’t scowling in irritation the way he had during their marriage before the accident. No, this Damien didn’t even acknowledge she existed.And somehow, that hurt even more.When they arrived, the mansion’s grand doors opened as though the house itself was holding its breath. The servants bowed respectfully, murmuring greetings of “Welcome home, sir… Madam…” But Damien’s steps didn’t falter, not even when Amelia’s name was spoken. He walked inside without a word, without so much as a glance at her, and Amelia felt like

The days that followed Elena’s arrival felt like a cruel test of endurance for Amelia. Every corner of the mansion echoed with Elena’s laughter, every meal turned into a stage where Amelia played the silent, bitter wife while Elena basked in Damien’s warmth.The staff, though bound by loyalty to Amelia, dared not speak against the woman their master now adored. Whispers trailed in the corridors—servants speculating about what might happen if Damien chose Elena over his lawful wife. Some pitied Amelia, others avoided her gaze altogether, as though her suffering were too heavy to witness.But Amelia refused to vanish into the shadows. If Elena thought she could return and erase her, she would soon learn Amelia was not so easily destroyed.It began one morning at breakfast.Amelia entered the dining room dressed in a deep emerald gown, her hair swept up elegantly, diamonds glittering at her throat. She had taken her time that morning, determined to remind Damien—and Elena—that she was Mr

The morning sun crept weakly through the mansion’s tall windows, casting long streaks of gold across the marble floor. The world outside seemed calm—mockingly so—while inside Damien’s mind, chaos reigned.He hadn’t slept. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw flashes—blurred, half-formed memories that didn’t align with Elena’s perfect narrative. A laughter in the kitchen. The faint scent of jasmine. A woman’s voice—Amelia’s voice—whispering his name not with desire, but with devotion.He ran a hand through his hair, frustration knotting his chest. The truth was there, somewhere in the fog, but every time he reached for it, it slipped away like smoke between his fingers.A soft knock interrupted his thoughts. “Come in,” he called, his voice low.The door opened and Mrs. Porter, the old housekeeper, stepped in hesitantly. “Good morning, sir. I brought your coffee.”He nodded absently, then noticed her hand trembling slightly as she set the tray down.“Are you alright?” he asked.Her eyes

The mansion felt different the next morning—quieter, heavier, as if the storm that had ravaged the night before had left a residue of unease clinging to its walls. The fire had burned out in the hearth, leaving only gray ash and the faint scent of smoke.Damien stood by the tall windows, his gaze distant, watching the mist curl over the garden like ghosts reluctant to leave. His world had shifted. The lies that once bound him were unraveling, thread by thread, leaving him standing in the wreckage of truth.Behind him, Amelia entered quietly, carrying two mugs of coffee. Her eyes softened as she saw the tension in his shoulders.“You’ve been standing there for hours,” she said softly. “You’ll catch a chill.”He turned to her, exhaustion shadowing his features. “I couldn’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see her face. The lies. The way she looked at me when she realized I remembered.”Amelia set the mugs down on the table beside him. “You don’t have to face her again,” she murmured