Chapter 5: A Battle of Hearts

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 Mrs. Blackwood.

Elena was already seated at Damien’s side, her lavender dress soft and demure, her posture delicate like porcelain. When Amelia walked in, Elena’s eyes flickered over her with barely disguised disdain.

“Good morning, Damien,” Amelia said smoothly, sliding into her seat across from them. Her smile was polite, but her eyes locked on Elena like a blade. “And Elena.”

“Amelia,” Elena replied sweetly, tilting her head. “You look lovely. I suppose diamonds do make quite the statement… though some women wear them more naturally than others.”

Amelia’s lips curved faintly. “Indeed. Some women must rely on memories to make their statement. Others need only their present reality.”

The tension crackled like fire. Damien, oblivious to the venom between them, looked between the two women with furrowed brows. “Is there something I’m missing?” he asked.

“Not at all,” Elena said quickly, her hand brushing Damien’s arm possessively. “We were simply admiring each other’s strengths.”

Amelia’s gaze sharpened. Strengths, or illusions?

The battles only grew sharper as the days unfolded.

Elena moved through the mansion as though she had never left, filling Damien’s ear with stories of their past—their trips to Italy, their stolen nights of music and wine, the promises they had made under the stars. Damien listened raptly, clinging to the fragments of memory she fed him.

Amelia, meanwhile, fought to remind him of the life they had built together, the two years that Elena had not been there. She walked with him through the gardens they had once redesigned together, showing him the roses she had planted in his mother’s memory. She sat with him in the library, reading aloud from the books they had shared.

But every effort was met with cold dismissal. Damien would smile faintly, but his words cut her like glass.

“Those memories… they don’t feel like mine, Amelia. I only remember Elena.”

Each time he said it, Amelia felt another fracture splinter across her heart.

One evening, the tension finally erupted.

Damien had retreated to his study, leaving Amelia and Elena alone in the sitting room. The silence was thick, the fire crackling between them.

Elena was the first to break it.

“You’re wasting your time,” she said softly, her tone laced with cruel amusement. “You can play the dutiful wife, but Damien’s heart has always been mine. He remembers me, not you. That should tell you everything.”

Amelia lifted her chin, her voice steady despite the storm inside her. “If his heart was truly yours, he wouldn’t have let you go once. You abandoned him, Elena. You left him when he needed you most.”

Elena’s eyes darkened. “And yet, he still chose me over you. That says more than your self-righteous speeches ever will.”

Amelia leaned forward, her voice dropping to a sharp whisper. “He may not remember me now, but memory isn’t the same as love. You can deceive his mind, Elena, but you’ll never own his soul.”

Elena smirked, though her eyes betrayed the flicker of unease. “We’ll see.”

That night, Damien returned to find the tension thick as smoke. He looked between the two women, his jaw tight.

“What is happening here?” he demanded.

Elena rose gracefully, her eyes wide and innocent. “Nothing, Damien. I was only telling Amelia how difficult this must be for her, watching us…” She trailed off delicately, her meaning clear.

Amelia stood, her voice trembling with both fury and hurt. “She’s poisoning you against me, Damien. Can’t you see? She left you once—she’ll leave you again. I’m the one who stayed, the one who fought for you when you were lost.”

Damien’s eyes hardened as he looked at her. “Enough. I will not have you speak of her that way.”

The words stabbed deeper than any knife.

Amelia’s lips parted, but before she could speak, tears blurred her vision. She turned abruptly and fled the room, her heels striking the marble like thunder.

Elena, satisfied, slipped her arm through Damien’s and whispered, “She doesn’t understand, Damien. But I do. I always have.”

And for the first time, Damien let her rest her head against his shoulder.

Upstairs, Amelia collapsed against her pillow, her sobs muffled in the darkness. She had sworn to fight, but with each passing day, it felt as though she was losing ground.

Still, as her tears subsided, a fierce determination burned in her chest. This was no longer just about Damien’s memory. This was about truth. Elena might have fooled him, but Amelia knew one thing with certainty: lies could not win forever.

She whispered into the silence, her voice hoarse but resolute:

“I will fight. For him. For us. Until the very end.”

And somewhere deep in the mansion, Elena whispered her own vow to the shadows:

“He will be mine. Whatever it takes.”

The battle lines had been drawn. The war for Damien Blackwood’s heart had only just begun.