Chapter 4. She is my wife

For a brief moment, the world seemed to pause, the air between them thick with surprise and silent questions. Amelia stood still near the entrance of the living room, her fingers curling instinctively at her sides.

The woman sitting across from her—elegant, poised, and undeniably beautiful—stared back with open curiosity, her sharp gaze roaming over Amelia as though she were an object placed there for inspection.

The woman was the first to speak.

“Who are you?” she demanded, her tone crisp, impatient.

Amelia blinked, taken aback by the bluntness. She straightened her back, meeting the woman’s gaze calmly despite the unease stirring in her chest. Before she could answer, the woman spoke again, this time with a faint frown.

“I asked you a question. Who are you?”

Amelia hesitated, studying the stranger. Everything about her—from her expensive dress to the way she carried herself—spoke of confidence and entitlement.

This was clearly someone used to being obeyed without question.

“I live here,” Amelia replied carefully.

The woman let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Live here?” Her eyes swept over Amelia once more, slower this time. “You don’t look like someone who lives here.”

The words stung more than Amelia expected.

“So I’ll ask again,” the woman continued coolly. “Are you a maid?”

Amelia’s fingers clenched into fists.

Of all the things she hated, being looked down on was at the top of the list. She had endured enough judgment in her life—enough quiet humiliation masked behind polite smiles. She would not accept it here, not in her own home.

“I am not a maid,” Amelia said firmly.

The woman raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Then what exactly are you doing wandering around the house while the staff is busy?”

Amelia opened her mouth to respond, her patience thinning, when footsteps echoed from the hallway.

Before she could speak, a familiar presence filled the room.

Ricardo walked in.

He stopped short when he saw the two women facing each other. His sharp eyes flicked briefly to Amelia, then back to the woman standing near the sofa.

“Stella?” he said, surprise evident in his voice.

At the sound of his name, the woman’s entire demeanor changed.

Her cold expression melted instantly into a bright, delighted smile. She turned away from Amelia as if she had already forgotten her existence and walked gracefully toward Ricardo.

“Ricardo,” Stella said warmly. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

She reached out, lightly touching his arm, her familiarity unmistakable.

Amelia watched in silence, her chest tightening.

Ricardo nodded slightly, his expression controlled. “I didn’t know you were coming today."

Stella chuckled softly. “I thought I’d surprise you.”

Then, as if remembering something insignificant, she glanced back at Amelia.

“Oh, by the way,” Stella said casually, “your staff member here has quite the attitude.”

Ricardo frowned. “Staff?”

“Yes,” Stella continued, her tone almost amused. “She refused to answer my questions properly. I was just asking who she was.”

Ricardo’s gaze shifted fully to Amelia now.

For a split second, something unreadable flickered in his eyes.

Amelia met his stare, her expression calm but guarded. She said nothing. She wouldn’t explain herself—she shouldn’t have to.

Ricardo turned back to Stella. “She’s not staff.”

Stella paused. “She isn’t?”

“No.”

A crease formed between Stella’s brows. “Then who is she?”

The question hung in the air.

Amelia felt her heartbeat quicken, a strange mix of anticipation and dread washing over her. This was the moment—the one she hadn’t prepared for, the one she didn’t know whether to fear or welcome.

Ricardo took a step forward.

“This,” he said evenly, “is Amelia.”

Stella tilted her head, clearly waiting for more. “And?”

Ricardo’s voice was steady when he finished the sentence.

“She’s my wife.”

Silence.

The word echoed through the room like a thunderclap.

Stella’s smile froze.

“Your… wife?” she repeated slowly.

Her eyes snapped back to Amelia, this time no longer dismissive—but sharp, calculating, and shocked. She studied Amelia again, as though seeing her for the first time, searching for something she had missed.

Amelia stood her ground, refusing to shrink under the scrutiny.

“Yes,” Ricardo said, his tone final. “My wife.”

Stella took a small step back, disbelief written clearly across her face. “That’s impossible,” she murmured.

“You never mentioned—”

“Because it wasn’t your concern,” Ricardo cut in.

The air grew heavy.

Stella forced a laugh, though it sounded strained. “I see,” she said, though her eyes said she didn’t. Not at all.

Amelia could feel it now—the shift. The danger. Whatever Stella had walked into this mansion expecting, it wasn’t this.

And whatever peace Amelia thought this contract marriage offered—

Had just shattered.