Chapter 2: The Marriage of Ice

Amelia's Pov

The Sterling mansion wasn’t a home.

It was a world carved out of silence.

From the moment I walked in, I felt like I’d stepped into a snow globe. It was beautiful, fragile, and suffocating. Everything shone too brightly, too perfectly. The marble floors reflected my face like a mirror, pale and expressionless. Even the air smelled of wealth and distance; lavender polish and cold marble.

Three mornings had passed since I’d become Mrs. Amelia Sterling. Three mornings of pretending not to notice the way my husband barely looked at me.

Alexander Sterling.

The name alone carried enough weight to silence a room.

He sat at the far end of the twelve-seater dining table, dressed in a black suit even though he wasn’t going anywhere. A silver watch gleamed against his wrist. His posture was flawless, his expression carved from stone.

And as always, he was reading.

The newspaper’s crisp pages turned with the same calm precision that made me want to throw something just to break the silence.

I cleared my throat softly. “The weather’s beautiful today.”

His gaze didn’t lift from the page. “You don’t have to force conversation, Mrs. Sterling.”

Mrs. Sterling.

He said it like a title he couldn’t wait to retire.

I forced a small smile, even though my chest burned. “You can call me Amelia.”

He folded his newspaper neatly and set it aside, eyes cool and sharp like frost. “We’re married for convenience, not conversation. Keep your first name for your personal life, if you plan to have one.”

And just like that, he stood, buttoned his jacket, and left.

I stared at his untouched toast, the butter melting into a soft puddle. Somewhere in my chest, something small cracked.

If this was marriage, it was colder than the betrayal I’d already lived through.

The mansion was huge enough to get lost in, and I did, more than once.

Every hallway was lined with expensive paintings and antique vases that probably cost more than I’d ever earned in a year. The maids moved like shadows, silent and efficient. They bowed but avoided eye contact, as if I were another piece of expensive furniture they were afraid to touch.

The housekeeper, Mrs. Cole, was kind but distant. She treated me with careful politeness, as if unsure what kind of wife her employer had acquired.

“If you need anything, Mrs. Sterling,” she said one morning, “please ask through me. Mr. Sterling prefers to avoid… unnecessary interaction.”

Unnecessary interaction.

That was how he saw me. A transaction.

I nodded, hiding the sting. “Understood.”

Days blurred together. Breakfast alone, lunch in silence, dinners where Alexander was “working late.” I stopped expecting him to come home at all.

But sometimes, when I was walking down the hall late at night, I’d see a faint light coming from his study. His silhouette behind the frosted glass; broad shoulders, head bent over papers, a drink in his hand.

He was always there, always working, but never present.

Once, curiosity got the better of me. I’d paused outside the door, my heart racing for no reason. Just as I was about to walk away, I heard his voice. It was low, quiet, but sharp.

“I don’t care about their excuses. Pull the funding. If they can’t deliver results, they don’t deserve my money.”

Then silence. The kind that promised danger.

I didn’t know whether to fear him or pity him.

The library became my refuge.

It was massive; two floors of dark wood, golden light filtering through tall windows. The smell of old books wrapped around me like comfort. I could breathe there.

I’d spend hours hidden among the shelves, running my fingers along the spines of untouched books.

Sometimes, I’d sketch. Not for work, just to remind myself I still could.

Once, I found a blank sketchbook left on a side table. Its pages were clean, too clean. I filled the first one with messy lines; dresses, color palettes, designs that used to make me feel alive.

It was the only place I still felt like Amelia Quinn, the woman I used to be before Ethan stole everything.

One afternoon, I stumbled upon a photo hidden behind a stack of old business journals.

It showed a younger Alexander; his hair a little longer, his expression softer. He was smiling. Beside him stood a woman.Her face was turned slightly to the side, but I could see enough delicate features, long hair, the curve of her lips.

She looked… like me.

Before I could process that, a voice came from the doorway.

“Curious?”

I froze, the frame still in my hands.

Alexander stood leaning against the doorframe, his tie loosened, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looked less like a CEO and more like a man; tired, dangerous, and impossibly composed.

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I didn’t mean to…”

“You didn’t,” he interrupted. His gaze flicked to the photo, then back to me. “That picture shouldn’t be there.”

I swallowed hard. “Who is she?”

He hesitated, then said, “Someone who doesn’t exist anymore.”

He walked over, took the frame gently from my hand, and set it face-down.

Then he left, just as quietly as he’d appeared.

I stood there long after he was gone, the silence pressing against my chest.

Someone who doesn’t exist anymore.

I should’ve let it go. But I couldn’t.

Who was she?

His ex-wife? His first love?

Or was I her replacement?

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

The rain tapped softly against the window, and the city lights glowed far below.

In the dark, I replayed the gossip I’d overheard from the maids earlier that day.

“She’s different from the last one,” one had whispered.

“The last Mrs. Sterling had fire in her eyes.”

“Until she broke it.”

“Hush! Do you want to lose your job?”

The last Mrs. Sterling.

So I wasn’t just a business arrangement. I was a replacement.

A substitute.

The realization cut deeper than I expected.

First Ethan had used me as Vanessa’s stand-in. Now Alexander; another powerful man had done the same.

Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them away.

“No,” I whispered to the dark ceiling. “Not again.”

I was done being someone’s placeholder.

If Alexander Sterling thought I would spend my life trapped in his frozen mansion, silent and invisible, he was wrong.

I didn’t survive betrayal just to be buried alive in gold and glass.

The next morning, I found my courage again or what was left of it.

When I walked into the dining room, I didn’t wait for the butler to serve me. I poured my own coffee, sliced my toast, and sat upright like I owned the place.

Alexander looked up briefly, surprised. “You’re up early.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” I said lightly. “Too many ideas in my head.”

His brows drew together. “Ideas?”

“For a project.” I set my cup down. “I’d like access to one of the guest rooms as a workspace. And a new credit card.”

He blinked once, expression unreadable. “A workspace?”

“I can’t sit here all day doing nothing,” I said. “I’m not furniture, Mr. Sterling.”

For a second, I thought I’d gone too far. His silence was sharp, heavy.

Then, slowly, he leaned back in his chair, lips curving into something that almost looked like a smile.

“You’re bold,” he said quietly. “That’s… unexpected.”

“Is that a yes?”

He watched me for a long moment, his gray eyes unreadable. Then he nodded once. “Do what you want, Amelia. But remember, everything in this house comes with consequences.”

I met his gaze, refusing to look away. “So do choices.”

His faint smile deepened, though there was something dangerous behind it. “Very well, Mrs. Sterling. Surprise me.”

That night, I stood by the balcony outside my room, the cold wind brushing against my face.

Down below, the city glittered alive and loud, so different from the cage I lived in.

I thought about my past life, my stolen career, Ethan’s betrayal, my forced marriage.

And then I thought about Alexander; mysterious, distant, dangerous.

There was something in him I couldn’t read. A darkness, but also… restraint. Like a man fighting something he refused to show.

Maybe we weren’t so different after all.

Both of us were wearing masks.

But one day, those masks would fall.

I didn’t know it then, but this cold, distant marriage was the beginning of my rebirth.

And when I rise again, the world that once mocked me would tremble.