Chapter Three

Amelia

“It's huge," I mumbled to myself as I got out of the black SUV that had just dropped me off at Ethan Steele's home.

But then again, what was I expecting? The man was a billionaire.

The driver, a tall, salt and peppered haired guy, had kept himself mostly to himself throughout the trip. Jared had offered to make me, but I had turned the offer down, so Ethan had sent his personal driver.

“Yes it is." he kept the door open with a blank expression as I looked at the impressive element standing before me.

The mansion was a modern fortress, all sharp lines and dark glass. It exuded wealth and power, much like the man who owned it. But despite its grandeur, it felt... cold. 

Lifeless.

“Welcome to the Steele residence, madam," the driver said, his tone courteous yet impersonal.

I swallowed hard, clutching the handle of my suitcase. “Thanks,” I replied, trying to sound confident.

When I went through the door, the temperature in the room became even more frigid. 

The interior was sleek and minimalist, with monochrome furniture and high ceilings that made everything echo. It was a place made to amaze and not accustomed.

It was equal parts beautiful, and sad.

A middle aged woman in a crisp black uniform approached me, her hands folded neatly in front of her. Her gray hair was pulled back into a bun, and her sharp eyes studied me like I was an unexpected package.

“Miss Blake?” she asked, her tone formal, then she shook her head and sighed. “I'm sorry ma'am. Mrs Steele.” She corrected herself.

“That’s me,” I said, managing a small smile. “The first one is okay….?” I trailed off, realising I didn't know her name.

“I’m Greta, the housekeeper. Mr. Steele instructed me to show you to your room.”

She turned on her heel, clearly expecting me to follow. I did, trailing my suitcase behind me while we went upstairs.

“Mr. Steele prefers things to run on a strict schedule, " Greta said over her shoulder. Breakfast, eight sharp, lunch, one, and dinner, seven o'clock. If you’re late, he won’t wait for you.”

Noted. Ethan Steele was as rigid as his estate, but I didn't respond, nodding instead.

“Oh, and just one more thing…” Greta said, cutting off abruptly at the foot of a stately staircase. 

She turned to face me, her expression serious. “Mr. Steele has a temper. Your interactions with him should be professional and kept as short as possible.”

” appreciate the heads up", I replied, nodding slowly even though a shiver ran through me. The hell had I gotten myself into?

Greta brought me up a set of stairs to the second floor and opened the door to a room, however, the room was surprisingly small for the rest of the mansion. 

The walls were washed in pale gray, and the furnishings were austere yet tasteful. A large window overlooked the sprawling gardens below.

“This is going to be your room," she said, dropping the key onto the dresser. “Dinner is at seven. I suggest you unpack quickly.”

Before I could respond, she left, her footsteps fading down the hall.

I stood at the side of the bed and took a deep breath. This was my new life. I was living in another man’s home pretending to play the role of his wife just to earn money.

“Just get through it,” I whispered to myself. “It’s only temporary.”

Dinnertime ended before I knew it and, by then, I'd unpacked and put on a plain navy dress. I found my way to the dining room, where Ethan was already seated at the head of a long table.

He did not look up at all when I came in, his focus was on his mobile phone.

“You’re on time,” he said without looking at me. “That’s a start.”

“I appreciate the warm welcome," I bit back, sarcasm dripping from my tone, and moving to sit opposite him.

His lips twitched, almost forming a smirk. “I’m not here to coddle you, Amelia. This is a business arrangement, not a honeymoon.”

“My room made it clear," I replied, my voice smacking of something much sharper than intended.

Dinner was a quiet affair, filled with the clinking of silverware and the occasional terse comment from Ethan. By the time it was over I was more than happy to head back to my room.

That night, I stayed in bed staring at the ceiling.

So this was my life? Fake married to the worst man on earth.

The mansion was eerily silent, the kind of silence that made every creak and groan of the house feel amplified.

I was about to fall asleep when I heard it. A shout, more like a mumble, and distorted, but I knew what I heard.

I sat up, my heart pounding. For just a second there I thought I imagined it, but then I heard it again. A deep, pained voice in a low voice down the corridor.

Climbing out of my bed, I got up and followed the sounds. It took me down the hallway to the door at the end of the corridor, almost open.

I looked inside and saw Ethan contorted in his bed, writhing in agony. He looked like he'd just woken up from a nightmare.

He was soaked in sweat, with his fists gripping the sheets as he sputtered out incoherent words.

“Ethan?” I asked softly, stepping closer.

His eyes flew open, wild and unfocused. For a moment, he looked at me like I was a stranger, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

“Get out,” he snapped, his voice hoarse, but stern.

I stalled, indecisive whether I should let him go or attempt to save him. “Are you—”

“I said, get out!” he shouted, his voice breaking.

The primal pain in his voice left me stationary. 

This wasn’t the cold, calculating man I’d met earlier. This was someone haunted by demons I couldn’t begin to understand.

“I can help you, Ethan. Let m—”

“I said get out!!” His eyes looked like hot coals of fire as he glared at me, and I took a step back.

“Ethan, I—”

“Don’t come back here again.” He cut in, and then gestured to the open door.

“Leave!”

I didn't budge. It was my job to take care of him anyway.