Chapter 4: A New World

Amelia’s first full day as Mrs. Voss started far earlier than she’d anticipated. The black sedan arrived at her apartment just as dawn stretched its pink fingers across the city skyline. Sleep-deprived and filled with dread, she stepped into the vehicle, her heart hammering as it whisked her away to Lucien’s estate.

But nothing could have prepared her for the sheer scale of Lucien’s world.

The car pulled up to the estate, and Amelia felt her breath hitch. It wasn’t a house; it was a fortress. Towering wrought-iron gates loomed ahead, flanked by stone walls that seemed to stretch forever. Beyond the gates, a long driveway snaked through immaculate gardens until it disappeared into a sprawling mansion.

She swallowed hard as the gates groaned open.

“This is home now,” her driver said matter-of-factly, breaking the silence.

Home. The word felt foreign, even absurd, in the shadow of Lucien’s empire.

The car stopped, and a sharply dressed woman approached. Her clipboard was clutched like a weapon, her severe bun and sharp eyes instantly intimidating.

“Miss Rivers,” the woman said.

“Or should I say Mrs. Voss?” She gave Amelia a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“I’m Camille. I’ll be handling your day-to-day schedule.”

“Schedule?” Amelia repeated, stepping out of the car.

“Yes. Mr. Voss insists on order.” Camille gestured for her to follow.

“He’s waiting for you inside. Don’t keep him waiting.”

The grand foyer of the mansion was overwhelming. White marble floors gleamed beneath a chandelier that looked like it belonged in a palace. The air smelled faintly of lavender and old money, a scent that made Amelia feel small and out of place.

Lucien stood at the foot of the sweeping staircase, his sharp suit somehow even more imposing in this grand setting.

“Mrs. Voss,” he said, his tone laced with quiet authority.

“Mr. Voss,” she replied, her voice edged with sarcasm, though her chest tightened at the way he was looking at her, as if he saw through her entirely.

His lips quirked upward, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“We’ll need to work on that attitude.”

“And here I thought you liked my attitude,” she shot back before she could stop herself.

For a moment, his smirk deepened, but then he turned, gesturing for her to follow him.

Lucien led her through a labyrinth of hallways until they reached a quieter wing of the mansion. He pushed open a door, revealing a room that took her breath away.

“This will be yours,” he said simply.

The bedroom was massive, with high ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows that bathed the space in soft, natural light. A four-poster bed dominated the center, draped in crisp white linens, while a plush seating area near the windows overlooked the gardens.

“It’s beautiful,” she admitted reluctantly.

“It’s functional,” he corrected. “This isn’t a honeymoon, Amelia. This is an arrangement.”

Her heart sank at his cold tone, but she straightened her shoulders. “So I’ve been told.”

He stepped closer, and the air between them seemed to shift. His gray eyes locked on hers, and for the first time, she thought she saw a flicker of something beneath the surface, something almost vulnerable.

“Do you always put up walls, or is that just for me?” she asked, the words tumbling out before she could think better of them.

His expression faltered, but only for a heartbeat. “Walls keep things in order,” he said softly.

“Or keep people out,” she countered.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension between them was palpable, a push-and-pull that left her breathless.

Then, as if catching himself, Lucien stepped back.

“Dinner is at eight,” he said, his voice regaining its edge. “Don’t be late.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Dinner was a formal affair, set in a cavernous dining room with a table long enough to seat twenty, though tonight it held just two.

Amelia arrived on time, dressed in the simple black dress Camille had left for her. Lucien was already seated at the head of the table, a glass of red wine in his hand.

“You’re punctual,” he said, his gaze flicking over her as she took the seat at his right.

“And you’re predictable,” she replied, lifting her chin.

His lips curved into a faint smirk, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he gestured toward the waiting staff, who began serving the first course.

The dinner passed in tense silence until the main course was served—a beautifully plated dish of seared lamb and roasted vegetables.

As Amelia picked at her food, she noticed Lucien watching her, his expression unreadable.

“What?” she asked, setting her fork down.

“You’ve barely touched your meal,” he said. “Don’t tell me you’re nervous.”

She let out a humorless laugh.

“Nervous? No. I’m just wondering what happens when you get bored of me.”

His smirk disappeared, replaced by something colder.

“And why would I get bored of you, Amelia?”

She met his gaze, unflinching. “Because you don’t care about people, Lucien. You care about control. And when I stop being useful—”

“You think I’d discard you?” he interrupted, his voice low and sharp.

“Do you really think so little of me?”

She hesitated, caught off guard by the sudden intensity in his tone.

Lucien leaned forward, his gray eyes boring into hers.

“I don’t play games, Amelia. Not with people. If you want to know where you stand, just ask.”

“Fine,” she said, swallowing hard. “Where do I stand?”

The corner of his mouth lifted, but it wasn’t a smirk this time. It was something softer, more genuine.

“Right where I want you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Her breath caught, and for a moment, the room seemed to shrink around them. The distance between them felt smaller, the air charged with an unspoken tension that made her pulse race.

Then, just as quickly as it had come, the moment passed. Lucien leaned back, his composure returning as he picked up his wine glass.

“Goodnight, Mrs. Voss,” he said, his tone cool once more.

Amelia left the dining room with her heart pounding in her chest, her thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and something dangerously close to intrigue.

As Amelia stepped into her room, the soft glow of a bedside lamp cast a warm light over the space. Her gaze immediately fell on the pillow, and she froze.

A single white rose lay there, its petals pristine and velvety, catching the soft light like it had been placed with deliberate care.

Her brow furrowed as she approached, her steps slow and cautious. She picked it up, the stem smooth in her fingers, its thorns neatly trimmed. The fragrance was subtle but intoxicating, an unexpected softness in a world that had felt cold and unyielding since she’d entered it.

Her chest tightened as questions raced through her mind. There was no note, no indication of who had left it, but the implication was clear.

Had Lucien done this?

Her instinct told her yes, but why? The man who’d spoken of control and boundaries didn’t seem the type for gestures like this. And yet, here it was, a rose, perfectly placed on her pillow like a secret message she couldn’t decipher.

Her pulse quickened as her thoughts spiraled. Was it a warning? A test? Or something else entirely?

She turned toward the door, half-expecting Lucien to appear in the doorway with one of his cryptic smiles. But the hallway beyond was empty, the silence unnerving.

Amelia placed the rose carefully on the nightstand, her mind swirling with unease. The weight of it lingered, pulling her thoughts in circles.

And then she noticed it.

A faint indentation on the edge of her bed, like someone had been sitting there moments before.

Her heart stopped.

She spun around, her eyes darting across the room, searching the shadows.

“Hello?” she called, her voice trembling.

The silence pressed against her ears. No one answered.

But as she stared at the indentation, a chilling thought settled over her: she wasn’t as alone as she’d thought.