Chapter 6: Behind Closed Doors

Pamela's Point of View

The dinner feels endless, a never-ending barrage of thinly veiled insults, passive-aggressive comments, and forced smiles. By the time dessert is served, the tension is so thick I’m afraid I’ll snap. The only thing remotely comforting is Rowan's hand firmly on mine beneath the table, reminding me of where I stand in this twisted arrangement. Every look Lillian gives me feels like a scalpel cutting into me, and Rebecca's smirking only makes it worse.

Finally, when we rise from the table, Rowan stands and offers me his arm. I take it, feeling like a player in a play I never auditioned for. We walk in silence down the great corridors of the mansion until we reach Rowan's quarters. The door clicks shut behind us, and for the first time all evening, I allow myself to exhale.

I turn to him, watching as Rowan loosens his tie with an air of nonchalance that makes my skin crawl.

"So," I say, bitterness seeping into my voice, "is this how it's going to be? A lifetime of playing your perfect fiancée while your family tears me apart with their judgment?"

He raises an eyebrow, completely unfazed by my outburst. "You did well tonight," he says, entirely disregarding my question. "Better than I expected."

"Is that supposed to be some kind of compliment?" I snap, frustration bubbling over. "Your mother despises me, your sister is trying to tear me down, and I'm stuck in this nightmare because you and my father made some disgusting deal behind my back!"

At my words, his eyes darken. "Watch your tone, Pamela," he warns, his voice cold as a blade and sharp with authority. "You agreed to this. You signed the contract. You're in this situation because your father was desperate, and now, so are you. Don't act like there was no choice for you."

"A choice?" I echo, outrage boiling inside me. "You call this a choice? You blackmailed me with my sister's life!"

He steps closer, and with every centimeter he approaches, the space between us seems to shrink. "I offered you a solution," he says softly, his voice laced with subtle menace. "And you accepted it. You could have walked away, but you didn’t."

I clench my fists, battling the rage swelling inside me like a storm. "I didn’t have a choice," I whisper, my voice trembling. "You know that."

Rowan's face relaxes just slightly, and for a fleeting second, I think I see something human in him—something almost like regret. But it's gone as quickly as it appears. He steps back, widening the distance between us.

"Get some rest," he says, turning his back on me. "We have more events this weekend, and I expect you to play your part."

I stare at the back of his head, trying to find the words for everything I want to scream. My body is screaming at me to fight, to refuse to play along with his game, but the memory of Joana lying in that hospital bed—so fragile, so helpless—keeps me silent.

He walks to the door, his hand on the handle. "We'll publicly declare our engagement tomorrow," he says, still not turning around. "You should be prepared for what comes next."

And with that, he's gone.

I stand there, the weight of everything pressing down on me. The luxurious surroundings, the expensive clothes, the life being forced upon me—it all feels suffocating. I walk to the window and push the heavy curtains open, revealing the sprawling grounds bathed in the moon’s milky light. Beautiful, yes, but a gilded cage nonetheless.

I have no idea what Rowan really wants from me, but one thing is certain: I won’t let him break me. I might be stuck in this arrangement, but I’m not helpless. I’ll find a way to reclaim my life, one way or another.

---

Rowan's Point of View

I close the door behind me, my head spinning with everything that’s happened tonight. Pamela is good—much better than I expected. She knows how to hold her own against my mother’s cold behavior and Rebecca’s provocations. Still, she clearly detests me, and part of me doesn’t blame her.

I slump against the wall, my mind drifting back to the deal I made with Tristan Jones. It was a simple buy-and-sell affair—he needed money.

But Pamela—she has fire, a strength that draws me in. Unlike the women who’ve vied for my favor over the years, she isn’t trying to ingratiate herself with me. She doesn’t want to be here, and she makes no effort to hide it. Her anger aside, she’s a fighter—for her sister, her family, and herself.

I hadn’t anticipated that.

I walk down the hall, and my phone buzzes in my pocket. I glance at the name on the screen, irritation bubbling up inside me. I answer, my voice flat. "What is it?"

A smooth, familiar voice greets me. "Just checking in, Rowan. I heard you made quite the announcement tonight."

I scowl, already regretting answering the call. "What do you want, Sinclair?"

He chuckles on the other end. "I'm just curious, that's all. Engaged? You? Never thought I'd see the day."

"It's business," I reply curtly. "Nothing more."

"Business," Sinclair repeats, his voice dripping with amusement. "Well, you’ve certainly chosen an interesting business partner. Pamela Jones, wasn’t it? I've heard things about her family. Not the type you usually associate with."

My grip tightens on the phone. "Stay out of it."

Sinclair laughs again, the sound grating on my nerves. "Oh, don’t worry, Rowan. I’m just watching from the sidelines. But let me remind you—if you're going to play games, you'd better know all the rules."

And with that, the line goes dead.

I swallow hard, my jaw clenched in frustration. Sinclair is always circling, waiting for any crack to exploit. I won’t give him one. Sinclair is my half-brother. And because of that, I hate him.

---

Pamela's Point of View

The next morning, I wake with a sense of dread hanging over me like a storm cloud. Rowan's words from last night replay in my head:

"We'll announce the engagement publicly tomorrow."

Today.

I know what that means: it's no longer about acting a part for his family. Now, it’s about putting on a show for the whole world. The press, the public, anyone who has ever doubted my place in Rowan's life—they’ll all be watching, waiting for me to slip up.

But I won’t give them the satisfaction.

As I get dressed, I steel myself for the day. Rowan might control my circumstances, but he doesn’t control me. I’ve already been through so much—Mom’s passing, Dad’s betrayal, Joana’s accident—and I survived. I can get through this too.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror, feeling like a stranger in the pale blue dress I’ve put on. It’s sophisticated and subtle—the kind of thing a wealthy man's fiancée is supposed to wear. But under it all, I’m still me. And that’s not going to change.

I’ll play Rowan's game, but I’ll do it my way.