AMELIA
Once the clock struck ten pm, I knew it was going to be the worst night of my life. Amelia Grayson, EXPELLED. I read the email with tightly clenched fists, unable to stop the anger that spread through my chest. I spent two whole years working on my application, getting a fucking scholarship into the most prestigious university in the country and yet, I had just been expelled. The reasons? Nudity, leaving the hostel past curfew, stealing, bullying, and abusing fellow students both physically and verbally. “You got to be fucking kidding me,” I let out a shaky sigh, unable to contain my anger. The list went on and it had only one person’s name written on it. Bertha. My step-sister. My father’s illegitimate turned legitimate child and of course the family's golden child. I grabbed my phone from the table, still with the email open as I left my bedroom and stomped downstairs with a dark expression. Everything else, she could take away, everything else, she could steal from me…but not this. As I descended the stairs in a hurry, the first person who noticed my arrival was Monica, my stepmother. She was all smiles while speaking to the housekeeper, Trenton, but her expression turned foul the second she looked at me. It didn’t bother me. I was used to it. “Miss Amelia,” Trenton greeted with a warm smile, his aged eyes crinkled at the side when he met my gaze. I walked past him, ignoring the only person in the mansion who was nice to me. “What’s with the expression?” Monica tsked with a sneer, “Why do you have to show up and ruin my mood?” She said in a voice filled with displeasure. Her too-red lips twisted into a frown. “Where’s Bertha?” “What business for you have with my daughter?” I gritted my teeth when I noticed the smug look on Monica's face. She knew. She knew exactly what was going on. “What did you do, Monica?” I seethed with narrowed eyes, getting a bit of satisfaction when I noticed the corners of her lips twitch. She hated it when I called her by her name but then again, she hated everything about me. “The question is…dear daughter, what did you do?” Monica replied and then laughed haughtily, she turned her attention back to Trenton who looked rather uncomfortable by our exchange. “I worked hard to get into that school! I worked hard for it!” I argued, hating how I was unable to hold back my tears. “And so what?” Monica lifted a brow in question. Just then, Bertha walked in looking all angelic and pretty, despite the striking similarities I had with my sister, one could tell that she was far more attractive than I was. From the blond hair she got from her mother and the black hair I got from my father. Yet, she was also the person whose leaked images were being circulated around the university, and I was the person being blamed. “Oh, mom!” Bertha exclaimed dramatically with teary eyes as she held on to her mother’s arm, “I told you we should’ve spoken to her first before we told the school,” she said, passing me a look of guilt and pity like she actually felt any. “Hush now,” Monica cooed her twenty-year-old daughter like she was a child. I’d almost roll my eyes at their antics if I wasn’t so angry at that moment. “You and I both know your father’s word is law and it will always be, as long as he tells Amelia to take the blame, she will,” Monica’s tone dropped at the last word, her eyes meeting mine with barely hidden contempt. “Dad approved of this?” I breathed out shakily, taking a step back as I tried to make sense of the situation. “Of course he did,” Bertha scoffed, “As much as I felt guilty about it, Dad reassured me not to be, because after all…my education is more important than yours, I’m the heir to Grayson Holdings…I can’t get expelled, that’ll put a stain on father’s name!” she looked so innocent when she said those words that it almost justified her actions. I gritted my teeth, listening to her every word felt like openly staring at needles piercing my skin. I hated hearing those words over and over again. The reminder that I was not even considered a person in my own home. Nothing I wanted was considered important. Which was why I had to work hard for a scholarship and Bertha was admitted just by a word from my father to the dean. Breathe, Amelia. Getting angrier will only make things worse. I tried to control myself while I stood in front of the mother-daughter duo. Bertha's tears were on the brink of falling when she let go of her mother and walked up to me. “I’m so sorry little sister,” she said in a tremulous voice, “I know how hard you worked to get into that school,” she pulled me into a hug, tight, uncomfortable. Then her mouth was positioned right next to my ear, “Let this be a warning to you, Amelia,” she whispered in a volume only the both of us could hear. "You tried to take what was mine, a glory you could never reach!" I could imagine her sneer. “You do not deserve nice things and you do not deserve to be on the same pedestal as me…I am heir, and you are the daughter of a dead whore, remember that!” Her words were enough to make me see red, I pulled back and inhaled sharply, unable to stop myself as I slapped her cheek so hard my palm stung. “Amelia!!!” I heard my father’s angry voice from behind me and my blood ran cold. Just as expected, he didn’t wait for an explanation before taking his belt out of his waistband and inflicting three times more of the pain I did on his precious daughter. I screamed and cried my throat raw, somehow it was drowned by Bertha's loud sobs and fake apologies as she ‘begged' my father to stop. He didn’t. Not until he was panting from exertion and I could feel my shirt get soaked with a mix of blood and sweat. My skin burned from it and my ears rang, my head aching from how much I had cried. “Do not ever in your useless, pathetic existence, raise a hand to my daughter!” my father warned with an authoritative voice. I’m your daughter too. How tempted I was to say those words back at him. Instead, I swallowed every reply and I did all I could do in that moment. I ran. Out of our mansion, out of our estate. I kept running until my lungs could no longer take it. Then I stopped in the middle of the road, my legs giving out. A disappointment, just like my entire fucking existence. Then I heard it. The loud horn of an oncoming truck, I knew I should’ve moved or at least twitched, felt scared but instead, I felt a deep exhaustion that left me feeling numb. Why should I move away? There’s nothing to go back to. My dreams, my hopes…all stolen, just like everything else, by Bertha. All because I don’t deserve anything good. All because I’m the daughter of a dead whore. Yes, that is all I am…but not if I stay still a few moments longer. I don’t really remember the truck hitting me. All I knew was that it all went dark before impact and the peace that came with it. All of a sudden, it felt like chaos, my ears rang just as they did when my father hit me. Only this time, the pain in my head was explosive, so much so that I had to grit my teeth to keep myself from crying out. Then I heard a deep voice, unfamiliar yet familiar in many ways. Yelling. Then calling out to me. “Amelia, I’m fucking talking to you, don’t ignore me!” What? Then all of a sudden, the haze and the darkness cleared and my eyes snapped open. “Ugh…” I groaned, my stomach hurting so much. I was covered in cold sweat get, I was standing. How the fuck was I still standing after being hit? “Amelia?” There was that voice again, this time gentler and tinged with concern. My blurry gaze cleared after a few seconds, then I realized I wasn’t in the middle of the road, I was in a kitchen. The most luxurious I’ve ever laid eyes on. “What’s wrong? You look pale,” More concern. I looked down at my fingers that rested on the kitchen counter, no black nail polish, yet I knew it was mine, they rested on some papers, the top read, DIVORCE AGREEMENT. What? Was I so injured that I’d finally conjured up rubbish? Or is this the afterlife? Is there divorce in the afterlife? Then I turned in the direction of the unfamiliar voice and I was met with the most beautiful pair of blue eyes I’d ever seen. My breath caught in my throat and momentarily, everything else was forgotten. “Amelia?” he called out again, his full pink lips moved as I heard the sound of my name. Familiar yet unfamiliar. What is this feeling? “You…” I rasped, “Who are you?” Then the concern and warmth in his eyes morphed into something entirely sinister, darker, anger maybe? Hatred? Definitely. “I should’ve known you’d try to make a fucking scene,” he said with a shake of his head in an exasperated tone. “I am not in the mood for your games, sign the papers so I can finally be rid of you!” he said, teeth bared out in anger and his time so harsh it made me flinch. I shook my head, panic setting in a long with a mix of trepidation and dread. “Who…are you?” Then his eyes narrowed, and a look of confusion, suspicion, realization, and shock flitted across his perfectly sculpted features all at once. “Amelia I…I'm your husband, I’m Roman,” My what?ROMANI knew it was going to be the worst evening in a while once the clock struck ten pm. My alarm rang and I blinked myself back to reality, the realization dawning on me that I’d worked overtime, again. Unintended but then again, a part of me just like every other day, dreading going back home. There was nothing to look forward to, just Amelia, my empty, bore of a wife who trapped me in a marriage just as empty as she is. In the three years since we've been married, it has taken great heights of my self-control not to break the promise I made to my grandfather. To stay settled with the daughter of his god-daughter, to have an heir for the Wellington empire before I am thirty-five. That’s in four fucking years, and quite frankly I have no interest in keeping that promise. The first and last time I kissed that woman still haunted me, the sheer disgust and hatred I have for her forbids me from ever doing it again! I paged my assistant and grabbed the divorce papers my lawyer had
AMELIAMy head ached so badly that I cried out, and along with my stomach ache it felt like I was intentionally being tortured. I heard voices, both familiar and unfamiliar, I heard the urgency of that man's voice…I heard his anger although this time not directed at me. Strangely while I floated in the darkness, I was aware of everything around me, the man barking out instructions to another nervous-sounding man. A doctor, I assumed. I felt the softness of a mattress beneath me and the sting of spirit coming in contact with my open wounds. Then the unmistakable feeling of an IV needle being stuck in my arm. After a while, it all quietened and the aches eased. My eyes opened groggily, my vision blurry at first as I tried to regain my composure. Then memories of what happened a few hours ago came rushing in and my eyes snapped open completely and I lifted off the bed with a gasp, my eyes wide with shock. Shit! Shit! What the fuck is going on? Where am I? I looked around in a
AMELIAI watched with a blank expression as a nervous-looking man with a doctor's briefcase walked into the bedroom. Getting into the bedroom wasn’t an easy feat, it took Trenton convincing Roman he didn’t have to throw me over his shoulder…the fucking psycho. For a man who claimed to be my husband, he sure acted like I was his lifelong nemesis. I was seated at the edge of the bed while being questioned. “What is the last thing you remember?” The nervous man said, Dr. Britton, he called himself and I wondered if I was supposed to remember him too. “I got expelled, I ran away from home, now I’m here,” I said, leaving out the part where I eagerly wanted a truck to hit me intentionally. Roman's brooding expression darkened even further as I spoke and Trenton’s was filled with worry. Dr. Britton nodded with an understanding gaze, checked my eyes, my mobility, asked about my headache and stomach ache, what I ate last—which I didn’t remember—shocker. After what seemed to be hours but
AMELIAI spent the rest of the day in the bedroom I’d slept in.Roman’s warning was enough to keep me livid for the better half of the day, rethinking my life choices, including the ones I couldn’t remember.Now I had a birthday party to attend…my supposed father-in-law who I knew nothing about. The more time passed, the more worried I became.I found a phone I was sure belonged to me, seeing as the wedding portrait was on the lock screen. There was no way it would belong to Roman who hated me.I didn’t know the password. I tossed it aside with a frustrated sigh, my eyes landed on the clock by the bed and I realized I had to get ready.Roman had said 6:30, it was 6 pm.Begrudgingly I walked into the rather spacious walk-in closet and ruffled through my side.Again, I found nothing sensible enough to wear out, just long, loose dresses that looked more like maternity gowns. Then suits…why the hell did I buy so many suits?I ended up settling for a dress I remembered, one I bought a few
AMELIABreathe, Amelia. I reminded myself, my feet rooted to the spot as my sister's familiar eyes met mine. The deadly glare, the venom with no hint of shame or guilt that I had just found her kissing the man who called himself my husband. Though it seemed to me like I had only just seen her two days ago, when she reminded me I was the daughter of a dead whore, looking at her now invited a strange feeling. Like I had not seen her in a long time. Still, that anger and hatred at the immediate sight of her grew even more now that I saw her in Roman's arms. My head began to throb incessantly. “Um…” I was unsure of what to say, unsure of what I had just walked into. Roman visibly tensed up at the sight of me, taking an immediate step back and holding Bertha at arm's length. He cleared his throat, his expression cloudy as he looked at me. “Is this…” My throat felt dry, “Why you were so eager to divorce me? Because you’re…with my sister?” I hated how my voice shook when I
ROMANI made my way down the stairs with confusing emotions. Amelia just agreed to divorce me. The same Amelia who spent the past three years of our marriage trying to dissuade the topic as much as she could. The same Amelia who had threatened me that she would take her own life if I left her. The last time she walked into Bertha and I kissing, she cried for days, she ended up hospitalized, not that I ever bothered to check her, I never cared. Today she looked on like it was a joke. She seemed irritated, not hurt. My fingers unconsciously reached up to my chest, unable to fathom why my heart felt so tight, why the reality of her acceptance didn’t sink in. Probably because I spent too long thinking she’d never free me, now she has. Once we get back home, she’ll really sign the papers. “Roman!” my father called out, laughing heartily as he held a hand out for me. His aged eyes crinkled at the sides with false fatherly affection as he urged me closer, pulling me out fro
AMELIAI spent the first fifteen years of my life, as a naïve, only child with a strict father and a mother who loved me fervently. She was an only child, an orphan, so once she died all I had left was my father…and then Bertha and Monica came into the picture or rather, they’ve been in the picture longer than I’d lived. Bertha was born a year before I was. When my mother was still married to him. After my mother died, Hector Grayson's strictness morphed into hatred…he never gave a reason, he just switched overnight after her death. Since then, I’ve lived with my family like one without a family. I’ve vied for his love and attention, for his trust, his pride and all I’ve ever gotten was beatings. And the constant reminder that I am below Bertha. Why did I stay? Why did I live that way? My eyes snapped open and I was instantly aware of my surroundings. The smell of disinfectant and bleached floors flooded my senses, rousing me from what seemed to be the deepest sleep I’
AMELIAOur walk back to the car was rather awkward for me. After signing my discharge papers and footing the necessary bills, Roman never let go of my hand, despite the shocked looks on everyone’s faces. We bade them goodbye and then he let go once we were in at the parking lot and out of sight. I opened the front door and sat right next to the driver seat, surprisingly he didn’t call a driver but instead brought out the key and started the vehicle. He was so quiet that it unnerved me and I began to wonder what I could say to start a conversation. His expression was dark, most of the emotions in his eyes were indecipherable and I felt too sick to even try and understand the man. But still. The memory of the warmth of his strong, callused fingers still lingered. And I found my gaze drifting in his direction a few times. “I…” I cleared my throat, looking away and watched the passing city lights, “I am sorry about kissing you,” I apologized, my cheeks heated up from say