Chapter 1
The Night We First Met
"Then, let's do it."
"Wait, what?" he asked with a surprised smile.
"Let's get married, stupid," she replied with a chuckle.
The room was loud, filled with music and sweaty bodies dancing. At the corner sat Amelia, daughter of the noble Adrian Janaya.
The terrible day she'd had kept replaying in her head. As if that wasn't enough, her mother had reminded her again how worthless she was, how she could never live up to her sister. Everyone thought she was throwing her life away by refusing her father's business and choosing fashion design instead.
She gulped down another drink as her mother's voice echoed in her head.
"Amelia, get a life! I don't know what's gotten into you. You weren't like this as a child!"
"Leave me the hell alone!" she screamed, only then realizing everyone was staring at her.
"Psycho," a male voice muttered.
"What did you say?" she asked, walking toward him.
"Oh, you wanna be a hero now?" he scoffed.
"I said what did you call me?" she asked again.
"I called you a psycho. What you gonna...."
She didn't let him finish, she kicked him straight in the balls and he collapsed, groaning in pain.
"What were you about to say?" she asked mockingly.
"Fuck you," he spat.
"Well, you gotta have a dick to do that," she smirked, spat on him, and walked back to her table. His friends laughed at him while the rest of the club moved on.
That's when she noticed a man still staring at her. She walked up to him.
"You've never seen a girl hit a guy in the balls before?" she teased.
"That was… impressive," he said.
"Well, since you think so, I guess you owe me a drink."
He signaled to the waiter, lifted two fingers.
"So what's your name?" he asked.
"Amelia. Amelia Janaya."
"Amelia," he repeated slowly, "that's a cool name."
"And yours?" she asked, noticing his surprise.
"You don't know me?"
"Why, are you some kind of celebrity or something?"
"Wow. That's a first."
The waiter dropped their drinks. She downed hers in one gulp.
"Heyy, easy. What's making you drink this much? I've been observing you for a while now" he said.
"I was supposed to be engaged last year. My ex ticked all the boxes, he was charming, successful… exactly what they wanted. But he cheated on me with someone who was better at the game i guess. They said I should forgive him because no man is perfect. But somehow, I'm the one who's supposed to be perfect."
Her voice cracked slightly, but she masked it with a half-smile. "Do you know how exhausting it is, trying to live up to everyone else's expectations? I don't even know what I want anymore."
He studied her, his expression unreadable but softer than before. "I think you do," he said quietly.
She glanced at him, almost defensively. "And what's that supposed to mean?"
"It means…" His gaze lingered on her face as though memorizing it. "You're not looking for perfect, you're looking for real. For someone who sees you not the version your parents built, not the mask you put on for the world...Just you."
Her chest tightened, caught off guard by how easily he cut through her walls.
"And for what it's worth," he added, leaning in slightly, "you are perfect. Not because you tick anyone's boxes, but because you're brave enough to say all this out loud. Most people wouldn't."
For a moment Amelia forgot how to breathe. No one had ever said that to her, not her ex, not her family, not even her few friends.
She set her glass down, her hands trembling just slightly. "Dance with me," she whispered, her voice almost pleading.
He gave a short laugh, low and self-deprecating. "You should know, I'm a terrible dancer."
"Good," Amelia said, a small smile tugging at her lips. "So am I."
He hesitated only for a moment before taking her hand. The music was slow, soft. His hand rested gently against her waist, her palm pressed to his shoulder. They swayed awkwardly at first, pretending to know the steps, but the clumsiness only made her laugh.
"See?" he murmured. "Told you."
"Shut up," she whispered, smiling despite herself.
As the song carried them, their movements slowed, steadied. She became hyperaware of everything, the warmth of his hand, the faint brush of his thumb against hers, the way his gaze lingered like he was memorizing her face.
When she looked up, their eyes locked.
He leaned down slowly, giving her time to pull away but she didn't. Her breath caught as their lips touched, tentative and unsure at first, like neither of them wanted to break whatever fragile thing was sparking between them.
The kiss deepened little by little, not rushed, and for the first time in a long time, Amelia felt visible.
Time slipped away, they had left the club and were laying on the grass outside, far from the club. The sky outside was still dark when he finally whispered, "I wish I didn't have to leave."
"Why do you have to?"
"I've got a flight by eight. I'll be away for a while." He hesitated. "I'll miss you. I don't even know if I'll see you again."
"Well," she teased, "men get easily attracted to me... You could just put a ring on me if you wanna claim me."
"You mean… get married?"
"Then let's do it." She smiled sweetly at him.
"Wait, what?" He smiled in disbelief.
"Let's get married, stupid," she chuckled.
"Are you serious? You're not drunk?"
"I'm not drunk. Marry me, Ryan, I wanna be your wife."
"I'm not playing, Amelia. If you're mine, you're mine alone," he said firmly.
"And you'll be mine," she shot back.
"You've made me the happiest man alive," he grinned, leaning in to kiss her, but she stopped him.
"You haven't given me a ring yet." She lifted her finger.
"Oh, right." He slid off the one he was wearing and slipped it on her hand.
"Wait, I was supposed to kneel, right?"
"Doesn't matter." She pulled him into a kiss.
"You know what? Let's get married in church before you leave," she said excitedly.
"No, wait. Let's sign the papers in court."
He laughed at her eagerness.
"Let's do both," he said.