The moment Mr. Reed uttered the words
"immediate delivery," the fear in the room had shifted, replacing the initial
shock of the betrayal with a cold, financial dread. But the financial threat,
however immense, was immediately shelved. The Reed family had a reputation to
uphold, and the celebrating guests downstairs could not be allowed to see any
cracks in their gilded façade.
"The representative can wait in the
study," Mr. Reed commanded, his voice regaining its sharp, authoritarian edge.
He fixed his gaze on Amelia, his eyes burning with a dangerous mix of panic and
manufactured anger. "Right now, we are celebrating a monumental engagement.
You, Amelia, will go back downstairs, and you will act appropriately. Your pity
party is over. Do you understand?"
Mrs. Reed, ever the tactician, grabbed
Amelia's arm, her grip surprisingly strong. "You don't want to anger your
father when he is dealing with… this," she whispered, gesturing vaguely towards
his expensive phone, which likely held the damning debt notice. "Go. Smile. Be
the good, supportive sister."
Amelia was too numb to resist. She was an
automaton, guided by the familiar, ingrained fear of her father's disapproval
and her stepmother's pointed scorn. They marched her back down the sweeping
staircase and shoved her gently through the conservatory door.
The sound that assaulted her was a
cacophony of shallow praise and forced laughter. The air, already heavy with
lilies, now felt sticky with hypocrisy.
And there they were, the centerpiece of
her ruin.
Annabeth was draped across Liam's chest,
her posture designed to showcase the massive diamond glinting under the lights.
She looked like a goddess on a trophy pedestal, basking in the admiration.
Liam, for his part, played the role of the devoted fiancé perfectly. He was
kissing her forehead, whispering close to her ear, his whole body language
screaming proprietorship.
The sight of them together was physically
sickening. It was as if every intimate moment they had shared—every quiet walk,
every late-night conversation, every gentle touch—had been retroactively
poisoned. It hadn't been real. It had just been preparation for this moment, a
holding pattern until Annabeth decided she wanted the Beta and his Pack
influence.
Amelia found herself standing near the
potted palms, utterly invisible. She watched Annabeth hold up her hand for the
fifth time, catching the light on the ring and eliciting a chorus of
appreciative gasps.
"Oh, it's simply divine, darling," one of
the older matrons gushed. "Liam, you have truly outdone yourself."
Annabeth gave a theatrical sigh. "He's
been so secretive! But I suppose true love makes a man quite bold, doesn't it?"
The words were delivered with a
crystalline clarity that sliced through Amelia's composure. They were meant for
her. They were a direct, public statement that her relationship with Liam had
been a lie, and Annabeth's, in contrast, was the 'true love' worthy of display.
Liam finally looked up, his eyes meeting
Amelia's across the room. For a split second, something flickered in his
gaze—not regret, but a sharp, defensive discomfort, like a child caught
stealing. He quickly masked it, offering a stiff, meaningless smile and a tiny,
almost imperceptible nod, as if congratulating her on being such a good loser.
That nod snapped the last thread of
Amelia's passive resignation.
It wasn't enough for him to betray her; he
expected her to validate his choice.
She wanted to scream. She wanted to grab
the heavy champagne flute and smash it against the marble floor. She wanted to
walk over and tell everyone exactly what a greedy, manipulative witch Annabeth
was, and what a spineless, calculating traitor Liam had become.
But she didn't. Years of being the
"good" daughter, the quiet one, the invisible one, held her tongue
captive. Instead, a cold resolve settled over her, a layer of ice forming over
the raw wound. Never again will I let them see me break.
She turned to a passing waiter, accepted a
glass of water, and took a deliberate, slow sip, forcing herself to appear
detached, analytical, and utterly fine.
This detachment only seemed to fuel
Annabeth's needling. She finally extricated herself from Liam, gliding across
the room towards Amelia, her steps light and predatory.
"Oh, Amelia! There you are, sweetheart,"
Annabeth cooed, placing a hand lightly on Amelia's shoulder. The touch felt
like acid. "I'm so glad you stayed. You were so silent earlier, I thought you
might be… upset."
Annabeth leaned in conspiratorially,
ensuring the elderly guests nearby could overhear every word. Her eyes,
however, were venomous, drilling into Amelia's soul.
"I know this must be difficult for you,
dear. Liam and I tried to keep our connection a secret for so long, to protect
your feelings. But you know how these things go. The heart wants what it wants,
and ultimately, a Beta needs a Luna who can bring real status to the Pack. I'm
just glad you're being mature about it. You'll find some nice human man
eventually, I'm sure."
The condescension was suffocating.
Annabeth hadn't just stolen him; she was now crafting a narrative where Amelia
was the pathetic, discarded casualty, and Annabeth the valiant victim of true,
undeniable passion.
Amelia looked at the diamond on Annabeth's
hand—the ring that was supposed to be hers—and then back at Annabeth's smug,
perfect face.
"It's beautiful, Annabeth," Amelia said,
her voice steady, betraying none of the earthquake raging inside her. She even
offered a small, polite smile. "I'm so happy that you finally have something
tangible to prove your relationship was worthwhile. After all, the best lies
are the most expensive, aren't they?"
Annabeth's smile faltered, replaced by a
flash of genuine, confused anger. She wasn't expecting defiance, only tears.
Before Annabeth could recover, Mrs. Reed
swept in, sensing the rising tension. "That's enough, girls! Annabeth, darling,
the photographer wants a picture by the fountain. And Amelia," she leaned in,
her smile gone, replaced by a tight, warning frown, "Your performance is
unacceptable. Go to your room and wait until your father summons you. Now."
It was dismissal. The celebratory crowd
parted as Annabeth was led away like royalty, leaving Amelia standing alone,
abandoned by the very people who had dragged her back into the room.
Amelia didn't need to be told twice. She
placed her glass down and walked quickly toward the hallway. This time, she
didn't just retreat; she fled.
She locked herself in her small, neglected
room—the room at the end of the hall, furthest from the main action—and pressed
her back against the door, finally allowing herself to breathe the suffocating,
stale air.
The room, decorated in muted, forgettable
colors, offered no solace. It merely reflected her status in the family: an
afterthought.
Amelia slid down the door until she was
sitting on the floor, pulling her knees to her chest. The tremors that had
begun earlier now consumed her entire body. It was a shivering that came not
from cold, but from profound emotional shock.
The sounds of the party filtered up
through the thick walls—the distant, tinny sound of the jazz band, the bursts
of elevated conversation, and Annabeth's laughter, which somehow cut through
everything else, sharp and triumphant.
They knew. My own father and stepmother
dressed me for my humiliation.
She thought of Liam. Not the man who knelt
for Annabeth, but the man she thought she knew: the one who held her hand
tightly in the forest, the one who planned quiet futures. Was that man ever
real? Or was he merely practicing for the grand performance he delivered
tonight? The realization that his pursuit of her might have been nothing more
than a strategic move to get close to the Reed family's real
heiress—Annabeth—was a secondary, agonizing layer of betrayal. He hadn't broken
up with her; he had traded her.
The minutes stretched into an eternity of
self-recrimination and despair. Amelia finally broke, silent, ragged sobs
shaking her shoulders. She buried her face in her knees, muffling the sound.
She couldn't allow anyone to hear. She couldn't give them the satisfaction.
She was disposable. She was a placeholder.
She was nothing.
The tears eventually subsided, leaving her
emotionally parched and raw. It was replaced by a dangerous, cold vacancy.
There was nothing left to lose. Liam was gone. Her family had openly declared
her worthless. She was utterly isolated.
A harsh rapping at her door startled her.
It wasn't the tentative knock of a maid, but the impatient, heavy fist of Mr.
Reed.
"Amelia! Open this door. Now!"
She didn't move, wiping her face quickly
on her sleeve. "I'm here, Father. What is it?"
The door rattled. "I said, open it! This
is no longer about your dramatic tantrum. This is about business. And you are
required."
Amelia slowly got to her feet. The voice
of her father was different now—not merely angry, but desperately afraid. The
shift in his tone suggested something truly catastrophic.
She turned the lock and opened the door.
Mr. Reed stormed in, followed closely by
Mrs. Reed, both looking utterly panicked. The forced smiles from downstairs
were entirely erased. They looked haggard, desperate, and utterly cornered.
"We have a monumental crisis, Amelia," Mr.
Reed began, his hands trembling as he gripped the lapels of his suit. "The
financial crisis we've been managing… the Black Moon Alpha, Alexander, has
accelerated the payment date."
Mrs. Reed leaned against the doorframe,
her face pale. "It's the debt from the North American timber deal, Amelia. It's
over forty million dollars. He wants it in cash, by dawn, or he takes
everything. The houses, the businesses, the entire Reed empire."
Amelia stared, the massive sum
incomprehensible. "Forty million? Why are we involved with the Black Moon
Pack's Alpha? I thought their Alpha, the War God, was… dangerous."
Mr. Reed paced the small room, his shoes
sinking slightly into the old carpet. "He is more than dangerous, Amelia. He is
a monster. He built his fortune on eliminating rivals. He doesn't negotiate. He
destroys."
He stopped, turning to Amelia, his eyes
suddenly wide and pleading—a look she had never seen directed at her before.
"But he offered us a loophole," Mr. Reed
said, his voice dropping to a low, heavy pitch. "A way to save the family and
pay the debt without losing our assets. He needs something only we can
provide."
Mrs. Reed stepped forward, her expression
hardening back into its customary malice. "He needs a bride, Amelia. A public,
human bride to fulfill a ridiculous condition in his family's ancient contract.
And because Annabeth is now engaged to Liam, and because Annabeth is simply
too… valuable… to throw away on a crippled brute like Alexander…"
Mr. Reed finished the sentence, his voice
devoid of emotion, like a judge reading a death sentence.
"You, Amelia, will be the Alpha's bride.
You will be the delivery."
The cold realization hit her like a
physical blow, stealing the air from her lungs. She wasn't just a placeholder;
she was the ultimate sacrifice. They had replaced her with Annabeth for a Beta,
and now they were selling her to a monstrous Alpha to save themselves.
The sounds of the cruel celebration
continued downstairs, a joyful soundtrack to her devastating sentence.