A few days later, Byron began teaching her how to use the manor's security system. "To protect yourself," he'd said, the excuse plausible enough.
He led her to a room hidden behind a bookshelf in his study. It was a high-tech command center, one wall covered entirely in a mosaic of screens displaying every corner of the estate.
"Every hallway, every room, every inch of the grounds is monitored," Byron explained, his voice a low murmur beside her. "Except for my bedroom. And now, yours."
A chill went through her. She had been living in a gilded panopticon.
He showed her how to access archived footage, how to flag events, how to read the tiered alert system. His fingers moved over the keyboard with an easy familiarity.
A morbid curiosity, an impulse she couldn't suppress, took hold of her. Her hands moved, almost of their own accord. She typed in the date of her first night. The location: Mausoleum.
Byron's hand, which had been gesturing to a screen, paused for a fraction of a second. But he didn't stop her.
The footage appeared. The empty, silent chamber. She fast-forwarded. The timestamp raced toward midnight. And then, precisely at the time she remembered the cold descending, the screen went black. A small message appeared in the corner: System Maintenance.
The feed resumed a few minutes after the assault would have ended.
Her heart sank like a stone into a cold, deep well. It was a lie. A clumsy, arrogant lie. Proof by omission.
It was him.
She lifted her head, her eyes locking with his. They were filled with a silent, burning accusation. He met her gaze, his expression unreadable, a mask of cold neutrality. He didn't confirm it. He didn't deny it.
The air between them grew thick, heavy with unspoken truths, when a shrill alarm suddenly blared through the room.
On the main screen, a red alert flashed. A cherry-red Ferrari had breached the second gate.
"Zara Vance," Byron said, his brow furrowing. The name was spoken like a curse.
Amelie's mind instantly supplied the data. Byron's former fiancée. Heiress to the Vance Global conglomerate.
Byron spoke into an intercom, his voice clipped. "Let her through. Intercept her at the main entrance." He turned to Amelie, a flicker of something dark in his eyes. "It appears your next challenge has arrived."
They met her in the grand living room. Zara Vance was a vision of fiery confidence, poured into a red dress, her makeup flawless, her aura radiating entitlement.
She swept past Amelie as if she were invisible and rushed to Byron's wheelchair.
"Byron! Darling!" Her voice was a theatrical cry of distress. "I heard what happened! I came as soon as I could. I can't believe it!"
She reached for him, but he shifted his wheelchair slightly, causing her hands to fall on the cold metal armrest. "Zara. We are no longer engaged."
Hurt flashed in her eyes before being replaced by a sharp, venomous glare directed at Amelie.
"So this is her?" Zara's voice dripped with disdain. "The replacement? A girl from a bankrupt family, brought in to ward off bad luck?"
The insult was designed to cut deep. Amelie opened her mouth to retort, but Byron spoke first, his voice calm and directed at Amelie.
"My wife. You handle this."
He was testing her again. Throwing her to the wolves to see if she could fight.
A surge of white-hot anger coursed through Amelie. The confirmation in the security room, the cold denial in his eyes, the humiliation of the past weeks-it all coalesced into a single point of burning rage. Zara Vance was simply the lightning rod.
Zara, misinterpreting Byron's delegation as disinterest, smirked at Amelie. "What are you going to say? Thank me for breaking the engagement so you could have your chance?"
Amelie took a step forward, her mind flashing back to the day her father's company collapsed. The despair on his face. The ruin Zara's family had wrought.
She stood directly in front of Zara Vance, in full view of Byron and the silent, watching staff.
She raised her hand.
And with all the pent-up fear, humiliation, and fury she possessed, she slapped Zara across the face. The sound cracked through the cavernous room like a gunshot.
