Rue didn’t even glance at her or acknowledged the apology. She dropped the file onto Enzo’s desk with a sharp thud, turned on her heel, and walked out of the office without a backward glance.
Amelia stood there, her heart still racing from the confrontation, her palms damp with sweat.
She already hates me. And i made it worse. Way to go, amelia.
Enzo’s voice cut through her thoughts. "Sign."
He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a sleek black pen, sliding it across the surface toward her.
Amelia took it. The moment her fingers touched the pen—and his—something jolted through her body. A spark, sharp and unexpected, that traveled up her arm and settled somewhere in her chest. Her breath caught, and she looked at him quickly, searching his face for any sign that he’d felt it too.
Nothing. His expression remained impassive.
It’s nothing. Just nerves. Just my body reacting to stress.
She placed the pen on the signature line and paused.
Enzo’s brow lifted slightly. "Why did you stop?"
Amelia’s fingers tightened around the pen. "I would like to add a condition. Or more like a favor."
His eyes narrowed, a flicker of something cold passing through them. "Speak."
Amelia took a breath, gathering her courage. "I found an injured bird. It flew in through the window, and it was bleeding. I bandaged its legs, but it needs time to heal. I don’t want it to be discarded. I don’t want anyone to throw it out or—or hurt it while it’s recovering."
Enzo stared at her. For a fraction of a second, his composure cracked—just enough for something that looked almost like surprise to flicker across his features. Then it was gone, replaced by that familiar mask of neutrality.
"You want to keep it...," he said slowly, as if testing the words. "...As a pet."
"It’s not a pet." Amelia sharply replied. "It’s a living creature that needs help. I’m just asking for permission to let it stay until it’s fully fit to leave on its own. When it can fly properly, I’ll let it go. I promise."
Enzo coughed—a small, startled sound that he quickly covered with his hand. He looked at her as if she’d just proposed something utterly incomprehensible.
Enzo’s grey eyes searched hers, looking for something—a lie, an ulterior motive, a hidden agenda. Whatever he found, it seemed to satisfy him.
"Fine." He waved a hand dismissively. "Keep the bird. I don’t care what you do with it. Just don’t let it disrupt the household."
Amelia’s shoulders sagged with relief. "Thank you."
"Now sign."
She turned back to the contract, her hand steadying as she positioned the pen over the signature line. In a fluid motion, she wrote her name—Amelia Kroff—the letters bold and clear against the white page. It looked so ordinary, yet powerful
This is it. This is the moment I commit. No going back.
She set the pen down and pushed the contract back toward Enzo.
He picked it up, scanning her signature with a quick, practiced eye. Then he nodded, a small, satisfied movement.
"Starting today, there will be activities. You’ll begin playing the role of the wife in earnest. Every interaction you have will be scrutinized." He set the contract aside and folded his hands on the desk. "You’ve seen Madame, correct?"
Amelia nodded, the memory of that sharp-eyed woman still fresh in her mind. "Yes. I met her in the hallway. With Reid."
Enzo’s expression didn’t change. "She’s our mother."
Amelia’s eyes widened slightly.
"Your—she’s your mother?"
"Madame Valcourt is the matriarch of this family. She’s also one of the most dangerous person you’ll ever meet, including us." Enzo’s voice was a matter-of-fact. " If she decides you’re unsuitable, if she finds any reason to doubt your are a fake, she’ll have you removed. Permanently."
Amelia swallowed, her throat dry. "How do I prevent that?"
"You do everything you can to get on her good side. Whatever it takes."
Amelia opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. Something was clearly on her mind.
Enzo noticed. "Speak. I can see you have something to say."
She hesitated, then pushed forward. "I remember Madame mentioned something about a ceremony."
Enzo nodded slowly. "It’s coming in a week. You’ll need to be prepared, mentally and physically. You can’t look like the hollow of yourself when that time comes."
"A week." Amelia’s voice was thin. "That’s not much time."
"It’s enough. We’ll make sure you’re ready."
Amelia was silent for a moment, processing. Then she asked, "What kind of ceremony is it? I don’t understand what we’re doing. I don’t understand any of this."
Enzo had already turned his attention to other papers on his desk, shuffling through them with practiced efficiency. "It’s a tradition," he said, his tone dismissive. "A ceremony to show that you are eligible to be with your chosen mate. It’s a public declaration of intent, a demonstration of worth."
Amelia’s brow furrowed. "What happens when they’re not eligible? When someone fails?"
Enzo paused. His hand stilled on the papers.
"Then you better pray that doesn’t happen."
Amelia gulped. "I need to start."
Enzo raised an eyebrow. "Start what?"
"Learning," she said firmly. "Your customs, your traditions, your expectations. Everything I need to know to play this role convincingly, now."
Something flickered across Enzo’s face—surprise, maybe, or amusement.
"You’re actually excited," he said slowly. "You’re excited to play the wife."
Amelia’s eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening. "Excited?" She let out a short, hollow laugh. "You think I am excited to play mommy and daddy with Hellspawns?".