It started with rain.
The kind that arrived without warning dark clouds rolling in fast, pouring over the estate like the sky had decided to cry for her.
Amelia stood by the tall windows of her bedroom, arms folded as she watched the drops tap against the glass. The storm outside felt like a mirror to the chaos brewing within her.
Two days had passed since the wedding. Two long, quiet days.
Alexander left early each morning, always impeccably dressed and never saying more than a dry "Good morning." He returned late sometimes after she was already asleep and said even less.
They lived in the same house, yet their worlds barely touched.
But the silence didn't defeat her.
It fed her resolve.
Today, she'd decided not to sit around waiting to be noticed. If her presence was going to matter in this mansion, she would make it matter.
She dressed simply in a pale blue blouse and white trousers, tied her hair back neatly, and walked to the library. It was the one place she hadn't explored yet.
The room stunned her floor-to-ceiling shelves, a rolling ladder, and a soft leather scent that made her forget, just for a moment, who she was now.
She picked a novel and curled up on the velvet sofa, finally at ease.
Until the headache came.
A dull pressure behind her eyes at first. Then sharper. Throbbing. Her body turned cold and clammy, and her stomach churned.
She tried to stand, but the dizziness knocked her balance. The book slipped from her hands, landing on the floor with a soft thud.
A maid entered at that moment and rushed to her side. "Ma'am, are you alright?"
"I... I don't feel good," Amelia murmured.
Within minutes, the staff had her escorted back to her room. A doctor was called. A nurse arrived with medicine and a tray of food she couldn't touch. The maid gently removed her shoes and helped her lie down.
"Mr. Stone has been informed," someone whispered outside the door.
She didn't care. He wouldn't come. Why would he?
She drifted in and out of sleep for hours, the fever pulling her under in waves.
Until she heard the door open again quieter this time.
Then, footsteps.
She turned her head, eyes fluttering.
Alexander stood at the edge of the room, still in his work suit, his tie loosened and jaw tense.
"I heard you were sick," he said, voice low.
She blinked slowly. "Nothing serious. Just a fever."
"You look pale."
"I'm always pale."
A flicker of something crossed his face. Amusement? Concern?
He stepped closer.
"Did you eat anything strange?" he asked.
"I haven't eaten much of anything."
There was a pause. He walked over to the tray on her nightstand and inspected the untouched soup, then frowned.
"You should eat. Starving yourself won't help."
"I'm not starving myself," she whispered, voice thinner than before. "Just... my body isn't adjusting well to everything. That's all."
Alexander sat down in the chair beside her bed.
That surprised her more than anything.
He didn't speak for a while. Just sat there, arms folded, watching her like he was trying to decode a foreign language.
Then, he said something she didn't expect.
"I should've made time."
She blinked again. "What?"
"For you. I've been distant. I know."
Silence stretched between them.
"I didn't come into this marriage expecting affection or companionship," she said slowly. "But I also didn't expect to feel so invisible."
He looked at her for a long time. "You're not invisible, Amelia."
"Could've fooled me."
Another pause.
He exhaled, glanced at the soup, then picked up the spoon and dipped it in.
"Eat," he said, holding the spoon out to her.
Her eyes widened slightly. "You're going to feed me now?"
"I'll make an exception. Just for today."
A soft, shaky smile tugged at her lips as she let him bring the spoon to her mouth.
The broth was warm. Not particularly tasty but somehow comforting.
He fed her three more spoons in silence before she raised a hand weakly. "That's enough. Thank you."
Alexander nodded and set the bowl down.
"I had a meeting with the Mayor's office this evening," he said after a moment. "I left early."
Amelia stared at him. "Why?"
"Because my wife had a fever."
She blinked again. The words settled over her like warm water on frozen skin.
There it was.
The first crack in his armor.
He stood up, straightened his jacket, and adjusted the cuffs.
"I'll have someone check on you every hour," he said. "If you feel worse, call me directly. Use the red line on the nightstand."
"You really do live like a CEO," she murmured with a weak smile.
He gave her a look half-annoyed, half-amused.
Then, to her shock, he reached forward and gently brushed a strand of hair from her forehead.
Her breath caught.
"Rest," he said, voice lower now. "You're not alone in this house, even if it feels that way."
And then he left.
The door closed behind him, but something lingered in
the room an energy, a presence that hadn't been there before.
Not heat. Not love.
But the first spark.
Faint. Flickering.
But real.