The Debt Bride

Chapter Twenty

  The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room as Amy slowly woke up. The events of the previous day felt like a dream, yet the weight of her new reality was unmistakable.

  She glanced around, noticing Rhysand standing by the window, speaking in low tones on his phone. His posture was relaxed, yet commanding, a stark reminder of the man she had just married.

  As she stirred, Rhysand turned, his eyes briefly meeting hers. He ended the call, placing his phone down, and approached the bed. Without a word, he handed her a neatly folded set of clothes.

"These are for you," he said, his voice even and unreadable.

Before she could respond, he left the room, the door closing softly behind him.

  Amy took a moment to gather herself, then got up and dressed. The clothes fit perfectly, a testament to Rhysand's meticulous nature. She splashed water on her face, trying to wash away the remnants of sleep and the lingering unease of their wedding night. As she descended the grand staircase, the scent of fresh coffee and the distant hum of activity greeted her.

  Upon reaching the bottom, she found herself in a hallway adorned with numerous photographs. Each frame held a piece of the past, capturing moments frozen in time. There were pictures of Rhysand, some with a younger man she assumed to be his father, and a few with a vibrant young woman who must be Claire, his sister. The photos revealed a different side of Rhysand—one filled with familial ties and history, a stark contrast to the ruthless, enigmatic man she had come to know.

  Amy's eyes lingered on a particular photo of a much younger Rhysand, laughing freely with his father. The warmth in his eyes, the carefree smile—she almost didn't recognize him. Lost in thought, she barely noticed Rhysand approaching until he was standing beside her, his presence as commanding as ever.

  The entire day, Amy wandered through the mansion in silence, her eyes scanning every corner, every detail. The Archer mansion was a labyrinth of opulence, with its grand hallways, intricate woodwork, and rooms that seemed to stretch endlessly. The walls were adorned with art pieces and photographs, each telling a fragment of the Archer family's long history.

  She paused occasionally, her fingers grazing the cool marble surfaces, her mind absorbing the unfamiliar environment that was now her home. Each room she entered told a different story, from the grand library filled with leather-bound books to the sunlit conservatory brimming with exotic plants. Despite the beauty surrounding her, an undercurrent of unease persisted, a reminder of the contract that bound her to this place and to Rhysand.

  Rhysand, on the other hand, was occupied with his own affairs. His deep voice echoed through the corridors as he spoke on the phone, issuing orders and discussing business with his men. His tone was authoritative and sharp, a stark contrast to the softer, more intimate moments they had shared. It was clear he was a man who commanded respect and obedience, his focus unwavering even in the midst of his personal life.

  Amy's footsteps eventually led her to the kitchen, where she watched the staff prepare meals with practiced efficiency. She felt like an outsider, observing a world that had continued turning long before she arrived. Despite the friendly smiles and polite greetings from the staff, she couldn't shake the feeling of being out of place.

  She ventured into the backyard, where a meticulously maintained garden offered a breath of fresh air. The fragrance of blooming flowers and the sound of birds chirping provided a temporary respite from her thoughts. She sat on a wrought iron bench, allowing herself a moment to breathe and process everything.

  As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the mansion, Amy found herself back inside, her silent exploration complete. She stood in the main hall, her eyes drawn to the grand staircase where she had first descended that morning. The weight of the day's discoveries settled on her shoulders, a mixture of awe and apprehension.

  Rhysand appeared at the top of the staircase, his phone call finally over. He descended with the same confident stride she had come to recognize, his eyes briefly meeting hers.

After dinner they went to sleep.

  The room was cloaked in a hushed stillness as the final traces of twilight faded into night. Rhysand turned to Amy, his expression unreadable as he gestured towards the grand bed, its intricate carvings illuminated by the soft glow of the bedside lamp.

"You should sleep on the bed," he said, his voice low and steady. "I'll take the couch."

  Amy nodded silently, her heart heavy with the weight of the day's events. She watched as Rhysand settled onto the plush couch across the room, his movements measured and deliberate. The couch, though luxurious, seemed inadequate for his tall frame, yet he made no complaint, closing his eyes and folding his hands over his chest.

  As Amy lay down on the bed, the soft sheets and downy pillows offered little comfort against the tumult of her thoughts. She stared at the ceiling, its ornate patterns a blur as her mind wandered. The room was vast and elegant, but it felt cold and impersonal, a stark contrast to the cozy familiarity of her old life.

  In the quiet of the night, her thoughts inevitably drifted to Richard. She couldn't help but wonder why he hadn't come to see her since the wedding. Their friendship had always been a source of strength and solace for her, a beacon of light in her otherwise turbulent life. Richard's absence now felt like a void, a silent accusation that gnawed at her heart.

  Why he hasn't come or even tried to save their company from danger? Or was he simply respecting her new boundaries? The questions swirled in her mind, each one more unsettling than the last. She longed for the comfort of his presence, his steady reassurance that everything would be okay.

  Amy turned on her side, her gaze falling on Rhysand's sleeping form. Despite the physical distance between them, she felt the invisible threads of their shared fate tightening around her. Rhysand had shown her glimpses of a more complex man than she had initially perceived, but his enigmatic nature only added to her uncertainty.

  As the night deepened, Amy's thoughts continued to chase themselves in circles, the silence of the room amplifying her doubts and fears. She clung to the hope that, in time, Richard would reach out to her, and they could find a way to bridge the gap that had formed between them.

  For now, all she could do was close her eyes and let the darkness of sleep claim her, praying that tomorrow would bring answers to the questions that haunted her heart.