The Debt Bride

Chapter Twenty-One

  The first light of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow across the room. Amy stirred, the unfamiliar luxury of the bed momentarily disorienting her. As she sat up, memories of the previous day washed over her, a mix of emotions stirring within.

  Determined to find some semblance of normalcy, Amy quietly slipped out of the room and made her way to the kitchen. The mansion's vastness seemed even more pronounced in the early morning silence, its grandeur both intimidating and isolating.

  The kitchen, however, felt like a refuge. It was spacious and well-equipped, a testament to the household's affluence, yet it held a warmth that reminded her of simpler times. Amy found herself drawn to the familiar routine of preparing breakfast, seeking solace in the rhythm of chopping vegetables and mixing ingredients.

  As she reached for a pan, she heard footsteps approaching. Rhysand appeared in the doorway, his presence commanding even in the early hours. He watched her for a moment, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before he spoke.

"You don't need to do that," Rhysand said gently, his voice breaking the quiet. "The servants will take care of the meals."

Amy paused, her hand hovering over the stove. "I'm used to cooking," she replied softly. "At home, I always cooked, or my father did."

  Rhysand stepped closer, his gaze softening as he regarded her. "I understand," he said. "But here, you don't have to worry about such things. Let the staff handle it. You should take some time for yourself."

  Amy looked down at the ingredients spread out before her, a pang of longing tugging at her heart. Cooking had always been a way for her to care for her father, to create a sense of home in the midst of their struggles. It was a connection to a past that now felt achingly distant.

  Reluctantly, she set the pan down and turned to face Rhysand. "I just wanted to feel... useful," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Rhysand nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I understand that too," he said quietly. "But there are other ways to find purpose here."

  For a moment, they stood in silence, the unspoken understanding between them deepening. Rhysand's unexpected kindness was a small comfort amidst the uncertainty of her new life, a reminder that perhaps, beneath his imposing exterior, there was a man capable of compassion.

  With a sigh, Amy stepped back from the counter, allowing the kitchen staff to take over. As she followed Rhysand out of the room, she couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope—hope that, in time, she might find her place in this new world, and that the man she had married might become more than just a stranger bound by circumstance.

  The next morning, Rhysand gathered the cooking staff and explained the new arrangement. The staff, loyal and respectful, nodded and began their new tasks in the gardens. Meanwhile, Amy took over the kitchen with a newfound enthusiasm, turning it into a haven of creativity and comfort.