The Debt Bride

Chapter Twenty-Two

  Later that morning, Amy wandered through the grand halls of Rhysand's mansion, a place that still felt more like an opulent labyrinth than a home. Each room she passed was adorned with luxurious furnishings and intricate artwork, yet the cold splendor did little to ease the sense of displacement she felt.

  At their room, she found her belongings neatly arranged. Her clothes, books, and personal items had been brought over from her old home, blending into the elegant decor like pieces of a different puzzle.

  Amy walked over to the dresser, her fingers brushing over the familiar textures of her things. There was her favorite sweater, the one she wore on chilly evenings while reading by the fire. There was the photo of her and her father, framed in a simple wooden frame, a snapshot of happier times. The sight of it made her chest tighten with a mix of nostalgia and longing.

  She turned and noticed Rhysand standing in the doorway with a bunch of papers, his eyes observing her quietly. He stepped inside, his presence filling the room with an air of quiet authority.

"I had your things brought here," he said simply, his voice carrying a note of consideration.

"I thought it might make you feel more at home."

Amy nodded, "Thanks Mr. Rhysand" she replied softly, her voice devoid of warmth.

  Rhysand moved closer, his gaze following her as she adjusted a few items on the dresser. "I want you to be comfortable here, Amy. This is your home now, too."

Amy looked up at him, searching his eyes for any sign of insincerity but finding none.

"For two years?", she asked.

He moved his gaze with a sigh.

"I was trying to make you feel comfortable...", he told but she never took time to respond.

  Despite the circumstances that had brought them together, there was a genuine desire in Rhysand to make this work, to bridge the gap between their worlds.

"I'm not in the position to feel ease or happy at you," she said, her tone polite but distant. "And I don't want any kind of relationship with you or with this house "

Rhysand nodded in understanding. "I know. But..."

  Without he could finish his words she left the place. Amy found solace in arranging her room, infusing it with small touches of her personality. She hung up her clothes, organized her books, and set out a few cherished mementos. Each act, though small, was a step toward making this new place feel like home.

  By evening, the room had transformed. It was still a part of Rhysand's mansion, it's still his room, but it now bore the unmistakable mark of Amy's presence. It had another cupboard holding his clothes. She stood back and surveyed her handiwork, feeling a faint sense of accomplishment.

Rhysand appeared again, this time with a faint smile.

"It looks nice," he remarked, nodding in approval.

  Amy remained silent, her expression unmoved. She turned away, her eyes lingering on the photo of her and her father. The distance between them felt palpable, a chasm that neither of them seemed able to bridge at the moment.

Rhysand sighed softly, the faint smile fading from his lips.

"I'll let you rest," he said quietly before leaving the room.

  As the door closed behind him, Amy sat on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped in her lap. The room was now filled with her things, but it still felt empty. She couldn't shake the feeling of being a stranger in a place that was supposed to be her home.

  The weight of her new reality pressed down on her, and for the first time since she arrived, Amy allowed herself to cry. Silent tears slipped down her cheeks, a release of the pent-up emotions that had been building since the day she married Rhysand.

  In the quiet of her room, Amy grappled with the enormity of the changes in her life. She missed her old home, her father, and the simple routines that had once brought her comfort. And as she wiped away her tears, she started to count the days.