Chapter 9 THIS ISN'T ABOUT FEELINGS OR ROMANCE

Chapter 9

This wasn't her room anymore. The soft pick coloured walls she had chosen herself were now painted over in a stark white, and the delicate pink furniture she had grown up with was gone. In its place was a cold, modern layout, minimalistic, clinical even. It looked like a hotel room, not a space filled with memories.

For a moment, she just stood there, her gaze scanning the room, trying to process what she was seeing. Her chest tightened, and her stomach churned. This room was the only memory of her mom that remained. Her dad had redecorated the entire house, because he said they reminded him of her mother. Of course at then she found it ridiculous, she still does.

The changes made to her room wasn't just a redesign. It was erasure. Everything that had once made this room hers was gone.

"Sarah!" she called out sharply, her voice echoing down the hall. It wasn't a request; it was a command.

Within seconds, Sarah came running, her hands nervously clutching the edge of her uniform. "Yes, Miss Mia," she said quickly, out of breath.

"What happened to my room?" Mia asked, her voice firm, though the anger simmering beneath her words was hard to miss. She struggled to keep her tone even, but the betrayal cut deep.

Sarah hesitated, her hands wringing together as her eyes darted around nervously. "It was... the new madam, miss. She said we should move all your things to the other room."

Mia's fingers curled into fists at her sides. The "new madam." That ridiculous woman sitting downstairs in her glittering dress, acting like she owned the place. Her blood boiled. "And my dad?" she demanded, her voice sharper now.

"He... he said we should do whatever she wants," Sarah stammered. "He said he doesn't want any complaints from her."

The words hit Mia like a slap in the face. Her father had let this happen. He had let that woman take over her room, her space, her sanctuary. How could he? Did he have no respect for her? For her mother? The ache in her chest turned into a fiery rage, burning hotter with every second.

Mia shot Sarah a hard look, one that made the poor housekeeper look like she was about to faint. Not wanting to snap any further and risk saying something she'd regret, Mia pointed toward the door. "Get out," she said curtly, her tone laced with anger. She knew if she doesn't dismiss her now, she might actually end up forgetting her palm on Sarah's face.

Sarah didn't argue. She bolted from the room, her footsteps disappearing down the hall.

Mia exhaled sharply, pulling her phone out of her bag. Her hands trembled slightly as she dialed her father's number. It rang once, twice, and then went to voicemail. She redialed. Again, voicemail. She tried over and over, but the result was the same each time.

"Unbelievable," she muttered, throwing her phone onto the bed, no, not her bed. This wasn't her bed. Her bed was probably sitting in some dusty storage room now, discarded like the rest of her things. For years she had refused changing her bed, even when her dad had insisted countless times.

Her gaze swept the room again, and she felt the tears threatening to sting her eyes. But she refused to cry. Not here. Not over this. Her mother wouldn't want her to cry, she needs to be strong. For herself, for her mother. She had come here for one reason and one reason only, to pack up her things and leave this house behind for good.

Mia grabbed the nearest suitcase, throwing it open on the bed. She yanked open the wardrobe, relieved to see that at least her clothes hadn't been thrown out, though they'd been shoved to the side, crammed in next to boxes of God-knows-what. She started grabbing everything, stuffing it into her suitcase with more force than necessary.

............

Stefan just finished finalizing a deal, another triumph added to his growing list of accomplishments. But as he stepped into his office and closed the door behind him, the weight of reality settled over him. He walked to his desk, pulling off the mask he wore in public. The mask that hid his connection to "D Enterprise."

The world knew him as Stefan Sterling, the sharp and calculated businessman. But no one, not his father, nor his rivals, knew he was the man behind D Enterprise.

He let his fingers trail along the edge of the desk as he settled into his chair. D Enterprise had been his creation, his escape, his legacy. Naming it after his mother had been his quiet rebellion against everything his father stood for. Jeremiah Sterling had built his empire on power and dominance, but Stefan wanted none of it. His mother, Diane, had been the only softness in his childhood, the only light in a world overshadowed by his father's ruthlessness. The only mistake she made was loving the wrong person. This company was hers in every way that mattered.

He slumped into his chair, his gaze drifting to the city skyline outside his window. His mind wasn't on the deal he had just closed, nor on the empire he had built. It was on Mia. His wife.

He leaned back, rubbing his temples as the events of the past twenty-four hours played out in his mind. He still couldn't believe it, not the marriage itself, but the sheer audacity of it. Mia had suggested the arrangement last night, and he'd agreed. No hesitation, no second-guessing. It was practical, efficient, and mutually beneficial. Exactly how he preferred things to be.

But that didn't mean it wasn't complicated. Mia was Samuel Meyers' daughter. Samuel and Jeremiah had been rivals for as long as he could remember, each trying to outdo the other, always locked in a battle for control. Stefan didn't know how or why it had started, and he didn't care. He had stopped caring about anything related to his father years ago. The contract marriage wasn't just about them, it was about creating something new. Something independent, providing their capabilities.

And Mia? She was bold, clever, and just as determined as he was. He didn't love her, and she didn't love him, but they shared a mutual understanding. This wasn't about feelings or romance. This was about strategy.

A knock at the door pulled Stefan from his thoughts. Mose entered, his calm and efficient demeanor as steady as ever. Behind him was an older man holding a black case with the kind of care reserved for priceless treasures.

"They're here, sir," Mose said, stepping aside to let the man approach.