Chapter 3 Games Of The Privileged

The sky above the Hawthorne estate was an eerie gray, as if even the heavens refused to look directly at this house.

Amelia stood by her window, her thoughts tangled in the events of the last forty-eight hours. She was still reeling-not from fear, but from the strange gravitational pull the brothers had on her. Leo with his damaged truths, and Julian with his immaculate lies. Both circling her like predators, both seeing something in her she hadn't fully uncovered in herself.

Downstairs, the house buzzed with activity.

It was the day of the quarterly gala hosted by the Hawthorne Foundation. A spectacle of wealth, influence, and manipulation dressed in diamonds and silk. And Amelia, by virtue of her position, would be right in the center of it.

By seven, she was in a black gown chosen by Victoria's stylist-sleek, sleeveless, with a slit high enough to make a statement. Her hair was swept back, makeup sharp enough to cut. She barely recognized the girl in the mirror.

"You clean up well," came Julian's voice from behind her.

She didn't turn. "I wasn't told I'd be expected to play dress-up."

"This isn't dress-up. This is war." He stepped beside her, straightening her shoulder. "You're on display now. What you say, what you wear, who you stand beside-everything means something."

"I don't like being used."

Julian smiled. "Then make yourself indispensable. No one throws away a weapon they need."

His words were ice, wrapped in charm. He offered his arm, and despite her instincts, she took it.

The gala was a masterpiece of luxury. Crystal chandeliers glistened above tables set with gold-trimmed china. Waiters moved like shadows, and soft classical music played beneath the polite lies exchanged by the city's elite.

Amelia stuck close to Victoria, absorbing names, faces, alliances. She was good at this. Listening. Observing. Reading people.

But then Leo arrived.

No tuxedo. No tie. Just a dark shirt rolled at the sleeves, and eyes that swept the room like he was hunting.

When he saw her on Julian's arm, his gaze sharpened into something feral.

"You brought her?" he said flatly.

"She's staff," Victoria replied without emotion.

"She's bait," Leo muttered.

Victoria sipped her champagne. "Everyone's something in this house. Even you."

Amelia excused herself before the tension shattered like glass.

She walked toward the terrace for air, stepping into the night. The garden outside was lit with warm fairy lights, the scent of roses drifting in the breeze.

But she wasn't alone.

Leo was already there, leaning against the stone railing, staring out at the shadows.

"You wear secrets well," he said without looking at her.

"You look like you're about to punch your way out of the evening."

"I've done it before."

Amelia stepped closer. "Why do you stay, Leo? With them. In this house."

He turned to face her, the edge in his eyes replaced by something rawer. "Because someone has to remember the truth."

"What truth?"

"That Julian isn't the golden boy they worship. That Victoria doesn't deserve the power she holds. That I was here long before either of them learned how to smile and stab in the same breath."

Amelia studied him. "You think you're the only honest one?"

"I think I'm the only one who doesn't pretend I'm good."

She laughed, quietly. "That's not honesty. That's bitterness."

Leo's mouth curved into something darker than a smile. "Maybe. But at least it's mine."

Their eyes locked again, something dangerous pulsing in the silence between them.

She was about to speak when Julian stepped onto the terrace.

"There you are," he said, too casually. "Mother wants Amelia back inside. The board members are asking about her."

Leo's jaw clenched. "You really are using her."

Julian ignored him. "Let's go, Amelia."

But she didn't move.

Leo took a step forward, as did Julian. The air turned electric.

"Stop treating her like a pawn," Leo said sharply.

"She knew what this was when she walked through the door," Julian replied, voice cool.

"No," Amelia said suddenly. "I didn't."

Both men turned to her.

"I walked in because I needed the job. I stayed because I wanted the truth. But I am no one's weapon. And if either of you thinks I can be pulled between you like a game of tug-of-war, you've already lost."

The silence that followed was thick with disbelief-and something else.

Respect. Just a flicker of it.

She turned and walked past both of them, reentering the gala like a storm.

Later that night, Amelia sat alone in the library. Not the hidden one Leo retreated to, but the curated version designed for show. She needed space. To breathe. To think.

Everything about this house was a lie. The glitter. The smiles. The family portrait on the wall, where Leo was carefully placed at the edge, like an afterthought.

She stared at it for a long time.

"You see it too," came a voice from the doorway.

Julian.

He moved slowly into the room, no mask now, no polished charm.

"I thought you'd be celebrating your latest political performance," Amelia said.

He chuckled once. "They think I'm predictable. That's why I'm dangerous."

"You keep calling yourself dangerous," she said, standing. "What are you really afraid of, Julian?"

His expression didn't change. But something in his eyes flickered.

"You."

The honesty hit her like a wave.

"Because I don't play by your rules?" she asked.

"No," he said softly. "Because you make me want to break mine."

Amelia's breath caught. It wasn't just words. It wasn't just power. There was something human in him tonight. Something real.

But before she could speak, he stepped closer.

"Don't fall for Leo," Julian said, his voice low. "He'll ruin you."

"Then why do you care?"

"Because if he doesn't... I will."

There it was. The warning wrapped in longing. The confession wrapped in control.

He reached out, fingers brushing hers.

And for one terrifying, thrilling moment... she let him.

But before anything could bloom, she stepped back.

"I'm not yours to protect. Or destroy."

Julian's jaw flexed. "Not yet."

Then he left.

And Amelia was alone again, the air around her still trembling with the words left unsaid.

In the dead of night, a soft knock came at her door.

She opened it to find Leo, hair mussed, shirt undone at the collar. He looked like he hadn't slept in weeks.

"I can't stop thinking about you," he said.

Her heart raced. "You should."

"I've tried."

She didn't move. "What do you want from me?"

He stepped closer, until his shadow kissed hers.

"Everything."

Amelia stood frozen as his hand reached up and gently cupped her jaw.

"I hate this house," he whispered. "But you... you make it feel alive again."

She should've pushed him away. She should've told him to leave.

But instead, she whispered, "Then show me something real."

He kissed her.

Not gently. Not carefully. But like a man breaking open.

And she let him.

For that one fleeting, reckless moment-they were not Hawthorne and outsider. Not forgotten son and hired help.

Just two people, colliding in the ruins of a kingdom built on lies.