Chapter 1

The old Charleston money felt heavy in the air, even in the small, hidden apartment Ethan Vance kept for me, his secret wife.

One year.

One year of being Amelia Hayes, chef with paused dreams, and Amelia Vance, a name no one knew.

Ethan said it was to protect me.

His family, the Vances, were powerful. Shipping, politics, a name carved into the city's stone.

They wouldn't approve of me. My family, the Hayes, had a small, old business rivalry with a Vance ancestor. A silly, generations-old slight, but to them, it mattered.

So, we were a secret. His secret.

Cassandra Thorne, Ethan' s stepmother, his father' s young widow, found out.

She was beautiful, like a perfect, cold statue. And sharp.

She summoned me to the main Vance mansion, a place I' d only seen from the outside.

Her voice was smooth, like poisoned honey, when she laid out her challenge.

"So, Amelia," Cassie said, a small, cruel smile on her lips. "You actually married him."

I stood there, heart pounding. How did she know?

"Ethan is... sensitive. He needs guidance."

She walked around me, like a predator circling.

"You have twelve months, Amelia. Twelve months to make Ethan acknowledge you. Publicly. As his wife. His real wife."

My breath caught.

"If you succeed," she continued, her eyes glittering, "then perhaps you're not as insignificant as I thought."

"And if I fail?" I managed to ask, my voice barely a whisper.

Cassie stopped in front of me, her smile widening. "Oh, you'll sign these."

She produced a set of papers. Divorce papers. "Already drafted. A discreet settlement. You disappear."

I tried to argue, to say our marriage was real, that Ethan loved me.

But her gaze was like ice. She cut me off.

"Don't be naive, dear. This is how it is. Do you agree to the terms?"

My hope, my desperate love for Ethan, made me stupid. I wanted to believe I could win.

"Yes," I said. A failure, right there. I agreed to her cruel game.

After Cassie dismissed me, the house felt cold, oppressing.

I needed to talk to Ethan, to understand how much Cassie controlled.

I found him in the study, Cassie by his side. She was touching his arm, whispering.

He looked up, saw my distress, but his face remained smooth, polished.

"Amelia," he said, his voice calm, too calm. "Cassie has been explaining a few things. About family expectations."

He didn't defend me. He didn't question Cassie.

He was already siding with her, or at least, not against her.

My worst fears started to solidify. Cassie had him.

Cassie glided over, the divorce papers still in her hand. She pressed them into mine.

"A little reminder of our understanding, Amelia. Twelve months."

The paper felt heavy, a symbol of my potential defeat.

She looked from me to Ethan, a triumphant glint in her eye.

She was asserting her dominance, and I, by holding those papers, was acknowledging it.

My "yes" to her deal echoed in my mind. Defeat.

I clutched the papers, my mind racing back.

Ethan. I remembered the first time I saw him.

At a small Charleston food festival. I had a booth, showcasing my cooking.

He was charming, handsome, with that old-money polish. He tasted my shrimp and grits, his eyes lighting up.

He' d pursued me, made me feel like the only woman in the world.

I fell hard.

Then, the complications. His family. The secrecy.

And Cassie. His high school sweetheart. The one who married his much older father, Bartholomew Vance.

Now Bartholomew was dead, and Cassie was the grieving young widow.

But her eyes, when she looked at Ethan, weren't grieving. They were possessive.

She was his stepmother, but the air between them crackled with something else. Something old, and not quite buried. A forbidden desire, maybe, on her part at least.

This past year, our secret marriage, it was a lonely one.

Ethan was often distant, emotionally and physically.

"We have to be careful, Amy," he'd say. "For your sake. Until the time is right."

Broken promises. He' d promised a small, intimate dinner for our six-month anniversary. He canceled. Cassie needed him.

He' d promised to tell his closest friends. He never did.

My ambitions as a chef were on hold. My life was on hold. Waiting for him.

His Patek Philippe watch, his late father's, was a constant presence on his wrist. Cassie had influenced his father to buy it for Ethan. It felt like a symbol of her enduring hold on him, a chain to the past he couldn't break.

Now, with Cassie's challenge hanging over me, the pressure intensified.

That evening, after the disastrous meeting, I tried to reach out to Ethan.

I put on the dress he once said he liked. I made his favorite dinner.

He came back to our apartment late. He barely touched the food.

"You're trying too hard, Amelia," he said, his voice cool, distant. "It's unbecoming."

The words cut deep. It was a direct quote from the future Cassie would orchestrate, but it was already his way.

He was already echoing the coldness the Vance family represented, the coldness Cassie cultivated in him.

This was the man I had twelve months to win.

A wave of dread washed over me.

This wasn't just about family disapproval. This was about Ethan. His weakness. His inability to stand up for me, for us.

The twelve-month timeline Cassie had given me felt less like an opportunity and more like a countdown to my departure.

But I wasn't ready for self-liberation yet. Not then.

I pushed the dread down. I had to try. I loved him.

I would fight for him, for our marriage.

Even if it felt like I was already standing on a battlefield, disarmed, with the enemy holding all the weapons.

The acceptance of Cassie's terms was a defeat, yes, but I twisted it into a grim determination. I would use these twelve months.