Chapter 4
Amelia
When I arrived at the hospital, I instinctively hid the ring in my pocket and tucked the documents under the medical records before changing.
I mechanically checked the incision site on my post-op patient, noting the healthy healing process while my mind drifted to the surreal events of the morning.
"Dr. Thompson, don't you think this patient's drainage tube needs changing?"
Jenny's voice snapped me back to reality. I blinked, focusing on the tube I'd been absentmindedly staring at for the past minute.
"Yes, absolutely. Please prepare fresh dressings and monitor for temperature changes," I said, trying to sound like I'd been considering it all along. Jenny gave me a knowing look that said she wasn't buying it.
After finishing rounds, I retreated to my office, collapsing into my chair. I'd nearly missed something obvious during patient care. This marriage distraction was already affecting my work, and it had been less than twelve hours since I'd signed those papers.
I pulled out my phone to find six missed calls and a string of texts from Olivia:
[How did the hearing go?]
[Amy, call me back ASAP!]
[Did you win? Is your dad still being an asshole?]
[I swear if you don't answer I'm coming over there.]
[That's it. I'm on my way.]
The last message had come just ten minutes ago. I rubbed my temples, feeling a migraine building. Before I could call her back, my office door burst open.
Olivia stood in the doorway, designer sunglasses pushed up into her red hair, and a concerned expression that made her look more like my worried mother than my best friend.
"Amy, what the hell? Why aren't you answering your phone? How did the hearing go?" She rushed over, dropping her oversized bag on my desk.
I stood up and hugged her, suddenly grateful for her dramatic entrance. "It was... complicated. But I won—for now at least."
Olivia pulled back, studying my face with the intensity she usually reserved for analyzing film scripts. "Wait a minute. Last time we talked, you said the only way to keep your inheritance was to get married." Her eyes narrowed. "Now suddenly you've secured it? Something doesn't add up."
I avoided her gaze, busying myself with organizing the patient files on my desk. "Like I said, it's complicated..."
"Amelia," she said, perching on the edge of my desk, "did you actually get married?"
I winced. "William arranged it. He said it was the only way to protect the inheritance. The other party had their own reasons, and it's just temporary."
"So you literally married a complete stranger?" Olivia's voice rose an octave.
"Keep your voice down," I hissed, unconsciously straightening the documents in my hand.
She directly snatched the document from my hand, causing an official paper to slip out of the folder and fall to the floor.
Olivia bent to help, but froze when she saw what it was. "This is... a marriage certificate? Amelia Thompson and Ethan Black?" Her eyes widened to comic proportions.
My stomach dropped. I lunged forward, trying to snatch the paper, but Olivia stepped back. "Olivia, you didn't see anything."
"Holy shit, Amy!" She whispered, her face pale. "Do you have any idea who you just married?"
I gestured frantically for her to lower her voice. "Please, nobody can know about this."
Olivia leaned in, her voice barely audible. "Ethan Black? The Ethan Black of Black Investment Group?"
"Yes." I reluctantly admitted.
"They call him the 'Ice Prince' in business circles. He rarely appears in public." Olivia's expression was deadly serious. "The Blacks don't do charity, Amy. If they're helping you, they want something in return."
I sank back into my chair, recalling the cold, calculated way Ethan had handled everything. "I was only focused on protecting my mother's estate. I didn't think about what Black's family might want."
I grabbed Olivia's hands, squeezing them tightly. "Liv, I signed a strict confidentiality agreement." I looked at her earnestly. " I know you hate secrets, but I need you to promise me you won't tell anyone."
Olivia nodded solemnly. "I swear I won't say a word. But Amy, be careful. Ethan Black isn't just anyone."
I gave her a bitter smile. "Right now, I'm just hoping to keep my mother's inheritance safe."
Checking the time on my phone, I felt another wave of anxiety. "I'm supposed to move in with him tonight..."
"What?" Olivia nearly shouted. "You're living together? Amy, this is dangerous! You know nothing about him! What if—"
My phone pinged with a text from Michael containing an Upper East Side address. A luxury penthouse. Of course.
"It's done, Liv. No going back now." I showed her the address.
"Jesus," she whispered. "That's one of the most exclusive buildings in Manhattan."
At 10 PM, I stood on the sidewalk outside the imposing building, a small suitcase in hand, feeling completely out of place. The security guard eyed me suspiciously as I approached.
"Can I help you, miss?" His tone suggested I had no business being there.
"I'm here to see... I mean, I'm supposed to be moving in with Ethan Black." The words felt foreign on my tongue.
The guard's expression didn't change. "Mr. Black hasn't authorized any visitors."
Before I could argue, a familiar figure appeared—Michael, Ethan's assistant.
"Dr. Thompson, I apologize for the confusion." He nodded to the guard. "She's expected."
The guard looked skeptical but stepped aside. Michael took my suitcase and led me to a private elevator.
"Mr. Black typically returns late," he explained as we entered. "Mrs. Hopkins is the housekeeper. If you need anything, she can assist you."
A stern-looking older woman was arranging flowers in the entryway. She looked me up and down, her gaze lingering disapprovingly on my jeans and sneakers.
"You're the new... Mrs. Black?" Her tone held unmistakable skepticism.
"Yes, I'm Amelia Thompson," I said, deliberately keeping my maiden name.
"Mr. Black typically doesn't appreciate... casual attire," she said with a sniff.
After Michael left, Mrs. Hopkins suddenly remembered urgent duties elsewhere in the apartment, leaving me alone.
Rather than feeling offended by her cold reception, I was relieved. The last thing I wanted was forced small talk with someone who clearly disapproved of me.
I explored the apartment, choosing the guest room farthest from what appeared to be the master bedroom. Unpacking my meager belongings into the cavernous closet made me acutely aware of how little I'd brought—just enough clothes for a few days and basic toiletries.
Making a mental shopping list—toothbrush, shampoo, coffee, simple groceries—I decided to find a nearby store. Better to keep busy than sit around this sterile museum of an apartment.
At Midnight, I returned with shopping bags, assuming Ethan wouldn't be home yet. The apartment was dark, and I fumbled along the wall for a light switch.
When the lights finally came on, I gasped. Ethan sat in a leather armchair, a glass of whiskey in hand, watching me with cold intensity.
Startled, I dropped my bags. The contents spilled across the immaculate floor—toothpaste rolling one way, a box of tampons another, and my shampoo bottles clattering loudly in the silence.
Ethan's eyes moved from my flushed face to the mess, his expression unreadable. "First day, and you're already turning the place upside down."
Great start to married life.