Chapter 14 #2
The bad feeling in my gut grows stronger, twisting like a knife. This setup, the forced smiles, the orchestrated applause—none of it feels right. It’s like watching a play where everyone’s following a script except for us.
My gaze finally lands on Amelia as she approaches the dais with Daniel, her expression strained but composed, like a porcelain doll about to crack.
Mr. Stanley continues, “Additionally, the Bancroft family will also donate a substantial amount to the charity. We are immensely grateful for their support.”
More polite applause fills the room as Daniel and Amelia rise to join them, the sound grating on my nerves. To anyone paying close attention, it’s clear that Daniel is half-dragging Amelia along, his fingers digging into her arm.
Motherfucker.
Oliver leans closer. “What is this about?”
Misha murmurs back, “I hope it’s not what I think it is…”
Anxiety radiates off Amelia in waves—the tension in her posture, the way her eyes dart around the room like a trapped animal searching for escape.
Looking for us?
She’s uncomfortable. That much is painfully clear.
Mr. Stanley places a hand on her shoulder in a possessive and controlling gesture that only heightens my irritation. Daniel stands beside her, his smirk as smug as ever. August appears resigned, his eyes betraying a sadness that doesn’t match the celebration.
I catch Misha’s eye, and we share a look of understanding. Something is off, terribly off, and we need to be ready for whatever comes next.
Amelia’s father lets go of her and raises his glass again, signaling for more attention. “Tonight, we also celebrate the unity of the Stanley and Bancroft families.”
My blood runs cold.
Daniel pulls Amelia close by her waist. She looks up at him with a frown, trying to step out of his hold without much fuss, but he doesn’t let her go. His grip remains firm, and the fabric of her dress bunches up where he holds her too tightly.
I’m going to fucking kill him.
Clenching my teeth so hard I fear they might crack, my hands ball into fists at my sides. Beside me, Oliver mutters dangerously, “I should have pummeled his head in. Doesn’t he get that she doesn’t want him?”
“He’s fact-resistant, it seems,” I mutter, the sarcasm barely masking my fury.
“What do we do?” Misha asks.
Amelia’s father speaks once more, his voice brimming with pride.
“It is with great pleasure that I announce the engagement of Daniel Percival Bancroft and my daughter, Amelia Charlotte Stanley. The union will further solidify the bond between our families. The Bancrofts have been esteemed family friends for generations, and now we can officially call them family.”
Holy shit, they actually did that.
Amelia is frozen, her eyes grow wide, the color drains from her cheeks, and her breath comes in shallow, panicked gasps.
“She didn’t agree to this, did she?” Oliver’s voice is laced with worry.
No way.
Misha shakes his head, his jaw clenched. “Of course not. You heard her earlier. She promised.”
Come on, baby, tell them.
Tell them to fuck off.
Amelia’s father drones on about the upcoming wedding, but it’s just background noise to the turmoil brewing inside me. My focus is fixed on Amelia, who starts shaking her head and mouthing, No, no, no.
Fuck this shit.
“That’s it. I’m going to get her,” I announce, standing abruptly.
My chair screeches against the floor, the sound cutting through the murmur of the crowd.
I weave through the tables, my steps heavy and resolute.
Misha and Oliver copy me, their footsteps echoing mine, while every pair of eyes follows us as we march toward Amelia, gasps and whispers rippling through the room.
When Amelia sees us, her eyes fill with tears of relief. She takes a step forward, reaching out to us, but Daniel grabs her wrist, holding her back. She turns, tugging at her wrist, but he hisses something to her just as I reach the dais.
I catch his last words. “… play your fucking part.”
I come to stand next to her, glaring at Daniel with all the fury I can muster. “Let her go, or we’ll whoop your ass in front of all these posh people.”
Daniel releases her like the coward he is, sneering at us. “You’re ruining everything.”
Misha steps forward, his tone icy enough to freeze hell itself. “Fuck off.”
“What is the meaning of this?” Mr. Stanley demands.
Oliver steps in front of me, his voice filled with a conviction I’ve never heard from him before. “The meaning is that you’ve reached the last straw. Amelia is done being treated like a possession without a will of her own. Wanting to marry her off as if she’s cattle? Do better.”
His words hang heavy in the air, stirring the crowd into a murmur of confusion and scandal. Misha and I exchange a glance with raised eyebrows, but now is not the time to be proud of Oliver.
Amelia’s mother shoots me a quick glare before she adopts a serene, almost theatrical smile.
“Dear guests,” she begins, her voice resonating with cultivated grace.
“It appears we have encountered a minor... misunderstanding.” She gestures vaguely as if to brush away the issue with a mere flick of her hand.
“Our daughter seems a bit... overwhelmed by the sheer excitement of the evening,” Her chuckle is light, but its forced quality is evident, the sound barely conceals her distress.
“Ah… but isn’t it just so characteristic of our spirited young ladies?
Always adding a touch of drama to any occasion. ”
Her attempt at levity rings hollow, and the crowd’s murmurs grow steadily louder.
I turn my focus back to where it should be and cup Amelia’s face, leaning in to look into her eyes.
They’re wide and scared, like a deer caught in headlights.
“Are you okay?” She still seems frozen, her eyes unblinking.
“Ready to leave?” All she gives me is a small nod, but that’s enough.
“Good girl. You can punish me later for this.” Without hesitation, I crouch down, lifting her over my shoulder, and grab her thighs securely.
As I straighten up, I turn to the audience, giving them a clear view of what’s happening as I slap her ass firmly.
The sharp sound of the slap echoes through the room, drawing a collective gasp from the crowd before we make our way down to the tables.
Misha strides ahead of us while Oliver follows closely, forming a protective barrier around us.
With a devilish grin, Misha waves to the crowd, his words dripping with sarcasm. “Bye, everyone. We’ll donate something for the cause online.”
“You can’t just take her!” Mr. Stanley’s voice is almost panicked, but it’s too late.
I turn to see Oliver spin around, yelling over the noise, “Watch us!”
The crowd’s murmurs swell into a cacophony of whispers, then a soft giggle comes from behind my back, a sweet sound of relief that warms my heart.
She’s going to be fine.
We reach the entrance to the ballroom, where James holds the door open with a smile. “Mr. Misha, Mr. Grey, Mr. Oliver… Amelia.”
Once we’re all outside, Misha turns back to the entrance, giving a final wave. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, folks!”
We’ve rescued her from the lion’s den.
Now it’s time to take her home.