Chapter 6 Amelia
Iknew something was off about Dominic Hawthorne.
It was in the way he carried himself—always poised, always controlled—as if nothing could touch him. But beneath that composure was something else, something guarded.
And now, the evidence was sitting right in front of me.
The documents weren’t just misfiled reports or corporate memos. They bore the royal crest of Petrovia, sealed in wax, stamped with the kind of formality that hinted at centuries-old power.
And they had been left here, in my office.
Like an unanswered question.
I sit at my desk, my heart thudding as I stare at them. Should I open them? The ethical part of me screams no.
But the woman inside me—the one still reeling from his near-confession, from the way his voice had dropped when he admitted things weren’t simple—wants to know.
A knock at the door startles me.
I shove the documents into my drawer and clear my throat. "Come in."
Lila, one of the junior compliance officers, peeks her head in. "Dr. Grant, Mr. Hawthorne asked if you could meet him in his office after the compliance briefing. Something about reviewing extended operational hours."
I exhale slowly.
Of course he did.
"Tell him I’ll be there," I reply, nodding.
The moment she leaves, I pull open the drawer, glancing at the sealed documents one last time before shutting them away.
Whatever Dominic is hiding, I need answers.
By the time the compliance briefing ends, my head pounds from an overload of technical jargon and endless questions.
The last thing I need is a one-on-one with Dominic.
But here I am.
Standing outside his glass-walled office, willing my nerves to settle.
I knock, and before I even hear him answer, I see he’s already looking up from his desk.
"Come in."
The atmosphere shifts the second I step inside. The city lights behind him cast long shadows across the room, and for a moment, I swear the exhaustion in his expression isn’t just from work—it’s from something heavier.
Something personal.
"You needed me?" I keep my tone neutral.
"Yes." He gestures toward the chair across from him. "Sit."
I hesitate.
But I do as he asks.
"Lila said this was about extended hours?"
He leans back, studying me.
"That was just an excuse."
I freeze.
"An excuse for what?"
"To talk to you alone."
The words send a shiver down my spine, but I mask it.
"Dominic, if this is about?—"
"I know you found them."
My breath catches.
"What?"
His jaw tightens. "The documents."
I should deny it, pretend I don’t know what he’s talking about.
But I can’t.
Not when the weight of them still lingers in my thoughts.
"They were left in my office," I say carefully. "I didn’t look."
His lips press together. "But you wanted to."
Silence.
I don’t answer.
I don’t have to.
He sighs, dragging a hand down his face. "I didn’t mean for you to find them. That was a mistake. But maybe—maybe it’s time."
"Time for what?" My voice softens.
"To stop running from whatever this is?"
His eyes flick to mine. And for the first time, I see it—fear.
Not of me.
Of this.
"You think you know me, Amelia," he murmurs. "You think I’m just some billionaire with too many walls and a bad attitude. But what you don’t know is that my life isn’t entirely my own."
The words hang between us, heavy and unspoken.
"Then tell me," I whisper. "Tell me what you’re so afraid of."
His throat works, but before he can answer, my phone buzzes against the desk.
A reminder for our upcoming compliance audit.
A harsh return to reality.
I stand, regaining my composure.
"We have work to do." I force my voice to remain steady. "If you want to talk, really talk, then you know where to find me."
I turn to leave, but just before I reach the door, his voice stops me.
"There’s a dinner."
I freeze.
"A practice royal dinner."
I spin around. "What?"
His expression is unreadable. "It’s an event I have to host—something my father arranged before he left Petrovian affairs in my hands. I need someone who sees through the performance. Someone who won’t let me play the part without questioning it."
My pulse spikes.
"And you think that person is me?"
He doesn’t hesitate. "I know it is."
For the first time, I feel the full weight of his world pressing against mine.
And I don’t know if I’m ready for it.
The next evening, I stand in front of a boutique, staring at my reflection in the glass.
I should walk away.
I should turn around and forget about all of this.
But I don’t.
Instead, I step inside.
A soft-spoken attendant greets me, her eyes widening slightly when I mention Dominic’s name.
"Ah, yes. He left instructions for you. Right this way."
My heart hammers as she leads me into a private fitting room.
The dress waiting for me is breathtaking.
Deep emerald silk.
Elegant. Bold.
He thought of this.
Of me.
Moments later, I step out, smoothing my hands over the fabric, and find Dominic waiting just beyond the dressing area.
His gaze darkens as he takes me in, something flickering in his expression I can’t quite name.
"You look…" His voice drops, just a hint. "Perfect."
Heat rises in my chest, but I push it down.
"Is this part of the performance?"
"Maybe," he admits. "But if it is, you’re the only part that feels real."
I don’t know how to respond to that, so I don’t.
Instead, I let the moment settle between us, let the weight of his words wrap around me as the lines between duty and desire blur just a little more.
The driver arrives minutes later to take us to the estate. The ride is silent, yet charged.
My nerves mount as the city fades behind us, replaced by sprawling grounds and an intimidating entrance.
The gates open before us, a portal into his world.
He must sense my hesitation because his fingers brush against mine—the touch brief but grounding.
"You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to."
I inhale deeply. "I’ll stay."
His lips quirk, almost approvingly, before he steps out, offering his hand to help me.
I take it, ignoring the way my pulse jumps at the contact.
Because this isn’t just dinner.
It’s the first step into something I’m not sure either of us is ready for.