Chapter 6 – The Name He Gave Her
Morning arrived quietly.
Soft, pale light slipped through the tall windows, filtering past velvet curtains and painting the room in gold and shadow. Amanda stirred slowly, her body heavy in the most unfamiliar way—not from pain, not from exhaustion, but from satisfaction.
She was still wrapped in his arms.
Authur's chest rose and fell steadily behind her, warm and solid, his arm draped securely around her waist as if even in sleep he refused to let her drift too far. His palm rested low on her stomach, fingers relaxed but possessive. She could feel the heat of him at her back, the steady rhythm of his breathing against her shoulder.
For a moment, she didn't move.
Didn't think.
Just… existed.
Then awareness seeped in.
She glanced at the clock on the bedside table.
5:02 AM.
Of course.
She almost laughed quietly to herself.
Of course I'd wake up at five. Years of survival had wired her that way. Poor people woke up before the sun because they had to. Because buses didn't wait. Because managers didn't care. Because life didn't care.
She carefully lifted his arm, but he instinctively tightened it in response, pulling her closer in his sleep.
Amanda froze.
Then slowly—carefully—she relaxed back against him.
He won't wake till six… maybe seven, she thought. Rich people shit.
Her lips twitched faintly.
Carefully, she turned her head just enough to look at him.
Really look at him.
In sleep, Authur looked younger. The sharpness of his usual expression softened. His crimson eyes were hidden behind long pale lashes. His lips, usually curved into knowing smirks or calm authority, rested slightly parted. His hair—white like moonlight—fell messily across his forehead.
He was breathtaking.
Young.
Unfairly handsome.
Mesmerizing.
Even unconscious, he radiated something powerful. Something untouchable.
Amanda's gaze traced the line of his jaw, the faint shadow where stubble would grow, the strength in his neck, the smooth slope of his shoulder disappearing beneath the sheets.
Twenty-six, she thought.
Her chest tightened.
And I'm thirty-two.
Six years.
Not a massive gap. But enough.
She swallowed, eyes lowering briefly.
She knew she was beautiful. She wasn't blind. She had curves most women paid for. Full breasts. Thick hips. A waist that curved inward just enough to be sinful. Even after everything she'd endured—bruises, insults, neglect—she had remained… striking.
But she also carried baggage.
Emotional scars.
A failed marriage.
Debt.
Humiliation.
Luggage.
Wouldn't a younger girl be easier? she wondered quietly. Someone fresh. Someone unbroken.
Her fingers brushed lightly against his arm, almost absentmindedly.
Why me?
The question settled deep.
She sighed softly, unable to see what this powerful man saw in her.
At exactly 6:00 AM, the alarm on the bedside table chimed softly.
Authur didn't jolt awake.
He stirred.
Slowly.
His brows shifted slightly before his eyes opened—those crimson eyes adjusting to the morning light. For a split second, he looked disoriented.
Then he felt her.
His arm tightened instantly, pulling her fully against his chest.
Before she could react, his hand slid up to her jaw, tilting her face toward him, and his lips pressed against hers in a slow, warm morning kiss.
Amanda gasped softly against his mouth.
The kiss wasn't demanding.
It wasn't rough.
It was intimate.
Possessive.
Unhurried.
When he pulled back, she was flushed from collarbone to cheeks.
"G-good morning," she muttered, voice barely audible.
He smiled faintly. "Morning."
He sat up slightly, back against the headboard, and without thinking, she followed—subconsciously pressing herself against his chest again as if she belonged there.
As if it were natural.
Authur noticed.
Of course he did.
His fingers slid into her hair, stroking slowly, thoughtfully.
"I believe your night was… enjoyable," he teased, voice smooth and low.
Her eyes widened.
"You're an idiot," she mumbled, though the blush creeping across her face betrayed her.
He laughed.
Not mockingly.
Not cruelly.
Genuinely.
The sound was warm, rich, almost boyish.
It startled her.
Then his expression shifted.
Calmer.
More serious.
"It's time you understand your role," he said.
Amanda stiffened slightly in his arms.
Her role.
The words felt heavy.
She lifted her gaze to meet his.
Those crimson eyes held her steadily.
"It's simple," he continued. "You are to be my wife. Loving. Caring. Loyal. Carrying my name with dignity."
Her heart skipped.
Wife.
He said it so casually.
"As long as you do that," he added, "everything here is yours. This house. The wealth. The influence. Use it however you please. Buy what you want. Change what you want. Spend as you wish."
Her breath caught.
"What?"
He shrugged lightly. "Material things mean little to me. If you uphold your end, they're yours."
She pulled back slightly to look at him properly.
He wasn't joking.
His expression was calm. Certain.
"Why?" she asked quietly.
He tilted his head slightly.
"Why what?"
"Why give me all that? Why… trust me?"
His gaze lingered on her face, studying her carefully.
"Because I don't choose lightly."
The words landed heavier than she expected.
Before she could respond, he continued.
"There's an event tonight."
She blinked.
"An event?"
"A corporate gala. Political investors. Influential names."
"And…?"
"I don't feel like attending."
Her brows furrowed.
"And what does that have to do with me?"
He smiled.
"You'll go in my place."
Silence.
"…What?"
"Alone."
Her stomach dropped.
"No guards?"
"No."
"No security?"
"You'll have a car."
"That's not what I meant."
He watched her reaction carefully.
"Just you," he said. "And my name."
Her pulse quickened.
"You're sending me alone… into a room full of powerful people?"
"Yes."
"And if something happens?"
He leaned closer slightly.
"Nothing will."
She studied him.
"You're confident."
"I'm certain."
The room felt smaller.
He brushed his thumb lightly over her cheek.
"How you conduct yourself tonight," he added calmly, "will determine something."
Her heart thudded.
"Determine what?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he leaned in and kissed her forehead softly.
"You'll understand when the time comes."
Her mind raced.
This wasn't random.
This was a test.
Of loyalty?
Of composure?
Of obedience?
Or something else entirely?
She searched his face for a crack, a hint of doubt, but found none.
Only that steady, calm authority.
"And if I refuse?" she asked quietly.
His eyes softened—but didn't waver.
"You won't."
Not a threat.
A statement.
Her chest tightened.
And the terrifying part?
He was right.
She wouldn't.
Because she wanted to prove something.
To him.
To herself.
That she wasn't just collateral.
Not just debt.
Not just a woman dragged from a broken life.
She straightened slightly.
"What should I wear?"
A slow smile curved his lips.
"That," he said smoothly, "has already been prepared."
Her pulse jumped again.
As if on cue, there was a gentle knock at the door.
The day had begun.
And tonight…
Would determine everything.
---
The end.....