Rosie shut the door behind her and leaned against it, her chest rising and falling fast.
Silence pressed in immediately.
The room was too quiet, too large, too perfect—like a place meant to swallow secrets whole. She pushed away from the door and began pacing, barefoot against the polished floor, her mind replaying every word, every glance, every calculated smile from earlier.
Amelia's voice echoed in her head.
Temporary.
Rosie stopped suddenly, her fingers curling into fists.
"So bold of you," she muttered bitterly. "So confident."
She crossed the room and yanked open the curtains, letting the fading sunlight flood in. The garden below was immaculate—trimmed hedges, perfect symmetry, nothing out of place.
Just like the people in this house.
Except her.
She turned away sharply, resuming her pacing.
She hadn't even settled into this place, hadn't memorized the rules properly, hadn't learned how to breathe within the Watts walls—and already someone was circling her like prey.
Amelia.
The audacity of it burned.
Rosie stopped in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection. The elegant clothes, the styled hair,it all looked convincing. Too convincing.
"Trying to devour me before I even understand where I stand," she said aloud. "Bold move."
Her jaw tightened.
"What gives her the right?" Rosie snapped, spinning away from the mirror. "Best friend? Childhood companion? That gives her permission to humiliate me?"
She dragged a hand through her hair, frustration crackling beneath her skin.
Then she turned sharply toward the phone on the side table.
She picked it up.
"Call Mrs. Smith," Rosie said to no one in particular.
Minutes later, a soft knock came at the door.
Mrs. Smith entered with her usual composed steps, her expression unreadable. She closed the door gently behind her.
"You asked to see me, Mrs. Watt."
Rosie didn't bother with pleasantries.
"How close is Amelia to Adrian?"
The question landed bluntly in the room.
Mrs. Smith paused only briefly before answering. "They have always been best friends."
Rosie scoffed loudly, spinning around.
"Best friend?" she repeated. "My foot."
She crossed her arms, eyes flashing.
"They act more like a couple who forgot to make things official."
Mrs. Smith remained calm, her hands folded neatly in front of her.
"I don't believe Mr. Watt has ever considered Miss Amelia… a woman in that way."
Rosie stopped pacing.
Slowly, she turned back toward the caretaker.
"What does that mean?"
Mrs. Smith met her gaze evenly. "Exactly what I said."
Rosie let out a short laugh—sharp, humorless.
"Oh," she said. "Then maybe I'm wrong."
She took a step forward, lowering her voice conspiratorially.
"Or maybe he just doesn't consider women at all."
Mrs. Smith's eyebrow lifted slightly.
Rosie continued, her words tumbling out fast now.
"He probably doesn't want any woman around him. That explains why he avoids me like a plague." She waved a hand dismissively. "Maybe that's why he sent his PA instead of showing up himself."
She snorted.
"For all I know, his PA might be his lover."
The words hung in the air.
Mrs. Smith did not react.
She simply watched.
Rosie continued talking, pacing again, her voice growing more animated with every step.
"Think about it. The strict rules. The separation. The scheduled avoidance." She laughed again. "This marriage might just be a cover."
Mrs. Smith said nothing.
Twelve minutes passed.
Rosie spoke the entire time—complaints, sarcastic remarks, half-formed theories—her frustration spilling freely as though the room were soundproof.
Mrs. Smith listened.
She neither corrected nor encouraged.
At some point, she subtly raised her hand and motioned toward the door.
The maids entered quietly, carrying a tray of snacks and tea. They placed it on the table without a word and exited just as silently.
Rosie finally stopped talking when her throat felt dry.
She glanced at the tray, then back at Mrs. Smith.
"You're not saying much," Rosie noted.
Mrs. Smith inclined her head. "It is not my place to comment on assumptions."
Rosie sighed and dropped onto the sofa.
"Fair enough."
She picked up a cup of tea but didn't drink it.
"Tell me one thing," Rosie said, her tone sharpening again. "Does Amelia have influence in this house?"
Mrs. Smith did not hesitate. "She believes she does."
That answer made Rosie smile faintly.
"That's not the same as actually having it."
Mrs. Smith's lips curved ever so slightly.
"No," she agreed. "It is not."
A knock interrupted them.
Mrs. Smith turned toward the door immediately. "Enter."
One of the guards stepped in, bowing slightly.
"Mrs. Watt," he said. "Mr. Watt has returned earlier than expected."
Rosie stiffened.
Earlier?
Mrs. Smith's expression did not change, but her posture straightened.
"He is currently in his study," the guard continued. "He has requested silence in the west wing."
Rosie stood slowly.
So this was how it was.
She nodded once. "Understood."
The guard exited.
Mrs. Smith turned back to her. "I suggest you remain in your room."
"I wasn't planning on roaming," Rosie replied dryly.
Mrs. Smith inclined her head and left.
The door closed.,Rosie exhaled.
So he was here.
In the same house.
Closer than he had ever been.
She didn't feel excited.
She felt… alert.
She moved to the window again, watching as a black car pulled into the driveway below. Guards moved quickly. The house shifted, as if responding to his presence.
Power.
That was what walked through those doors.
She turned away just as another knock sounded.
This time, it was sharper.
"Yes?" Rosie called.
The door opened before she could say more.
Amelia walked in.
Uninvited.
Rosie's eyes narrowed immediately.
"That was fast," Rosie said coolly. "Do you knock before entering people's rooms, or is that another privilege you believe you have?"
Amelia closed the door behind her slowly, her smile smug.
"I wanted to see you," she said. "Alone."
Rosie crossed her arms.
"Congratulations. You've achieved that."
Amelia stepped closer, her heels clicking softly.
"You shouldn't be spreading rumors," Amelia said lightly. "It's not a good look for someone in your position."
Rosie laughed quietly.
"And what position is that?"
"The outsider," Amelia replied. "The replacement. The contract wife."
Rosie's smile vanished.
She took one step forward.
"Listen carefully," Rosie said, her voice calm but dangerous. "You don't get to define my position."
Amelia tilted her head. "Oh? You think you have one?"
"I know I do," Rosie shot back. "Because unlike you, I'm legally here."
The air crackled.
Amelia's smile tightened.
"You think that paper protects you?" she asked. "Adrian doesn't even look at you."
Rosie stepped closer until they were face to face.
"And yet," she said quietly, "he married me."
Silence.
Amelia's eyes flashed.
"You don't belong here," Amelia hissed. "You never will."
Rosie held her gaze without blinking.
"Neither do parasites," she replied evenly. "Yet here you are."
The slap came fast.
Rosie reacted faster.
She caught Amelia's wrist mid-air, her grip firm.
Amelia gasped.
Rosie leaned in.
"Try that again," Rosie said softly, "and I won't stop at catching your hand."
Footsteps sounded outside the door.
Amelia yanked her hand back, regaining her composure instantly.
"This isn't over," she said coldly.
Rosie straightened. "It never was."
Amelia opened the door and walked out just as a shadow appeared at the end of the hallway.
A tall figure stood there.
Still.
Watching.
Rosie's breath hitched slightly.
The man did not enter.
He did not speak.
He simply turned and walked away.
Rosie stared after him, heart pounding.
So that was Adrian Watt.
She hadn't seen his face clearly.
But she felt his presence.
And for the first time since entering this house, Rosie smiled—not in fear, but in challenge.
"Good," she whispered. "Let the game begin''