Chapter 2 His Contract Wife,His Greatest Regret

Amelia returned home late that evening, her mind still occupied with the events of the previous night.   The moment she stepped into their small apartment, she dropped her handbag on the worn-out sofa and let out a tired sigh.   It had been a terrible day.   She had woken up that morning hoping that the temporary job would help her pay part of her mother's medical bills. Instead, she had ended up being insulted in front of wealthy people and dismissed by a man who seemed to believe that money gave him the right to treat others however he pleased.   Alexander Blackwell.   Even thinking about his name made her angry.   "Who does he think he is?" she muttered, removing her shoes. "Just because he has money, he thinks everyone else is nothing."   Unfortunately, being angry with Alexander would not pay her mother's hospital bills.   Amelia looked at the envelope in her handbag. Inside it was the little money she had managed to save from her previous jobs. She counted it again, even though she already knew the amount.   It was nowhere near enough.   Her mother's surgery was becoming more urgent, and the hospital had made it clear that they could not keep postponing it indefinitely.   Amelia pressed her fingers against her forehead.   "What am I going to do now?"   She was so lost in thought that she almost forgot to check on her mother.   When she entered the bedroom, Evelyn Rosewood was lying against two pillows, watching a television that occasionally lost its signal.   "Amelia, you're back," her mother said, smiling weakly.   "Yes, Mummy."   "How was the work?"   Amelia froze.   For a moment, she considered telling her mother everything. She wanted to explain how the evening had gone wrong and how the money she had hoped to earn was now uncertain.   But one look at her mother's tired face changed her mind.   "It was fine, Mummy. Just tiring."   "Did they pay you?"   Amelia looked away.   "They said they would contact me about the payment."   It was not entirely a lie, although she knew there was no guarantee she would receive anything.   Evelyn studied her daughter carefully.   "Amelia, you don't have to pretend to be strong all the time."   "I'm not pretending, Mummy."   "Then why do you look as if you're carrying the whole world on your shoulders?"   Amelia forced a smile and sat beside her.   "Because somebody has to take care of you."   Her mother reached for her hand.   "And who will take care of you?"   Amelia had no answer.   Since her father's death, she had barely allowed herself to think about her own future. Her university education had been interrupted, her savings were almost gone, and the dreams she once had seemed to belong to another person.   She had once imagined graduating from Westbridge University, finding a good job, and making her parents proud.   Now, she was simply trying to get through each day.   After helping her mother take her medication, Amelia returned to the sitting room. She sat quietly in the darkness, remembering the way Alexander had looked at her at the party.   He had not looked at her like a person.   He had looked at her as though she were a problem that needed to be removed.   "May you never need anybody the way I need help right now," she whispered.   Then she rested her head against the sofa and closed her eyes.   She did not know that, miles away, the man she had been cursing was already asking questions about her.     At Blackwell Global Group, Alexander sat behind his desk, studying a file his assistant had placed before him.   Daniel Hayes stood opposite him.   "Sir, I found some information about Amelia Rosewood."   Alexander opened the file.   The first page contained her name, age, educational background, and current address.   The next page contained a photograph of an older man.   Alexander stopped turning the pages.   "Who is this?"   "Thomas Rosewood. Amelia's father."   For several seconds, Alexander said nothing.   He picked up the photograph and studied it more closely.   He remembered seeing that face before.   Not recently.   Years ago.   His father had kept several old photographs and documents in a locked cabinet in his private study. Alexander had once come across the name Thomas Rosewood while searching for a document, but his father had immediately taken it away from him.   When he asked about it, his father had told him to mind his own business.   Alexander had never forgotten that reaction.   "What happened to him?" he asked.   "According to the records, he died six months ago in a car accident. His wife survived but suffered a serious leg injury."   Alexander returned his attention to the photograph.   "Find out everything you can about him."   "Everything, sir?"   "Everything."   Daniel hesitated.   "Sir, there is something else. Thomas Rosewood was connected to your father's company many years ago."   Alexander slowly raised his head.   "What do you mean by connected?"   "I haven't confirmed the exact nature of their relationship. Some old company records are missing, and the people who might know more have either left the company or refused to speak."   Alexander leaned back in his chair.   A cold feeling settled in his chest.   For twenty years, his family had avoided discussing certain events from the past. His father had died without explaining what had happened, and every time Alexander tried to investigate, someone found a reason to stop him.   Now, the daughter of a man connected to that past had appeared unexpectedly at his birthday party.   It was too much of a coincidence.   "Keep investigating," he ordered. "And don't let anyone know what you're doing."   Daniel nodded.   "Yes, sir."   As Daniel turned to leave, Alexander spoke again.   "One more thing."   Daniel stopped.   "Find out whether Amelia knows anything about her father's connection to my family."   "I'll do that."   When the door closed, Alexander opened the file again.   He stared at Amelia's photograph.   She looked nothing like the people he usually encountered in his world. There was something stubborn in her expression, something that reminded him of a person who had been forced to fight for everything she had.   He remembered the way she had looked him in the eye before leaving his mansion.   Most people avoided challenging him.   Amelia Rosewood had not.   For reasons he could not yet explain, that bothered him almost as much as it interested him.   He closed the file.   "Who are you really, Amelia Rosewood?"   He had no idea that the answer to that question would change his life.   And he certainly had no idea how much he would one day regret asking it.