Amelia stepped into the Zhao estate, her heels clicking sharply on the polished marble floor, each step echoing like a reminder of everything she had lost. The lavish décor, the crystal chandeliers that glinted overhead, the heavy silence that clung to the air—it all felt suffocating. This house was an ornate cage, a gilded reminder of the life she had never truly belonged to.
She hadn't hesitated when Mrs. Zhao asked her to come to the mansion. There was no more room for doubt, no more emotional turmoil clouding her judgment. The decision had been made.
When Mrs. Zhao appeared in the doorway, her sharp, scrutinizing gaze met Amelia's without warmth. The air was thick with unspoken tension as the older woman ushered her in with a curt gesture. Amelia barely registered the room—the heavy scent of jasmine and leather, the faint hum of the air conditioning—her mind consumed by the weight of what was about to unfold.