CHAPTER 3:- ECHOES OF THE PAST

Amelia pushed open the heavy oak doors, their weight groaning in protest. The master suite, as Edgar – the head butler with an air of quiet authority – had announced, was vast and opulent. Crystal chandeliers twinkled overhead, casting a warm glow on plush carpets and gilded furniture. An ornately carved four-poster bed dominated the center of the room, its silken hangings whispering promises of luxury.

But it was the view that truly stole Amelia's breath away. Stepping towards the expansive window, she found herself gazing out onto a scene straight out of a dream. A sprawling manicured garden, bathed in the soft light of dusk, stretched out before her. In the distance, a glimmer of silver caught her eye – a large swimming pool, its surface reflecting the fading sunlight like a polished mirror.

And then she saw them. Near the pool, framed by the vibrant tapestry of the garden, stood a couple. The woman, with a cascade of dark hair and a figure that could only be described as exquisite, was leaning into a man. The man, though Amelia could only see him from behind, held himself with a relaxed posture she hadn't associated with Lorenze.

A pang of something akin to jealousy, sharp and unexpected, twisted in Amelia's gut. She watched, mesmerized, as the woman whispered something in the man's ear. He threw back his head and laughed, a deep, rich sound that sent shivers down her spine. It was a sound so different from the cold pronouncements she'd been accustomed to, a sound that spoke of genuine amusement and something else entirely - affection.

The scene playing out before her window was a stark contrast to the cold, calculated demeanor Lorenze had presented throughout their journey. In that single moment, the truth came crashing down on her with the force of a tidal wave. She wasn't Lorenze's guest, nor was she some kind of accomplice. She was nothing more than an unwanted outsider peering into a world that wasn't meant for her.

•~•

The memory flickered to life, a stark contrast to the laughter and intimacy playing out across from her window. Amelia shut her eyes, the opulent room fading away. She was back in the worn confines of their high school classroom, sunlight slanting through dusty windows and illuminating a sea of teenage faces.

Back then, Lorenze was a year ahead, an enigma even at 17. Unlike the other boys who'd openly gawked at her, his attention was a secret language – a fleeting glance, a linger in his gaze that sent a shiver down her spine. He was a nervous introvert, always tucked away in a corner with a book shielding his face. Yet, sometimes, when their eyes met across the room, a spark flickered in his icy blue depths, a curiosity she couldn't decipher.

One afternoon, during a particularly spirited debate about Charles Dickens with her friends, Amelia felt that now-familiar prickle on her skin. Glancing up, she found Lorenze watching them, a flicker of something akin to fascination in his eyes. It was a rare glimpse past his usual stoic facade.

But the moment, fragile as spun glass, shattered with a cruel barb. Jessica, the resident mean girl, materialized beside Amelia, her voice a venomous whisper. "Look at Thorne staring, Amelia. Daydreaming about knights in shining armor again? Maybe this time he'll finally work up the courage to ask you out. Although, with his grades and that brooding act, I wouldn't hold your breath."

The class erupted in snickers. Amelia felt a heat crawl up her neck, a mix of annoyance and a strange protectiveness towards the boy across the room. She forced a smile, masking the unexpected flutter in her chest, and mouthed a playful retort at Jessica.

Lorenze, however, remained impassive. He looked away, his jaw clenching for a brief moment before he retreated further behind his book. Back then, Amelia had dismissed his attention as a mere schoolboy crush, a fleeting curiosity.

The memory dissolved, leaving a bittersweet ache in its wake. Perhaps it hadn't been just curiosity. Perhaps it had been something more, something she, in her youthful obliviousness, had carelessly dismissed. The laughter outside had died down, replaced by a murmur of conversation that drifted through the window. Amelia opened her eyes, the gilded cage blurring back into focus. The weight of realization pressed down on Amelia, suffocating. A sharp rap on the door startled her back to the present.

Wiping away a stray tear, she called out, "Come in."

The door creaked open, and two young women in crisp black uniforms entered, their faces devoid of emotion. They looked vaguely familiar, perhaps girls from her year at school, but the years had sculpted them into something unfamiliar, their youthful spark replaced by a practiced efficiency.

"Miss Harris," one of them said, her voice flat and emotionless, "we are here to assist you with your preparations for the evening."

Amelia blinked, momentarily at a loss. "Preparations?" she echoed, her voice hoarse.

"Indeed," the other maid replied, her gaze sweeping across the room before settling on Amelia. "Mr. Thorne has requested you attend a dinner party with him and his… associates."

The word hung heavy in the air, a confirmation of Amelia's worst fears. She wasn't Lorenze's guest; she was a prop, a carefully chosen accessory for a night of business dealings with people she didn't know and whose intentions sent shivers down her spine.

A surge of defiance welled up within her. "I don't have anything to wear for a dinner party," she said, her voice surprisingly steady.

The maids exchanged a glance, a flicker of something akin to pity passing between them for a fleeting moment. Then, the first maid stepped forward, a hint of warmth softening her voice. "We've anticipated that, Miss Harris. Mr. Thorne has provided a selection of gowns for you to choose from."

She gestured towards a section of the room Amelia hadn't noticed before. A large wardrobe stood open, its interior a dazzling display of shimmering fabrics and elegant silhouettes. But the sight of the luxurious clothes did little to quell the turmoil within her.

"I appreciate the thought," Amelia said, her voice tight, "but I'm not sure this is something I'm comfortable participating in."

The air in the room grew heavy with tension. The second maid took a step forward, her voice losing its neutrality. "Mr. Thorne wouldn't be pleased, Miss Harris. It wouldn't be wise to disappoint him."

The veiled threat hung in the air, a stark reminder of the precariousness of her situation. Amelia wasn't a guest; she was a prisoner, trapped in a gilded cage with a man who was a stranger, a man whose laughter echoed with someone else, a man whose past with her remained a painful secret.

She forced a smile, brittle and strained. "Of course," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Please, show me these gowns."