CHAPTER 1:- STOLEN CROWN

The silence in the wake of Lorenze's chilling words stretched for an eternity. Amelia, rooted to the spot, watched with numb horror as crimson bloomed across William's white shirt, staining the pristine carpet a grotesque red. Lorenze, the embodiment of icy composure, tucked the gun back into his holster with a nonchalant flick of his wrist.

The gilded grandfather clock in the corner chimed, its melody a jarring counterpoint to the scene of devastation. As the last chime faded, a commotion erupted at the doorway. The wedding guests, a bewildered huddle until now, surged forward, their festive chatter morphing into panicked shouts.

Amelia's father, a distinguished man with salt-and-pepper hair, pushed his way through the throng, his face etched with disbelief and dawning horror. "What have you done?" he roared, his voice cracking with raw emotion.

Lorenze turned towards him, a cruel amusement flickering in his icy blue eyes. "Merely ensuring a change in plans, Mr. Harris," he replied, his voice smooth as silk with the bite of a viper. "It appears your daughter has a grander destiny than becoming the wife of a glorified accountant."

"Don't you touch her!" Amelia's father lunged forward, but two burly figures materialized from the crowd, their expensive suits belying the cold professionalism in their eyes. They moved with practiced efficiency, flanking Amelia's father and shoving him back with a practiced ease that spoke of countless such interventions.

The other guests, a mix of socialites and business associates, recoiled, their faces draining of color as the reality of the situation dawned on them. Murmurs of confusion and fear rippled through the room.

A woman, Amelia vaguely recognized as William's aunt, shrieked, "This is madness! You can't just take her!"

Lorenze's smile turned predatory. "But I can, darling," he purred. "Because in this city, power speaks louder than outrage." His gaze swept over the cowed crowd, the lingering threat in his eyes silencing any further dissent.

Amelia's father, though physically restrained, refused to back down. "You'll answer for this, Lorenze! You can't get away with—"

Lorenze cut him off with a curt wave of his hand. "Oh, I assure you, Mr. Harris," he said, his voice laced with a dangerous smoothness, "getting away is precisely what I intend to do. Along with my bride, of course."

He gestured towards Amelia, his gaze cold and possessive. "Come, Amelia," he said, his voice devoid of tenderness this time, a mere command. "We have matters of greater consequence to attend to."

Tears welled in Amelia's eyes, blurring the image of Lorenze and the scene around her. Her world had shattered, replaced by a chilling reality where the man she loved lay lifeless and her future had been stolen. But amidst the grief and terror, a spark of defiance flickered. She wouldn't go quietly.

Drawing on a well of strength she never knew she possessed, Amelia straightened her spine and met Lorenze's gaze head-on. "This isn't who I am," she declared, her voice trembling but resolute. "You may have taken control, but you haven't taken my spirit."

A flicker of surprise, quickly masked by irritation, crossed Lorenze's face. "We shall see about that, my dear," he said, his voice hardening. He snapped his fingers, a silent command to his waiting guards.

One of the guards stepped forward, offering his arm with a curt nod. Amelia recoiled, the touch of his hand repulsive.

"Don't make this difficult, Amelia," Lorenze's voice was a low growl. "The car is waiting."

He gestured towards the window, where a sleek black Rolls Royce gleamed in the afternoon sun, an ominous symbol of the life she was being forced into. Amelia's breath hitched. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin and walked towards the door, her back ramrod straight.

The crowd parted before her, their gazes a mixture of pity and fear. Amelia ignored them, focusing all her energy on maintaining her composure. As she reached the doorway, she cast a final glance at William, his lifeless form a stark reminder of the cost of defiance. A silent vow formed on her lips. She would find a way out of this, a way to make Lorenze pay. But for now, she would play his game. In the shadows, she would bide her time, waiting for the opportunity to strike.

•~•

Amelia swept into the back of the Rolls Royce, the plush leather a stark contrast to the cold marble floor she'd stood on moments ago. The scent of expensive cologne, a fragrance she vaguely recognized from stolen glances across crowded hallways, filled the air. As the car glided silently forward, a whirlwind of emotions threatened to consume her.

Grief, a raw and searing wound, pulsed through her for William. Anger, a viper coiled tight in her gut, hissed at Lorenze's cruelty. But beneath it all, a flicker of disbelief ignited. This – this opulent car, these silent guardians in another matching vehicle – this was Lorenze?

Her mind cast back, a montage of memories playing on the silver screen behind her eyelids. She saw Lorenze, the awkward, bookish boy who always seemed to find himself at the periphery of their high school social circle. He was the target of pranks, the one whose hand remained untouched during lunch table games. And her, Amelia, the coveted, popular girl, oblivious to the shy glances he sent her way.

A pang of guilt, unexpected and sharp, pierced her heart. Had she ever truly seen him? Had she been so wrapped up in her own world that she missed the silent yearning in his eyes? The memory of a single, wilted daisy he'd once left on her desk, a clumsy attempt at a gesture of affection, surfaced. She'd scoffed at it then, tossing it in the trash without a second thought.

The car rolled to a stop, jolting Amelia from her reverie. She stole a glance at Lorenze, his profile etched against the passing cityscape. Gone was the awkward boy; in his place sat a man of power, his jawline hardened, his eyes a glacier reflecting an unknown storm.

A shiver danced down Amelia's spine. This was the man who held her fate in his hands. This was the man who, in a twisted way, seemed to care. And this was the man she had to understand, to manipulate, if she ever hoped to be free.