Crowning Amaris: The Heiress Returns

Chapter 1 She's A Joke

Amaris Wynn stepped out of the train station, the chaotic noise of the city hitting her like a wave.

Her grandfather's voice buzzed in her ear, warm but suffocating. "Amaris, my sweet girl, once you're in Arborfield, be good and get along with Osric, alright? He's young, runs the Hale Group, and has a bright future. Trust me, you'll love the husband I've chosen for you—"

Amaris cut off the voice message with a frustrated sigh, closing WhatsApp and shoving her phone into her pocket.

Osric Hale was the guy her grandpa had arranged for her to marry ten years ago.

'Love him? Yeah, sure,' she thought, rolling her eyes. 'I was ten, for crying out loud! And that still counts?'

But here she was. Her hands were tied. Her grandpa had threatened to end his life if she didn't show up, and to top it off, he'd cut off her allowance. She had no choice but to play along.

'At least it's just an engagement,' she consoled herself.

Smirking to herself, Amaris dragged her suitcase toward a nearby restroom.

She'd barely stepped in front of the mirror when an unexpected noise came from the men's restroom next door—a mix of a woman's breathy moans and a man's deep gasps.

Her hand stopped over her makeup bag, her brain trying to catch up. 'Wait, seriously? Are people in this city that shameless? Middle of the day, and they couldn't even find a damn room?'

Before she could process it, the sound of heavy footsteps filled the restroom. A group of tall men in black suits stormed in, ignoring her completely as they headed straight into the men's room.

Loud knocking followed. The noises stopped immediately, replaced by muffled whispers—low and intimate, but still suggestive enough to make her blush.

A few moments later, the men in black stomped back out, muttering curses as they slammed the door behind them.

Amaris stood there, stunned, still processing what had just happened. The restroom went silent, but she couldn't seem to move.

Behind the door, Osric leaned against the wall, gasping for air. His face was pale, his breath coming in ragged bursts as he clutched his chest. With a shaky hand, he scribbled out a check and tossed it toward the heavily made-up woman standing beside him. Then, without a word, he gestured for her to leave.

The woman, check in hand, walked out and locked eyes with Amaris, who was watching her with a calm, unreadable gaze.

The woman smirked, shameless and smug, before turning back to the door. In a sickly sweet voice, she cooed, "Baby, you were amazing!"

Her voice and demeanor screamed gold digger. If Amaris's grandfather had been here, he would've called her a "shameless vixen" without hesitation.

Disgusted, Amaris wrinkled her nose and muttered a curse under her breath. She turned to wash her hands but barely made it a few steps before bumping into someone.

"Oh, sorry!" she said automatically, but the words caught in her throat the moment she looked up.

He might've just been fooling around in the restroom, but that face? It was illegal to look that good.

Osric, for his part, hadn't expected anyone to still be there—much less someone like her.

Amaris was stunning. Her delicate features and simple outfit—a soft green blouse and a flowing skirt—gave her an effortless elegance. She looked like she belonged in a painting, ethereal and untouchable.

But remembering what had just happened snapped him back to reality. His eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion flickering across his face.

He said,"Miss, did you just—"

"I didn't hear a thing," Amaris cut him off with a faint smile. Her gaze flicked over him, cool and sharp. "But honestly? You look like shit. Dark circles, out of breath... you should take it easy. And judging by how quick things ended in there, I'd say stamina's not really your thing. Don't worry, though—guys like you? Not my type. Bye."

Assuming he was about to hit on her, Amaris grabbed her suitcase and strode into the women's restroom, leaving him standing there completely speechless.

When she stepped back out, he was already gone. The ethereal beauty from earlier had vanished too. In her place was someone unrecognizable—thick black-rimmed glasses, messy braided pigtails, an oversized sweater, and baggy jeans.

She looked so plain she practically blended into the background. Catching her reflection, Amaris smirked. 'Dressed like this, there's no way Osric won't be dying to call off the engagement.'

*****

Osric clenched his jaw, fighting through the pain as he sank into the plush leather seat of his luxury car. The doctor, Lucan Wren, quickly handed him a pill, watching closely as he swallowed it without a word.

"Mr. Hale, did we lose them?" Lucan asked, his voice low but urgent.

Osric gave a faint nod.

"Your condition's been getting worse," Lucan pressed, his tone full of concern. "That miracle doctor from the FletcherSpire—he's like a ghost. No matter what we try, we can't find him. But I've heard his disciple is just as good, maybe even better. If we're willing to pay enough, we could get her here."

Osric rubbed his chest, the pain still faintly lingering. He exhaled slowly and shot Lucan a tired look. "Handle it," he said flatly.

Lucan nodded. "Got it. Oh, do you still want to pick up Miss Wynn today?"

Osric glanced at his watch. She'd probably already arrived and gone back with the butler Ryan Cole by now.

Honestly, in his heart, this engagement was already a thorn in his side—maybe letting her stew a bit was exactly what she deserved.

"Head to the office," he said coldly.

"Yes, sir," Lucan responded, smoothly pulling the car toward the company.

*****

Meanwhile, back at the Hale residence, the maids were in the middle of a full-blown roast session about Amaris.

"This is the woman engaged to Mr. Hale? Seriously? She looks like she was dragged out of some forgotten corner of the countryside! Just look at that sweater—it's so old it's practically falling apart!" one maid scoffed.

"And those glasses! Are you sure she's really the eldest heiress of the Wynn family? If Mrs. Fellena Hale sees her looking like this, she's gonna regret this engagement so bad she might pass out," another chimed in.

"No wonder Mr. Hale doesn't give a damn about her. Did you hear her talk earlier? She stutters! Can you believe it? A stuttering fiancée!" a third maid sneered, laughing so hard she had to lean on the counter for support.

Amaris had barely arrived at the residence before the staff had already turned her into their favorite punchline. They laughed and gossiped openly, treating her as if she were some kind of live comedy act.

Just then, Ava Quinn, one of the maids, appeared at the top of the stairs with a stunning dress in her arms. She strutted over to Amaris, barely hiding her disdain, and tossed the dress onto the table like she was throwing out trash.

"Miss Wynn, Mrs. Fenella Hale's birthday banquet starts soon. You'd better change into this," she said snidely. Then, with a mocking smile, she added, "Oh, and it's real silk—very expensive."

"You'd better take a bath first before you even think about putting it on. Wouldn't want to ruin it." She emphasized bath just enough to send the other maids into fits of laughter.

The maids exchanged knowing smirks, their imaginations running wild. A girl like Amaris, who looked like she'd just crawled out of some backwater village, probably bathed once a month at best. With her worn sweater, cheap jeans, and battered canvas shoes—clothes that probably cost less than a hundred dollars in total. To them, she wasn't a future young madam. She was just a joke.

Chapter 2 Cursed Fate

Amaris sank into the sofa, completely at ease, her fingers flying across her phone as she replied to Callan Ridge's message.

Callan: [Amaris, can you make it to the Late Laughs finals tomorrow? Everyone's calling you the best debater. If you don't show up and take that trophy, it'd be such a waste!]

Amaris's reply was simple: [Yes.]

Callan: [At the train station today, my friends were practically begging for your autograph! And then you just left with some serious-looking older guy. Wait, are you really going to marry Osric? Do you even know what they say about him? The guy's cursed! He's bad luck for everyone—his parents, his wife, his kids. Don't throw your life away for that!]

"Marry Osric?" Amaris let out a cold laugh, her lips curving into a mocking smile.

If it weren't for her grandfather pulling every dramatic trick in the book—threatening to starve himself, sell everything, and leave her penniless—she wouldn't have bothered coming.

Sure, she'd agreed to "try," but it was all an act. She was confident that once Osric saw her frumpy clothes and awkward stutter, he'd be the one rushing to cancel the engagement.

And when that happened, her grandfather wouldn't have a leg to stand on.

"Miss Wynn, can you please hurry up and get ready? Mr. Hale's a clean freak, you know!" Ava chimed in impatiently.

Amaris finally looked up, her icy gaze sweeping over Ava. She raised her hand lazily, motioning for Ryan, who had just entered, to come closer.

It was Ryan who had picked her up from the train station earlier. Amaris wasn't stupid—she knew Osric had deliberately skipped the pick-up to show her where she stood.

'Fine. Two could play that game,' she thought.

Ryan hesitated, glancing at Amaris and then at the fancy dress laid out for her. Sensing his hesitation, Ava couldn't help but run her mouth. "Miss Wynn, what's the big deal? We're trying to help you! Look at yourself—your clothes are filthy. Do you really want to show up to Mrs. Fenella Hale's birthday banquet looking like that? Do you want Mr. Hale to lose face?"

Amaris didn't even look at her. Instead, she turned to Ryan and asked, her tone calm but cutting, "Is this… how things are… in the Hale family? Maids… walking all over… their masters?"

Butler Li's expression shifted instantly, his voice turning cold as he snapped at Ava. "How dare you? Do you have no sense of respect? Miss Wynn is a guest personally invited by Mrs. Fellena Hale and the future mistress of this house. Apologize to her. Now."

Ava froze, her face full of disbelief. "Apologize? To her? For what?"

Before Ryan could respond, Amaris spoke again, her voice soft but unyielding: "Slap yourself. Ten times."

The room went silent. Every maid stood frozen, eyes wide in shock. Someone seemed about to step forward to defend Ava, but Amaris cut her off sharply: "If you don't, I'll leave."

She rose to her feet, moving slowly, but her meaning was clear.

Panic flickered across Ryan's face. Fenella had been clear—Osric's life was full of bad luck, and Amaris was the only person said to be able to counteract it. Letting her leave wasn't an option.

Without hesitation, Ryan slapped Ava across the face. "If you don't want me to finish the rest, start now!"

Humiliated and seething, Ava had no choice. Ten loud, stinging slaps echoed through the room. By the time she was done, her face was red and tears were streaming down her cheeks. Without a word, she turned and bolted out of the room, too ashamed to stay.

*****

Outside the Hale family's grand villa, Ava's sobs echoed faintly, like dry leaves fluttering in the wind—weak and pathetic, yet somehow grating.

Meanwhile, in the luxury car parked nearby, Osric rested his long, slender fingers casually on the edge of the half-open window. Every movement was effortlessly refined, as if sculpted by nature itself.

His face, sharp and impossibly handsome, was like a masterpiece touched by the divine, but his thin, tightly pressed lips betrayed his growing impatience as he listened to Ava's exaggerated, tear-filled rant.

He glanced briefly at her swollen, tear-streaked face and felt his annoyance with this entire ridiculous marriage deepen.

The butler hurried out upon hearing of his return, ready to welcome him. But before he could speak, Osric cut him off, his voice cold and clipped. "Tell her to come out. What's she doing, waiting for me to personally invite her?"

The butler quickly nodded and went inside. But as he stepped into the living room, he was stunned to find Amaris sprawled across the sofa, sound asleep.

The long trip had clearly worn her out, and she was sleeping deeply, her breathing even and relaxed. There was even a small droplet of drool glistening at the corner of her mouth, giving her an almost childlike, carefree charm.

Ryan's heart sank. This was going to piss Osric off even more. With a heavy sigh, he turned and went back out to report.

"She's... asleep," the butler said hesitantly.

Without another word, he stepped out of the car. His long legs carried him into the villa with sharp, determined strides.

He stopped by the sofa and, without a second's hesitation, reached out and yanked Amaris awake.

Startled, Amaris jolted upright, disoriented and blinking in confusion.

She quickly wiped the drool from her mouth, grabbed her glasses, and shoved them on before looking up at the towering figure in front of her.

Her mind cleared just enough to put the pieces together. 'This arrogant, overbearing man had to be...Osric. Wait...'

Her eyes widened as realization hit. This was the same guy she'd seen at the train station bathroom—the one tangled up with that woman. 'And this is supposed to be my fiancé?'

'This guy's supposed to be my fiancé? Seriously?' she thought, completely baffled.

Whatever sliver of doubt she'd had about breaking off this engagement was gone. She was done.

Her quick nap had left her hair in complete disarray, and her already casual appearance now bordered on sloppy. Her messy hair and sleepy expression made her look completely out of place.

Osric, on the other hand, looked as refined and untouchable as ever. But when his eyes swept over her, they darkened further, his disdain barely concealed.

'Rustic. Messy. Completely out of place,' he thought. 'If I actually marry her, I'll be the laughingstock of the entire city.'

"You...you're..." Amaris finally stammered, nervously adjusting her glasses.

His face darkened even further, his voice cold enough to freeze the air. "Orisc"

Amaris's lips curved into a playful, mocking smile. "Oh, so you're my fiancé. Gotta say, you're pretty full of yourself, huh?"

He'd left her hanging at the train station, refused to come inside, and now he was here, acting like he was doing her a favor.

'Fine. I'll play along—just to piss him off,' she thought.

The more annoyed he got, the better. If making him hate her meant he'd call off the engagement, she'd gladly keep pushing his buttons.

Osric clearly wasn't thrilled either. He turned to leave, his tone cold and commanding: "Get ready. You're coming with me to see my grandmother."

His grandmother. That must be the "Mrs. Fellena Hale" her grandfather had gone on about.

Amaris lazily ruffled her hair, grabbed her plain canvas bag, and followed after him.

The moment she got into the car, she caught him shooting a disgusted glance at her bag.

Other women would be carrying designer purses, but her? She showed up with a worn-out canvas bag, like she was heading to a flea market.

His expression darkened. Without a word, he pulled out a blank check and tossed it onto her lap.

'Girls like her—isn't it all about money? Fine. She could name her price,' he thought. Whatever it took to get rid of her, he'd gladly pay it.

Amaris picked up the check, her eyes sparkling with sudden excitement. 'Well, isn't this convenient?'

If she'd known all it took to end the engagement was cash, she wouldn't have wasted her energy playing the clueless bumpkin.

"So, how much do you think I'm worth?" she asked, pushing up her glasses, her tone completely serious.

Osric turned to look at her, finally giving her a second glance. Despite her plain clothes and messy look, her features were surprisingly refined—delicate, almost. There was something about her that felt oddly familiar, though he couldn't quite place it.

Worried he might've misunderstood, Amaris adjusted her glasses again and added, "Go ahead, name your price. How much for you to leave me alone? Let's not kid ourselves—there's no point in this engagement. Even if we get married, it'll be a disaster.

"Save us both the trouble. Take the money, tell your grandmother you're calling it off, and we'll go our separate ways. Don't hold back—whatever number you're thinking, I can handle it."

The corner of Osric's lips curved into a mocking smile, his expression dripping with amusement. 'Her, asking me to name a price? To leave her?'

"Rich, are you?" he asked sarcastically, his tone sharp. Then his smile faded, and his gaze turned icy. "Or maybe you've heard the rumors and are scared I'll bring you bad luck?"

Amaris blinked. She'd heard about his supposed "cursed fate" from her grandfather—a man blessed with fortune but cursed with bad energy, said to bring misfortune to everyone around him.

Her specific birth chart was supposed to counteract it, which was why Fellena was so insistent on this marriage.

She'd checked out his fortune herself and decided all that "cursed" talk was seriously overhyped. She wasn't worried about him "killing" her or anything dramatic like that.

But then, it hit her. Money.

Her playful expression froze. She'd forgotten—her grandfather had already sold off everything she had to force her into this marriage.

She was broke. Completely broke. Not a penny to her name.

Chapter 3 Name Your Price

The awkward silence hung heavy in the air, but thankfully, Osric's phone rang just in time, cutting through the tension like a lifeline.

The call was from Fenella's personal doctor, delivering bad news—her latest medical report didn't look good.

By the time the call ended, Osric's expression was even colder, his face as sharp and unyielding as frost.

He curtly ordered the driver to start the car, then turned to Amaris with a tone so indifferent it was almost dismissive. "At least you're self-aware. I have no plans to marry you. But today is my grandmother's birthday, and for her sake, we'll act like a happy, engaged couple. Think of it as doing me a favor. If you want something in return, name your price."

The call hadn't been private—Amaris had heard every word. So, Fenella wasn't well.

Her grandfather had often spoken about how much he owed Fenella, going so far as to force this engagement on Amaris as a way to repay her kindness.

Now, with Fenella sick, calling off the engagement would only make things worse.

Amaris forced a stiff smile and reluctantly agreed. "Fine... let's just... get through this."

If Osric had said something like "get through this," it might've sounded reasonable.

But coming from her—a plain, small-town girl? The audacity almost made him laugh.

'Seriously? Who the hell does she think she is?' he scoffed internally, the thought laced with equal parts disbelief and annoyance.

*****

The Hale family mansion was alive with laughter and conversation, packed with high-profile guests celebrating Fenalla's birthday.

As soon as they stepped out of the car, Osric instinctively reached for Amaris's hand.

But she didn't even spare him a glance, brushing past him and walking ahead like he wasn't even there.

"Once we're inside, don't talk too much," he said, his voice low and curt as he caught up to her.

Just as they reached the door, he grabbed her hand and hooked it into his arm.

But before he could take another step, she jerked her hand away, her irritation plain as day.

The grand hall buzzed with chatter and laughter, filled with influential guests effortlessly mingling, the air thick with wealth and prestige.

Amid the crowd, Fenella, busy entertaining, immediately spotted Amaris walking in with Osric.

"Osric, is this my lovely granddaughter-in-law, Amaris? Come here, let me get a good look at you!" Fenella's face lit up as she pulled Amaris to her side, her tone full of warmth and affection.

Her smile was so genuine, her happiness so obvious, it was almost contagious.

Not far away, Eira Wynn and her daughter Ismay exchanged a sly glance. Their eyes gleamed with calculation—it was clear they were already plotting their next move.

Ismay and Amaris, half-sisters with the same father but different mothers, were tied together by an old engagement deal between the Hale and Wynn families. For Eira—Ismay's mother—it was the perfect opportunity to secure her daughter's place in the powerful Hale family. She'd spent years sweet-talking her husband Fintan, pushing for Ismay to marry Osric.

But then Amaris showed up and ruined everything. Eira was so furious she almost passed out.

One look at Amaris—her rustic, unpolished appearance—and Eira couldn't help but fume. Compared to her elegant, refined daughter Ismay, the difference was night and day.

Ismay, ever the picture of grace, stepped forward with a sweet smile. "Sister, Mom and I waited at the airport for over two hours to welcome you. We had no idea you'd come straight to visit Mrs. Hale first. How thoughtful of you."

Eira chimed in with a passive-aggressive tone. "Exactly. Visiting Mrs. Hale is important, of course, but couldn't you have at least called your mother first? We tried calling you, but you didn't answer."

Turning to Fenella, her face softened into a fake, apologetic smile. "Mrs. Hale, I'm so sorry. My younger daughter grew up in the countryside and hasn't learned proper manners yet. Don't worry, I'll make sure she learns how to be more suitable for Mr. Hale."

Though polite on the surface, her words carried sharp undertones. The message was clear to everyone: this "country bumpkin" was so desperate to marry into the Hale family that she'd rushed straight here, ignoring her own family.

To outsiders, Ismay was the epitome of a high-society lady—stunning, graceful, admired by everyone. Amaris? She was a joke in comparison. One was a shining star; the other, dirt underfoot.

If Fenella hadn't seen Amaris in person, maybe the engagement could've been salvaged. But now that she had? No way would she let her grandson marry someone so plain and out of place in their world.

And worse? Everyone thought Amaris didn't just lack polish—she had ambitions way above her station.

Fenella's expression shifted as she listened to Eira's words. She glanced at Amaris, her gaze full of doubt and confusion, as if wondering how this girl could possibly become part of the Hale family.

Chapter 4 By Train

Amaris's hand was tightly held by Fenalla. She lowered her head shyly, a faint blush coloring her cheeks, and gave a small, hesitant smile. "Mrs. Hale, I… I actually…"

Her stammering dragged on so painfully that Osric finally cut her off, his tone flat and indifferent. "Mrs. Wynn, you seem to be mistaken. Amaris came here by train."

"What?" Fenella blinked in surprise.

Amaris finally finished her thought, her voice soft but steady. "The train… it was shaky the whole way… and it was delayed too."

Her statement caused a ripple of shock across the room.

"She's Mr. Wynn's daughter from his first wife, but really? Not even a plane ticket for such a long trip? That's just cold."

"Forget a plane ticket—what about high-speed rail? From the sound of it, she came here on one of those old, green-skin trains."

"Well, a stepmother's love isn't the same, is it? Look at Amaris's plain outfit, then look at Ismay dressed head-to-toe in designer labels. That poor girl must've had it rough in the countryside."

Even Fenella's gaze softened, her eyes filling with pity as she looked at Amaris.

Her tone turned gentle. "You must be exhausted, child. Eat something first, then let Osric take you upstairs to rest."

Amaris nodded lightly, her eyes flashing with a glint of mischief as she shot a subtle, taunting glance at Eira and Ismay, raising her eyebrows as if daring them to make their move.

Eira froze, her whole body going stiff. 'Did that girl seriously show up here after riding a train? Sure, she grew up in the countryside, but this? This was taking it way too far.'

Anger flared in her chest, and she felt humiliated, as if Amaris had done this just to embarrass her. She quickly signaled Ismay.

Ismay stepped forward with poise, a carefully chosen gift in hand. Her voice was honeyed and soft as she presented it to Fenella. "Mrs. Hale, happy birthday. This painting, Whispering Pines, was specially commissioned from Mr. Moss himself. He even mentioned that if he weren't busy with an international exhibition, he'd have come in person to celebrate your birthday."

When she unfurled the painting, a wave of awe rippled through the room.

"Wait, is that really a Mr. Moss original? One of his works sold for tens of millions last year. Seeing one up close is unreal."

"I've heard Ismay isn't just gorgeous—she's got brains too. Does this mean she's one of Mr. Moss's disciples?"

"Whispering Pines is such a thoughtful gift for Fenalla. It symbolizes health and vitality. Honestly, this is next-level impressive."

Eamon Moss was a legend in the world of oil painting—his works were rare, and his reputation as an aloof genius only added to the allure.

The unveiling of Whispering Pines instantly stole the spotlight, and the guests couldn't stop gushing. Even Fenella's face lit up, her expression softening into a pleased smile as she nodded her approval.

Ismay's lips curled into a triumphant smirk as her gaze instinctively drifted toward Osric, clearly expecting him to acknowledge her effort.

Osric's eyes lingered on the painting, and for once, he was genuinely impressed. As someone who admired Eamon's work, he even considered stepping closer to examine it.

But before he could move, a low, deliberate voice broke through the buzz. "Wow. What a… sheltered… reaction. The painting's fake."

Osric froze mid-step. His sharp gaze snapped toward Amaris, his expression instantly darkening.

'Sheltered? Is she seriously talking about me?' he wondered.

Amaris took another sip of her coffee, hiding a smirk behind the rim of the cup. 'Eamon? That stuck-up prick giving Ismay a painting? What a joke.

Even if he did, even if he came crawling on his hands and knees, there was no way she'd waste my time learning from someone that full of himself.

And that painting was just lying around in her grandpa's storage room. 'If this thing's actually legit, then pigs can fly,' she thought.

"Amaris, what are you mumbling about?" Ismay's voice was soft, with that fake sweetness she always put on.

But her eyes sparkled with mischief, waiting to see Amaris trip up and make a fool of herself.

Amaris set her coffee cup down deliberately and stood up, her calm gaze locking onto Ismay. "I was just saying… about this painting of yours—"

Osric's light cough cut her off. She paused and glanced at Fenalla, whose polite smile carried a trace of warmth.

It was her birthday, after all. And with her health already delicate, this wasn't the time to blow things up and embarrass Ismay—no matter how tempting it was. Amaris knew she couldn't risk upsetting Fenalla on her big day.

Osric stepped in smoothly, his tone casual but firm. "What Amaris meant to say was… this painting is quite unique." As he spoke, he gave her sleeve a slight tug, subtly telling her to sit back down.

But Ismay wasn't about to let things go that easily. Her smile widened, sweet as sugar but with an edge as sharp as a blade. "Oh, Amaris, since you came all this way to celebrate Mrs. Hale's birthday, you must've brought a special gift too, right? Why don't you show us? I'm sure we'd all love to see what you prepared."

From the moment Amaris had walked in, Ismay's eyes had been glued to the plain, unimpressive cloth bag in her hand.

'What could possibly be in there? A loaf of bread?' Ismay thought smugly. 'She's broke as hell, but she's still got the nerve to call my painting fake? Let's see how she wiggles out of this one.'

As expected, Ismay's question left Amaris momentarily stunned. She hadn't even known it was Fenalla's birthday when she arrived, let alone prepared a gift.

"I…" Amaris hesitated, unsure how to respond.

Before the awkward silence could stretch any longer, Eira quickly stepped in, her tone light and slightly dismissive. "Oh, let's not make a big deal out of it. Amaris probably just forgot in all the excitement of seeing Mr. Hale again, isn't that right?"

Chapter 5 Cancel The Engagement Or Not

Amaris hesitated for a moment, then carefully pulled a sleek black box out of her canvas bag. She held it in both hands and offered it to Fenella with a hint of nervousness. "Mrs. Hale, this… this is Lifewell Tonic. My grandfather... made it specially for you. It's supposed to be really good for... your health."

Her voice faltered, and she could feel her palms sweating. 'Damn it,' she cursed silently.

If it weren't for that stupid engagement drama, she wouldn't have put herself in this ridiculous situation.

Next to her, Isamy's grand painting sat under the lights like a masterpiece, making Amaris's modest little box look downright pitiful. The murmurs started almost immediately, sharp and cutting. "Medicine? For a birthday? Is she serious?"

"Right? And Curevard Vitality Pills? What is that, some knockoff of Dr. Moss's famous EternaHerb Vitality Pills?"

"Of course it's a knockoff. Everyone knows Dr. Moss's pills. This just screams cheap imitation."

Isamy and her mother exchanged smug glances, their whispers venomous. "She's a complete idiot."

'Medicine as a birthday gift? She might as well hand Mrs. Hale a death warrant. Classic country bumpkin—no clue, no class, and just asking for humiliation,' Isamy sneered to herself.

The guests leaned in, waiting for Fenella to explode. But instead, the old lady's voice broke the tense silence, shaky with emotion. "Amaris… did your grandfather really make this himself?"

Amaris nodded seriously. Tears welled up in Fenella's eyes as she grabbed Amaris's hands tightly. "How thoughtful of him! After all these years, he still remembers this old bag of bones and even sent such a precious gift. Thank you, Amaris."

"Mrs. Hale, make sure... to take it on time," Amaris said, her tone dead serious.

The room fell into an awkward hush, everyone exchanging wide-eyed, confused glances. The tension finally broke when Ansel March, a well-known antique collector, stepped forward, his eyes locked on the box in Fenella's hands.

"Mrs. Hale, may I take a closer look at that box?" he said.

Fenella nodded and handed it over. Ansel held it carefully, his hands almost trembling. His eyes darted over the box, lighting up with excitement as he examined it.

"Mrs. Hale," he finally said, his voice brimming with admiration, "this box… it's made of top-grade ebony, and the carvings are absolutely exquisite. A true masterpiece. I'd like to offer 10 million dollars for it."

The crowd erupted in shock. Ansel, known for his obsession with antiques, had completely forgotten about the occasion. Fenella glanced at Amaris, her expression unreadable.

"Not enough? Fine, I'll go up to 17 million," Ansel added quickly, his gaze glued to the box. "Don't worry—I won't touch the pills. I just want the box."

Gasps rippled through the crowd. 10 million? For a box? Isamy and her mother looked like they'd swallowed a lemon.

If the box alone is worth that much, how valuable are the pills inside?' they wondered.

Eira stared at Amaris, disbelief written all over her face. 'Was Ansel joking?' But his reputation for being a die-hard antique collector was ironclad. He wouldn't fake this kind of reaction.

Isamy finally couldn't take it. Her pale face twisted into a forced smile. "Mr. March, my sister grew up in the countryside. She probably doesn't even understand how much money that is. Please, don't tease her."

But Ansel wasn't even listening. He was completely entranced by the box, oblivious to the chaos around him. His eyes stayed on Amaris, his tone almost desperate. "Miss Wynn, just name your price. I'll pay whatever you ask."

Amaris blinked, then let out a soft laugh, almost incredulous. 'Wait… this box is worth that much?'

To her, it was just a simple ebony container for pills. Her grandfather's warehouse had mountains of these things, stacked like firewood. She hadn't even looked at this one twice before grabbing it.

She raised an eyebrow, her gaze sliding lazily toward Fenella at the head of the table. "You might wanna check with Mrs. Hale first," she said, her tone light but pointed.

Ansel, here to celebrate Fenella's birthday, was utterly captivated by the box. Naturally, Fenella didn't want to dampen his excitement. In the end, the unassuming little box sold for a jaw-dropping 10 million dollars, ending up in Ansel's hands.

At first, everyone thought it was a joke. But when Ansel handed over an actual 10-million-dollar check, the entire room went dead silent. Every single person—Osric included—turned to Amaris with a mix of shock, confusion, and something harder to place.

Even Osric, usually the picture of composure, couldn't help but steal a glance at Amaris's plain canvas bag. 'What the hell else could she have stashed in there?' But just as his curiosity peaked, Amaris's hand shot out, covering the bag with a sharp don't even think about it glare that stopped him cold.

Busted, Osric smirked, his lips curling in that infuriatingly amused way of his. "Alright, out with it," he said, leaning closer. "You and Ansel planned this, didn't you? How much did you pay him to pull this off?"

He believed she was clearly doing everything she could to marry him.

'Does she seriously think pulling a stunt like this would make me see her in a new light? That I'd suddenly find her interesting? Worth my time?' he scoffed inwardly. 'What a joke. Fucking delusional.'

But before he could say anything else, Amaris turned to him with a calm, almost pitying look, like he was a child she didn't know whether to scold or laugh at.

She let the silence stretch for a moment, then finally spoke, her voice slow and deliberate, each word dripping with mockery. "Y-yeah. Sure. I-I planned it all. So… what now? You gonna cancel the engagement or not?"

Her words landed like a punch to the gut. For a second, Osric's smirk faltered, the sharp retort dying on his tongue.

Chapter 6 Move Into My Room?

The banquet had finally quieted down, the noise fading as night took over. Fenella, clearly exhausted, was carefully escorted out by medical staff.

Even as she left, she gently reminded Osric, "Take good care of Amaris," her tone warm and deliberate.

Osric stayed behind, effortlessly polite as he saw off the remaining guests. Just as he turned to take a moment for himself, Ismay made her entrance.

She walked toward him with calculated grace, every step perfectly measured. "Osric," she began, her voice soft and syrupy, "I'm so sorry about tonight. My sister's new to all this. She's never been in a crowd like this before, so… I'm sure she embarrassed you. But don't worry—when we're back home, I'll personally guide her. I'll teach her how to dress properly, how to carry herself, and all the social skills she so obviously lacks. Of course," she added with a faint smile, "it'll take time. Habits are hard to change, you know. No matter how hard she tries, she'll never quite… well, measure up to me. And that stuttering? Honestly, I don't think there's much hope for that."

Her words dripped with false sympathy, but the sharp edges weren't hard to miss. She wanted to twist the knife, to remind him just how unpolished and out of place Amaris was.

And more than that, to remind him that someone like her—elegant, poised, flawless—was the real match for a man of his status.

She had always been invisible to him. But now, with Amaris as her contrast, she was sure her worth would finally shine through.

When Osric didn't respond, Ismay smiled sweetly and reached into her bag, pulling out a ticket. She slid it into his hand with practiced ease.

"Remember the talk show competition I told you about? I made it to the finals. It's tomorrow," she said lightly, her voice full of expectation. "If you're there to cheer me on, I know I'll win."

Osric glanced at the ticket, his lips curling into a faint, mocking smile. "So, you're saying if I show up, you'll win? What, I've got magical powers now?"

Ismay giggled, leaning in slightly. "You do! You absolutely do." She blushed as she turned to leave, pausing dramatically at the door.

Looking back over her shoulder, she smiled, her voice sweet and confident. "Osric, I'll be waiting for you tomorrow."

He held the ticket loosely, his face unreadable.

At that moment, Amaris walked out from the main hall, only to be greeted by the sight of Ismay and Osric in what looked like an intimate, cozy exchange. She froze briefly, feeling out of place. For a split second, she wondered if she was interrupting something.

Then the thought hit her. 'Is he actually interested in Ismay?' Her lips curved into a faint, mocking smile. 'God, his taste is worse than I thought.

'But then again, what do you expect from a guy who screws around in a bathroom? Refined isn't exactly his thing.'

She turned to leave quietly, wanting nothing to do with the scene in front of her. But before she could slip away unnoticed, Ismay's eyes locked onto her.

"Amaris!" Ismay hurried over, grabbing Amaris's hand, her face all sweetness and light.

Amaris barely glanced at her, her voice cold. "What do you want?"

Ismay kept her sugary smile. "Mom said you should come home with us. You and Osric aren't officially engaged yet, so staying here isn't really appropriate. Besides, I picked out some new clothes for you. Next time you wear them, no one will say you and Osric don't match."

Amaris shook her hand off, her eyes frosty. "No need. And for the record, your mom… isn't my mom."

Ismay's smile faltered for the briefest moment before she quickly masked it with a faux look of hurt. "Amaris, how can you say that? Mom and I only want what's best for you. I understand—you want to stay close to Osric—but spending the night here? It's not proper, especially on your first visit. It goes against everything the Wynn family stands for. You know how much Dad values dignity, and you—"

"Stands for what?" Amaris interrupted, her tone sharp and cold. "Flirting with your sister's fiancé?"

The words hit like a slap. Ismay's face turned crimson, tears welling up in her eyes as though she'd been wronged.

"Amaris, you've misunderstood me. I would never—" Her voice broke, trembling with fake sincerity.

Before she could say more, Osric strode over, his expression stormy. Without a word, he grabbed Amaris's wrist. "That's enough. Grandma said you're staying here."

Amaris frowned and pulled her hand back. "I really don't need to stay—"

"Stop pretending. You're staying. End of story." His tone was sharp, but there was an edge of jealousy lurking beneath it.

He wasn't blind—he'd seen the little scene between the sisters, and it didn't sit well with him.

He turned to Ismay, a mocking smile tugging at his lips. "Go tell your parents that Grandma likes Amaris and wants her to stay for a few days."

Ismay's smile cracked entirely. Her face turned pale, and she bit her lip in frustration. Full of resentment but unwilling to argue, she gave a stiff nod and walked away.

As soon as she was gone, Osric's fake smile disappeared. He glanced at Amaris, his tone clipped. "Third room on the right upstairs. That's your room."

The sky was already dark. Amaris hesitated, realizing it wasn't exactly convenient to leave now. "Fine. Thanks. I'll… move out tomorrow."

"Osric had already started up the stairs, but her words made him stop. His brows furrowed.

"

'Is she unhappy with the room? Or does she think I'm about to let her move into my room?' he thought, a hint of annoyance creeping in.