I’m the contracted bride of the billionaire

The blinding blaze of energy gradually died down, leaving Philip immediately confused, his vision swimming with afterimages that moved across his field of view.

As his faculties steadily returned, the principal thing that enlisted was the stunning quiet that had slid upon the chamber, a conspicuous difference to the clamor that had gone before it.

Squinting away the waiting spots that darkened his sight, Philip’s look fell upon the tube shaped chamber that had once detained Amelia, and his heart skirted a thump.

The chamber was unfilled, its straightforward walls now without any trace of the ethereal shine that had once typified her sleeping structure.Content held by NôvelDrama.Org.

Alarm held onto him, a bad habit like grasp that contracted his lungs and sent his considerations spiraling into a frenzy of fear.

Was it too late for him? Had Cambel’s bent plots at long last prevailed with regards to dousing the light that had directed him through the obscurity? As he scanned the room, his eyes darted from one corner to the next in search of evidence of Amelia’s presence, he moved with desperation.

He then saw a huddled figure curled up against the far wall, partially obscured by the shadows that gathered in the chamber’s nooks and crannies.

“Amelia!” The name tore from his lips, a worn out exhalation touched with a balance of help and fear. Without a second thought, he hurried to her side, dropping to his knees as he tenderly supported her in his arms. Her eyes rippled open, their warm hazel profundities blurred with a combination of disarray and remaining trepidation.

“Philip?” she mumbled, her voice a delicate wisp that pulled at his heart. “Is it truly you?” As he gently brushed the stray hairs from her face, he reassured her, “I’m here, Amelia.”

“You’re not kidding.” A quivery grin pulled at the edges of her lips, yet it immediately blurred, supplanted by a spooky articulation that discussed tortures he could hardly comprehend. “No,” she murmured, her look turning internal as though standing up to devils that prowled inside the shadows of her own brain. “I’m undependable.

False in any way.” Philip’s temple wrinkled, his anxiety extending as he enrolled the spooky tone of her words. “What truth, Amelia? What are you referring to?” Her lips separated, yet before she could answer, a deriding snicker reverberated through the chamber, its savage rhythm grinding against Philip’s detects like fingernails on a blackboard.

Cambel ventured into view, her highlights bent into a chilly, mirthless scoff as she respected the rejoined couple with undisguised scorn. “Ok, indeed, reality,” she murmured, her voice bound with a venomous pleasure that sent a shudder down Philip’s spine.

“The skeletons that rattle in the depths of her closet, the truth that your precious Amelia has been so desperate to conceal.”

As a mantle of shame seemed to fall upon her slender shoulders, Amelia flinched as if she had been struck. Her gaze fell to the ground.

Philip fixed his hug, his jaw gripping as he evened out a rebellious frown at his stepmother. “Anything you assume you know, Cambel, it won’t change how I feel about Amelia,” he pronounced, his words ringing with a conviction that brooked no contention.

“She’s the one I love, and nothing you can say or do will change that.” Cambel’s eyes limited, her highlights solidifying into a cover of cold estimation. “We’ll see about that,” she snapped, her fingers moving across the controls of a close by console.

A progression of holographic presentations flashed to life, their iridescent surfaces extending a succession of pictures that appeared to jump from the profundities of Amelia’s past.

Philip’s breath trapped in his throat as he watched the scenes unfurl, every one more upsetting than the last.

There was Amelia, her highlights more youthful and more guiltless, clustered toward the side of a faintly lit room, her arms wrapped defensively around herself as a transcending figure lingered over her, their elements darkened yet their threatening presence unmistakable.

The images changed, revealing a montage of shady encounters, with shadowy figures slipping into back rooms and alleyways, their movements obscured but their intentions clear.

At long last, the last picture blended, a grainy security film that portrayed Amelia escaping from an undesirable inn, her dress tousled and her eyes tormented by 1, 000 yard gaze that discussed unspeakable repulsions.

Philip felt his stomach beat, the heaviness of Amelia’s past pushing ahead upon him like an actual power. He went to her, his look looking, quietly begging her to disprove the condemning proof that had been revealed before them.

Amelia met his gaze, her eyes shimmering with unshed destroys that followed sparkling paths her cheeks. “It’s valid,” she murmured, her voice thick with misery.

“Every last bit of it.” Philip could feel the presence of the words in the air, as if they were sucking oxygen out of his lungs.

He battled to handle the disclosure, to accommodate the lady he knew and cherished with the corrupt looks into her past that had been pushed onto him.

Cambel’s giggling slice through the quietness like a blade, her pleasure at Philip’s unrest substantial. “You see now, dear stepson?” she crowed, her words dribbling with pernicious happiness.

“Your darling Amelia is just a typical prostitute, a simple toy to be utilized and disposed of by those with power and impact.”

The slur struck Philip like an actual blow, lighting a stewing rage that took steps to consume him. His hands balled into suffocating grips, his knuckles brightening as he battled to contain the rising tide of outrage that flooded through his veins.

“Enough!” He snarled, his voice resonating with such ferocity that Cambel appeared to be taken aback. “You don’t get to pass judgment on her, not after the profundities of degeneracy you’ve sunk to in your bent quest for power.” Cambel’s eyes augmented, her cover of self-satisfied predominance slipping for the briefest of minutes as Philip’s words tracked down their imprint.

Yet again yet she immediately recuperated, her highlights solidifying as she mobilized her safeguards. “Judge her?” She scoffed, twisting her lips into a sneer of contempt. “I’m just uncovering reality, a reality that you were too dazed by your off track expressions of warmth to see.” Philip shook his head, his arms fixing around Amelia in a defensive hug.

“Truly what I decide to accept,” he pronounced, his voice ringing with a conviction that appeared to resonate through the actual underpinnings of the chamber.

“Furthermore, reality I see is a lady of solidarity, a lady who has gotten through unspeakable difficulties and arisen on the opposite side with her soul unblemished.”

He went to Amelia, his look relaxing as he savored seeing her, his adoration for her igniting with a power that appeared to oppose the obscurity that tried to douse it.

“Your past doesn’t characterize you, Amelia,” he mumbled, his words implied for her ears alone. “It is the individual you are currently, the individual you have battled to turn into, that makes the biggest difference.”

Amelia’s lips shuddered, her eyes flickering with a combination of appreciation and lingering torment.

She began, “Philip, I…” but her words vanished, and her gaze flickered toward Cambel’s mute form.

Cambel’s chuckling rang out again, a brutal, grinding sound that ground against Philip’s detects like nails on a blackboard.

“How delightfully innocent,” she scoffed, her eyes gleaming with a vindictive yearning that sent a shudder down Philip’s spine.

“In any case, your beautiful words can’t delete reality, nor might they at any point safeguard you from the results of your activities.” With a twist of her hand, Cambel motioned towards the far wall, where a progression of intensely supported entryways slid open with a moan of pushed metal.

A phalanx of armed figures with their weapons leveled and balaclavas covering their faces gave the impression of faceless menace as they emerged from the beyond’s shadowy recesses.

“You’ve had your impact commendably, Philip,” Cambel articulated, her voice dribbling with egotistical fulfillment.

“Yet, presently, it’s the ideal opportunity for you to confront the retribution you’ve brought upon yourself.”

The equipped figures spread out, their developments exact and facilitated as they surrounded Philip and Amelia, removing any opportunity of break.

Philip’s grasp on Amelia fixed, his jaw gripped in resistance as he arranged to make his last stand.

However, before he could act, a stunning blast shook the chamber, sending trash pouring downward on them as the far wall deteriorated in a blinding blaze of intensity and concussive power.

Through the surging billows of smoke and residue, a recognizable figure arose, their elements clouded however their presence directing – the appearance of a startling partner, or maybe another danger much more tricky than Cambel’s ruses.