Only a few days had passed, yet Amanda's world had been turned upside down. Today was the day she officially moved into Quentin's villa.
"Once you become someone's wife, you have to act like one. Marriage is built on trust and partnership. While he's out managing the world, you have to be the pillar of the home."
Amanda was busy hauling her luggage downstairs, but Milena followed her every step, a relentless stream of motherly advice trailing behind her.
"And remember, Quentin isn't getting any younger. You two should get a move on and start a family. If you're too busy with work to care for a baby, just send the little one to me!"
"Mom!" Amanda snapped, spinning around to glare.
"What? I'm telling you the truth! Don't you dare glare at me."
Huffing, Amanda stomped over to her father, who was hiding behind a newspaper and pretending to be profoundly deaf. "Dad! Control your wife!"
Kevin Solis didn't even look up. He simply turned the page and muttered, "I'm not that brave, princess."
"Dad!" Amanda cried out, but she was met with a united front of parental mischief.
Diego, watching his sister's frustration from the sidelines, chuckled softly. "Mom, if you keep lecturing her like this, she's going to turn into a mini-version of you. The world can barely handle one Mrs. Solis."
Milena shot her son a warning look. "You're next, you brat. I haven't even begun to deal with your lack of a girlfriend."
Diego immediately went silent.
The front door opened, and Quentin walked in with a warm smile, his arms full of premium gift bags for the family.
"Is the house always this lively in the morning?" Quentin asked.
"I'm just giving her a few final instructions," Milena said, beaming as she welcomed her new son-in-law. "Please, take this stubborn girl away so I can finally be debt-free!"
Quentin laughed. "As you wish, Ma'am."
"What did you just call me?" Milena teased, arching an eyebrow.
Quentin's smile softened, and his voice took on a deeper, more respectful tone. "As you wish... Mother."
"Haha! That's more like it!"
In the car, the silence was heavy. Amanda looked at the man sitting leisurely beside her, his profile sharp and composed.
"Do Directors of Harris Corp usually have this much free time?" she asked curiously. "Shouldn't you be at a board meeting?"
The corner of Quentin's lip twitched. "I wanted to be home with you for your first morning."
He didn't mention that he had survived on exactly eight hours of sleep over the last three days just to clear his schedule for her.
Amanda didn't respond. She diverted her attention to an email from Vance Walters regarding her filming schedule. She worked until the car slowed to a halt. When she looked up, her heart stopped. Her entire body went rigid.
The car had pulled into a massive estate. Even from a distance, the architecture was unmistakable—a luxurious, sophisticated masterpiece of stone and glass.
This house. Quentin got out, walked around to her side, and opened the door. He offered his hand. "We're here. Let's go inside."
Amanda took a ragged breath, her nails digging into her palms. She fought back the wave of nausea and hatred rising in her throat. She forced herself to take his hand.
The interior was different than she remembered—less cold, more cozy and inviting—but the layout was the same. Every corner was a haunt. But before she could even process the trauma of the entryway, Quentin pulled her toward the back of the villa.
"I have something to show you," he said.
For the first time, Amanda saw genuine, boyish joy in Quentin's eyes. It was a look of pure hope.
Then, they stepped onto the terrace.
The sight made Amanda's brain feel like it was exploding. Distant, agonizing memories rushed back like a tidal wave. She couldn't breathe.
Below them lay a sprawling, magnificent rose garden. Thousands of blooms swayed in the breeze, a sea of red and pink.
"I heard you liked roses," Quentin said, his voice soft and hopeful.
He turned to her, expecting a smile, but his heart sank. Amanda was trembling. Her face was deathly pale, and her eyes weren't filled with joy—they were filled with a cold, terrifying loathing.
"Don't you like them?" Quentin's smile vanished. He looked at the garden, then back at her. "If you don't like them, I'll have them removed."
"Then pull them out."
Amanda ripped her hand from his. She didn't look at the pain that flashed across his face. She didn't care. She turned and fled into the house, her teeth clenched so hard her jaw ached, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill.
Why? Why was she back in the same house where Javier had destroyed her? Why did Quentin give her the exact same gift Javier had used to manipulate her? The coincidence was too cruel to be a coincidence. To her, the roses weren't a sign of love—they were a sign of the trap closing around her once again.
Quentin stood on the terrace, watching her cold, retreating back. He let out a long, heavy sigh.
It's not the roses, he realized bitterly. It's me. She doesn't hate the flowers; she hates the man who gave them to her.
Butler Wayne, who had been sent by the Elder Harris to assist the newlyweds, stepped up beside him. He had seen the whole exchange and felt a pang of sympathy for the young master. "Don't be too discouraged, sir. She's probably just overwhelmed by the move."
Quentin closed his eyes, his expression returning to the mask of cold, silent stoicism he usually wore for the world.
"Call the gardening team," Quentin ordered, his voice hollow. "Have them pull everything out. Every single one."
The Butler gasped. "But Young Master! You've spent years tending to this garden! You grew half of those yourself!"
Quentin opened his eyes, and the warmth that had been there only minutes ago was dead.
"If Mandy doesn't like them," he said, his voice as cold as ice, "then they have no business being in my house. Rip them out. Now."
Butler Wayne bowed his head, unable to argue further. "Yes, sir."