Handsome as fuck.
“Amelia, hey,” Misha greets me, and a mixture of longing and hurt churns in my stomach.
I square my shoulders and lift my chin, determined to walk past them with as much dignity as I can muster. But they form a line across the corridor, effectively cutting off my escape route. Forcing myself to meet their eyes, one by one, I can see the hurt reflected there, and it’s almost unbearable. It’s like looking into a mirror of my own pain, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to crumble.
Why are they hurt?
They’re the ones who usedme.
Oliver’s voice breaks the tense silence. “You look… beautiful, but I likemyAmelia more.”
His words transport me back to our date. The memory of his gentle touch, his kind eyes, the way he made me feel seen and understood. It all comes flooding back.
All this hurt is too much, and I have no idea how to handle it. I refuse to cry in front of them, not in this fucking house. So I do the only thing I can. I turn my pain into anger, letting it harden me like armor.
“There is no such thing asyourAmelia,” I say flatly without an ounce of emotion. The words taste like poison on my tongue, but I force them out anyway.
Oliver looks stricken, his green eyes widening behind his glasses, and for a moment, I almost regret my words. But then I remember the betrayal, and my resolve strengthens.
He watched you work, eat, shower, dress.
He watched you touch yourself.
Misha tries to intervene, his tone soft and pleading. “Ladybug?—”
I cut him off, not trusting myself to look into those warm brown eyes that have always been able to see right through me.
“Let me through…please. Mother doesn’t like to wait.”
They nod and step aside, but as I pass, Grey speaks up. His usually stoic voice has a hint of desperation that I’ve never heard before. “Princess, can we talk after… whatever this is we’re going to now?”
“No,” I respond, my steps faltering slightly as I try to steady myself, but the tremble in my voice betrays me. “You had weeks to tell me what you were doing, and you chose not to.”
“Please, at leastlistento what we have to say,” Grey pleads, his hand reaching out as if to touch me before dropping back to his side. “We came all the way here to talk to you.”
I whirl around. “Oh, and I should thank you for that?” The sight of them standing there, looking so out of place in the opulent hallway, only fuels my rage. “Just leave!”
I don’t want you here.
You were my freedom.
I don’t want you in my cage.
“Amelia—” Oliver starts, but I cut him off.
“You being here in my home is a violation of my privacy. But you’ve already proved that you don’t give a fuck about that.”
I turn to leave, but Misha’s voice stops me in my tracks. “You’re right… witheverything, but this is not your home, Amelia. Your home is in Seattlewith us.”
His words pierce through my anger, hitting a truth I’ve been trying to ignore. I don’t look back as I finally walk away, descending the stairs. “It was,” I whisper, the admission barely audible.
Making my way down, I’m struck by how much I’ve changed. The girl who left this house two years ago, desperate for some semblance of freedom, is gone.
I talked back to my father earlier. Now, I stood up to them. I’ve outgrown my life here, but I have nowhere else to go.
The weight of my stilettos on each step feels like a countdown to something I’m not ready to face. Behind me, I can hear the muffled voices of the guys, probably debating whether to follow me. Ahead, the sounds of polite conversation and tinkling china drift up from the drawing room. I’m caught between two worlds, belonging to neither, and the loneliness of that realization threatens to overwhelm me.
It’s even worse than before, now that I know how it could be.
