What do I do?
“Easy, Morgan,” Mr. Donovan interjects, the calm counterpoint to Morgan’s fiery outrage. “Amelia, take a deep breath. This is not going to happen. August will see reason and come back with you to the States. And if he doesn’t, I’ll step in and talk to your father. I still have plenty of connections in thelegal world, and I’m sure I can talk to Mr. Stanley about some suitable alternatives.”
His reassurance feels like a lifeline thrown across the ocean of my fears.
My father thinks highly of him. He made that abundantly clear the last few days.
“Give me some time,” Mr. Donovan continues. “I will look into it. But dear, you need to stop overthinking this and drowning in all this guilt. It’s not your fault, and we will fix this. You focus on letting the boys make things right with you, and I’ll handle the rest.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, choked with emotion, the relief mingling with the remaining strands of worry.
A knock at the door startles me back to reality.
“Miss Stanley, it’s time,” James’ voice calls through the wood, and I only now realize that my smartwatch is buzzing.
“I have to go,” I say quickly into the phone.
“We’ll talk soon,” Morgan replies.
“Take care, dear,” Mr. Donovan adds.
The moment I hang up the phone, I feel slightly steadier.
Pulling up the security feed on my laptop, I quickly scan through the cameras positioned in the entry hall. The footage shows the area mostly empty, save for a maid fussing with the flowers. The guys aren’t there, nor are my parents or August.
“Where is everyone?” I mutter to myself, puzzled by the absence of the usual pre-event bustle.
What the hell?
Scooping up my purse, I step toward the door with a deep breath to face whatever this function is or isn’t.
I open the door, James nods at me, and without another word, he escorts me down the sweeping staircase, his steps measured and unhurried. We reach the bottom, and I glance around the grand foyer, still expecting to see others gathered.
“Why is nobody here?”
James just smirks, a knowing look in his eyes that does nothing to alleviate my growing sense of intrigue. “All expected attendees are already present,” he replies cryptically.
“And what kind of gathering is it tonight?” I press, hoping for more details, yet he continues to guide me toward the front door without much of an answer.
“You shall discover soon enough. However, we must hurry to ensure your punctuality,” he adds, checking his watch as if to punctuate the point.
Stepping outside, the cool evening air brushes against my skin, and I spot my mother’s Bentley idling at the curb. Wilfred stands by the rear door, ready and waiting. As we approach, he smiles and pulls open the back door for me.
“Enjoy it, Amelia,” James says, his voice laced with a hint of something I can’t quite place—anticipation, perhaps?
I nod, puzzled about him using my first name for the first time ever, and slide into the plush back seat of the car. Wilfred shuts the door with a soft thud, encapsulating me in a bubble of my own swirling thoughts.
What in the world?
Silence follows as we drive off, but after a few minutes, Wilfred speaks up. “You deserve this, Miss Amelia.Them. We’re all very happy for you.”
Confusion tightens around my chest. “What are you talking about? Where are we headed? And where are my parents?”
“They’re out with friends. I just drove them and was told to return in a couple of hours,” Wilfred explains. “So, we have time.”
“Time for what?” I press,
Wilfred chuckles softly. “You know these men have been spending their time with us, eating with the staff, talking. Mostlyabout you. They wanted to know everything we could give them.”
