Amelia’s POV“Are you threatening me right now?” I asked, my voice sharp, eyes narrowed into slits.Tristan smirked. “Good observation.”I didn’t hesitate. I yanked my arm from his grip and shoved him back a step. Fury roared in my chest, but beneath it was something colder—clarity. For a fleeting moment, I’d believed that maybe, just maybe, his earlier defense in front of my stepmother had come from some scrap of decency. A hint of guilt. A flicker of care.But no. Tristan hadn’t changed at all.He still saw me as something to own. To manipulate. A plaything to pull off the shelf when convenient.I stepped closer, grabbed him by the collar, and looked him dead in the eye. “Listen carefully,” I said, my voice like ice. “I am not yours. Not now. Not ever. You can threaten, lie, and twist all you want—but I will never submit to you again.”His smile wavered.I released his collar and turned my back on him, walking away with my head high and my back straight. I didn’t look back.But ev
Amelia’s POV“Victoria!” Tristan shouted, stumbling forward in panic.The security guard rushed over, kneeling beside her. “She appears to be unconscious—but there’s a pulse,” he said quickly, checking her vitals.Elena, ever composed, was already on the phone. “We need emergency medical assistance at the Conrad Hotel, east wing. A female in her twenties fainted suddenly. Breathing but unresponsive.”The hallway blurred into a mess of footsteps and frantic voices. I stood frozen, heart pounding. This wasn’t how I’d expected the day to go.The ambulance arrived within minutes. Medics moved swiftly, placing Victoria onto a stretcher. Tristan, for all his previous arrogance, looked shaken. Guilt, fear—whatever it was, it had wiped the smirk right off his face. He hovered over Victoria, clutching her hand as they loaded her into the ambulance.I followed, just to make sure she was stable. Whatever my feelings toward Victoria, I didn’t want her hurt.But the moment I turned to leave, Tri
Amelia’s POVTristan’s glare cut through me, his eyes narrowed into slits of fury. “What the hell did you do? Who is that?”I moved fast, trying to reach the door handle. But he caught my wrists in a bruising grip.“Tristan, let go!” I hissed, struggling against him. “You won’t get away with your disgusting behavior this time.”From the hallway, a deep voice boomed through the door. “Sir, you need to open this door now, or we will force entry.”The knocking came again—louder this time, more urgent.But Tristan didn’t flinch. If anything, the pressure seemed to push him further into madness. He leaned in close, his breath hot and sour. “Don’t you want the money, Amesie? You think anyone will care about you when you leave here empty-handed? After you’ve begged me?”I twisted against him, fury pulsing through my veins. “I said don't call that! And I don’t need your money. I’ll take care of myself!”He snarled, gripping my arm tighter. “Come on, babe. Just tell them to leave. Tell them e
Rowan’s POVWhen Miles told me Amelia was downstairs, I’ll admit—I was pleased. Maybe more than I should’ve been.A small smile tugged at my lips. So, she wasn’t that foolish. She knew where to come when it really mattered. Maybe she was ready to drop that stubborn pride and actually ask for help."Bring her up," I told him.A minute passed. Then two.The door opened—and only Miles came in."Ms. Hartwell wasn’t there when I got to the waiting room," he said, his expression tight with apology. "She must’ve left."I didn’t say a word. A muscle ticked in my jaw.Why the hell would she leave after making it that far?Something hot twisted in my chest—irritation, definitely. Disappointment? Probably. But I forced my face into an unreadable calm. I couldn’t let Miles see it. Couldn’t let anyone see it.Hell, I didn’t even understand it myself.Why did it bother me so much that she’d walked away?I clenched my hands behind my back and nodded once. "That’ll be all," I said quietly.“Mr. Lanca
Amelia’s POVAfter spotting Rowan’s assistant at the bank, the idea had taken root and refused to go away:Should I ask Rowan for help?Desperation gnawed at me. I had always prided myself on being independent. I had built everything on my own—my work, my name, my path. And, I had told Rowan I wanted no contact outside of work. But now here I was, preparing to walk into his building and ask for a favor.I had no choice. Not if I wanted to save my mother’s house. That home meant more than just bricks and wood. It was the last piece of her I had left.I stood outside the Lancaster Group headquarters for what felt like forever. My heels were rooted to the pavement as the morning sun gleamed off the building’s sharp lines. Everything about the towering structure screamed authority—precise, sleek, untouchable. Just like the man who ran it.The glass facade reflected the city around it. It was the kind of place that made people straighten their spines. I, on the other hand, felt like I wa
Amelia’s POVThe next morning, I dressed with purpose.A crisp blazer in charcoal gray. A silk blouse tucked into a high-waisted pencil skirt. Heels sharp enough to count as weapons. My blonde hair, usually left down in waves, was wound into a strict bun, and I swept on a bold red lip like armor.I needed to portray every ounce of strength, professionalism, and boss-energy I could muster."I’m going to save that house," I told myself in the mirror. "And I’m not taking no for an answer."The bank's glass facade shimmered in the morning sun as I walked up the steps, forcing my shoulders back and my chin up. The receptionist greeted me with a polite smile."Good morning, Miss Hartwell. Please, right this way."I followed her down a quiet corridor and into a bright, sterile office. The loan officer stood as I entered, offering a practiced handshake and an even more practiced smile."Miss Hartwell, I’ve reviewed your documents," he began after the usual pleasantries. "Your business's fina
Amelia’s POV"I got this far in spite of your name," I hissed. "You’ll never take credit for anything I’ve built. And don’t you dare touch that house."Franklin smirked at me like I was a child throwing a tantrum.The men around him exchanged amused glances. One of them muttered, "Feisty little lady," and another chuckled, "I like ‘em that way."Disgust burned through me, but I didn’t flinch. I kept my eyes on the man who’d once tucked me into bed and read bedtime stories—before trading all that in for another woman and her daughter, Victoria."That house was left to me by Mom," I said, my voice trembling with rage. "That's all I have left of her. You can’t let anyone else touch it.""You mean the house I paid to renovate?" he snapped. "It’s already up for auction, Amelia. You’re too late."My heart dropped. "You can’t be serious.""It’s my legal right," he said with a shrug. "You should be grateful I didn’t sell it off sooner. Instead of wasting time whining about it, go find a man w
Amelia’s POV"Amelia?" My father sounded surprised, and undeniably drunk. He was staggering slightly on the polished sidewalk, his tie askew, eyes glazed from another round of drinking.I looked at the man swaying in front of me—Franklin Hartwell. The man who was supposed to be my father. He reeked of alcohol and arrogance. A walking ghost of the man I used to hope he'd be. This had become his routine now: drinking his pride away, night after night, while pretending the wreckage he left behind didn't exist.Memories surfaced, uninvited and sharp. I remembered the nights he came home late, telling my mother he’d been handling business. In truth, he’d been sneaking around with another woman—the one who would destroy our family. The woman who got pregnant. The one who gave birth to Victoria.Together, they shattered everything.They broke my mother’s heart. Drove her into silence. Into illness. Into an early grave.I still blamed them for that—and for every ache that followed.Frankli
Amelia’s POVI had no doubt Rowan Lancaster could find me anywhere if he wanted to. The man could probably find out what I had for breakfast before I did. But I couldn’t wrap my head around why he went through the trouble of tracking me down in the first place.Was it because my apology hadn’t sounded sincere enough? Or did he feel obligated—some misplaced sense of chivalry because I’d fallen into his arms earlier?I got into the car. Frankly, he didn’t give me much of a choice. His tone wasn’t angry, but it wasn’t up for debate either. He simply expected me to obey.The car was silent, save for the powerful hum of the motor. Finally, Rowan spoke."Why did you leave the venue without waiting for me?" he asked, his voice low and unreadable.I kept my eyes fixed on the city lights blurring past. "I had something to do.""What exactly?" he pressed. This time, there was a subtle shift in his tone, colder.I flinched, just slightly. "Just... some deadlines. Client work." I lied. Again.