Chapter 5 - Scarlet Scandal

Amelia’s POV

"I don’t remember exactly what happened," I confessed, my voice low as I stirred my coffee with unnecessary force. 

"I remember kisses. Passionate ones. And then... it just goes blank. But I assume we slept together."

Across from me, Elizabeth nearly choked on her drink. Her eyes widened, but they sparkled with a hint of amusement. 

"Already moving on, huh? I’m surprised, Amelia. You never struck me as the one-night stand type."

I gave her a scandalized look and a playful shove. "Oh, no—Liz, you’ve got it all wrong! You really think I’d just hook up with some random guy who cornered me in a hotel hallway?"

She raised a brow. "I don’t know... Post-breakup meltdowns do strange things to people."

I shook my head, a small smile tugging at my lips despite the storm still brewing inside me. "He wore the Lancaster crest. I felt it on his chest. That emblem doesn’t lie—it must have been Tristan."

Her expression fell. "Oh..."

That one syllable carried a whole avalanche of disappointment.

"What?" I asked.

"Honestly? Sleeping with Tristan sounds worse than a mysterious stranger sweeping you off your feet."

I rolled my eyes. "Liz..."

She wasn’t wrong. But still, the idea that it hadn’t been Tristan—that some stranger had kissed me like that, held me like that—was even more terrifying. 

I needed to believe it had been him. I needed to cling to some kind of logic.

But then I remembered the call.

"The strange thing is," I said slowly, eyes narrowing as I replayed the conversation in my mind, "Tristan called me this morning. And he acted like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t seen me at all. He even told me not to come to the wedding today."

Liz sat up straight, all traces of humor gone. "He did WHAT now?! You didn't say it was today!"

I sighed, burying my face in my hands. "I don’t understand it either."

Liz was quiet for a moment, then her voice turned sharp. 

"You have to go to the wedding. Now! You deserve answers, Amelia. You deserve to know what this all means. If he can kiss you one night and deny you the next morning, you need to make him say it to your face."

Something about her words snapped into place. She was right.

Had I meant anything to him? Or had I always just been a stepping stone, a tool for him to use until something better—someone better—came along?

I stood, resolving the hardening in my chest. "You’re right, Liz. I’m going."

Elizabeth was already on her feet. "And you’re not showing up like a heartbroken mess either. You’re going to walk in there looking like the woman he should’ve never let go."

We got dressed in a frenzy. Liz dug through my closet and handed me my boldest scarlet red dress—the one I had never dared to wear before. And the highest heels I owned.

"Are you sure this isn’t too much, Liz?"

She looked me dead in the eye. "Too much? You’re confronting the man who replaced you with your own sister at what was supposed to be YOUR wedding. Trust me, this is the perfect amount of too much."

We rushed to the venue, the silence in the car thick with adrenaline and nerves.

By the time we arrived, the doors to the wedding hall were already closed. Muffled music drifted out. I hesitated for only a second before pushing them open.

The timing couldn’t have been more cruel.

"You may now kiss the bride," the priest declared.

And there it was—

Tristan and Victoria, locked in a kiss.

My breath caught. My body went rigid. The kiss was slow. Deep. Sweet.

And when it broke, Tristan turned to the crowd, his eyes shining with the kind of affection I had once fantasized was for me.

"I used to believe business marriages had no real love," he said. "But in the days I’ve spent with Victoria, I’ve hopelessly fallen for her. I want to take care of her for the rest of my life."

Something inside me snapped.

I didn’t even realize I’d stepped forward until my voice rang through the room, sharp and breaking. "And what about me, Tristan? What did my feelings mean to you? Did I mean nothing at all?"

Gasps rippled through the audience as all eyes turned toward me. Whispers buzzed through the room. 

My throat tightened, and for a moment, I felt painfully self-conscious—like I was the intruder in a dream that was supposed to be mine.

Then I felt Liz slip her arm through mine. She lifted her chin high, radiating a calm defiance I desperately needed. 

Tristan's face hardened with irritation. He stepped away from Victoria, shielding her like I was some threat.

"Amelia," he said coldly. "Please don’t cause a scene. You and I were never anything more than what our families arranged."

My love, my trust, my sacrifices—was it all just "family arrangement" in his eyes?

"No... this isn’t real... " I could barely form the words.

But Tristan didn’t halt the torment. "Now that we’re at this point, I might as well tell you the truth, Amelia."

A wave of fear surged within me. No, don’t hurt me any more.

"The truth is, I’ve always loved Victoria, from the past to the present."

Those words struck me like a slap to the face, the pain sharper than anything I had ever felt before. But Tristan continued, oblivious to the wound he was inflicting.

"I got engaged to you because you were more suited to be Lancaster's daughter-in-law. That’s all." Tristan finally dropped his facade. "But Victoria, from the very beginning, she’s been my true love."

He sighed. "If it weren’t for her terminal illness, I would have kept this secret for the rest of my life."

Victoria stepped forward and linked her arm with Tristan’s, leaning into him with an air of familiarity.

"So, you should understand, Amelia," Tristan said, turning to face me. "This wedding was always meant to be hers. You’re the one who owes her."

With that, he walked back to the altar, leaving me standing there in a whirlwind of disbelief.

The words cut deeper than I expected. If any pieces of my heart had remained intact, they were now shattered, stomped on, and destroyed beyond repair.

What had I been thinking? The love I thought I had was nothing but this man’s disguise and manipulation all along.

Tristan and Victoria had been familiar with each other long before, more than I could ever have imagined. 

No wonder the atmosphere between Victoria and Tristan felt off when she tried on the wedding dress.

It was just me, the one kept in the dark.

Tristan’s proposal to change the bride wasn’t some sudden decision—it had all been planned. Victoria was his true love; I was just a product of calculation, the lesser choice in his mind.

So that was it. Years of loving him. Sacrificing for him. Hoping. All of it—worthless.

I could barely breathe. Tears stung my eyes as I whispered, "If I mean nothing to you, then why did you come to the hotel last night?"

The room seemed to freeze. Heads turned. Murmurs broke out in the crowd like wildfire.

"At the hotel? What is she talking about?" Victoria asked, eyes wide with worry.

Tristan’s brows furrowed. He leaned toward her slightly and muttered, loud enough for the crowd to hear, "She’s just jealous. Delusional. Don’t let her ruin our special day."

He turned to face me. The irritation in his eyes was poorly disguised behind a veneer of concern.

"Amelia," he said, his tone laced with forced patience, "I don't know what you are talking about. But if you keep causing trouble, I’ll have security throw you out. Don't make this ugly."

He said it with mock pity, like I had gone mad—lost touch with reality. But I knew what I had felt, what I had experienced. 

The weight of those kisses, the heat of that moment—I hadn’t imagined it.

How could he pretend there like nothing ever happened?

"You are really forcing me to tell the whole truth." I mocked back, then I shouted, my voice breaking with anger and hurt.

"Last night—at the Conrad Hotel, right outside my room—you kissed me! I felt your family's crest on you!"

Another wave of gasps echoed through the room. Tristan’s brows furrowed tightly. 

"What are you talking about? I was at the hospital with Victoria all day yesterday. Amelia, even if you want to mess up the wedding, you don't have to act like a slut. Or did you mistake your wet dreams for reality?"

I never expected my ex-fiancé to call me a slut at the wedding that was supposed to be ours. 

I heard the loud and lewd laughter of the crowd around me.

Before I could refute, another voice rang out—calm, confident, powerful.

"She didn't lie. Because the man in the hotel last night...was me. "

That voice—deeper, richer, and far more mature than Tristan’s—

The moment it hit me, it dragged me straight back to the heat of last night.

This was the man from last night!

God, how much had I drunk to not notice something was off?

But who was he? Who had the nerve to challenge Tristan so openly at a Lancaster wedding?

I spun around, my heart hammering in my chest. I looked at his face, I was sure—I had never seen him before.

The man caught the confusion flashing across my face. His expression remained calm and composed as he said, "I’m Rowan Lancaster. Tristan’s uncle."