Chapter 7

A week later, the cooling-off period for the divorce was finally over. Amelia could officially leave.

She started packing.

Midway through, Leon showed up holding a couture gown, saying it was from Chad. Apparently, Chad wanted her to attend a banquet at the family estate.

Amelia stared at the dress, barely holding back a laugh.

Their marriage was basically over—legally done. And yet Chad still thought she'd play the role of his wife.

She was about to say no but paused, thinking of Miranda. The woman had shown her kindness, and Amelia still needed to grab a few documents for her upcoming trip.

After a moment of deliberation, she slipped on the gown and headed to the banquet.

...

The grand banquet hall sparkled, alive with chatter and clinking glasses. The scent of wine and expensive perfumes filled the air.

At the center of it all stood Irina, soaking up the adoration of a circle of fawning socialites.

Every woman's eyes seemed glued to the emerald necklace resting on her collarbone, shimmering under the lights.

"Irina, Chad is so devoted to you," one gushed.

"Totally! That necklace—wasn't it auctioned off at Sotheby's? Global limited edition, symbolizing a love as rare as it is. Turns out Chad was the mystery buyer! Felton romance goals, right?"

"It's insane how he's still hung up on you after all these years. I mean, back in school, he was always waiting to pick you up. All those jelly cups and chocolates in your desk? That was him! And remember when you two fought, and he was a wreck? Asking everyone how to fix it, bloodshot eyes and all, like he hadn't slept for days?"

Another chimed in, "Exactly! No one could ever love you like Chad does. He was heartbroken when you married someone else. And when he found out you were miserable abroad? He flew out every week to see you, secretly showering you with gifts to make you smile.

"Now that you're divorced, and it's so obvious he doesn't even care about his current wife, why don't you two just get back together?"

"Yeah! Get back together! Get back together!" The chorus grew louder, a mix of excitement and champagne-fueled drama.

...

Amelia stood in a quiet corner, unnoticed and detached, her eyes fixed on the scene.

She listened, calm and unblinking, as the room celebrated her husband's devotion to someone else.

"Amelia."

The voice yanked her back to reality. She turned, spotting Miranda. Her first instinct was to call her by name, but she pivoted mid-sentence. "Madam Miranda," she said, all formal-like.

Miranda sighed and handed Amelia a stack of documents. "Everything's ready for your trip. Classes start early, so I booked your flight—it leaves in three hours. Need anything else?"

Amelia stared at the papers, feeling relieved.

Freedom—like, actual freedom—was so close she could almost taste it. After a deep breath, she shoved the papers into her bag and shook her head. "Thanks for setting this up. Really. I mean it."

Then she hesitated, her voice dipping as she added, "One thing. If Chad ever comes asking about me... just tell him you don't know." Because, honestly, they were better as strangers.

Miranda's eyebrow shot up. "Wait. He doesn't know you're leaving?"

What was she supposed to say?

Should she confess that her whole entrance into his life had been, well, calculated? That the last five years of playing the perfect wife weren't about love but some twisted sense of duty? Or that Miranda herself had recruited her to help Chad get over Irina? Oh, and now she was filing for divorce, skipping the country, and disappearing for good?

Yeah, hard pass.

And honestly, what would it change? Irina was back, and Chad? He wouldn't care. Heck, he might not even notice.

Amelia smiled. "No need. I just want to leave quietly and avoid more drama."

"What do you mean, leaving?"

The deep voice cut through the air, and Amelia froze. Turning, she found herself locked in Chad's piercing gaze.

Her heart did this awkward little stutter as she scrambled for a response, but the words stuck in her throat. Did he hear everything? Some of it? Anything?

Luckily, Miranda swooped. "It's nothing," she said smoothly, redirecting. "What brings you here?"

Chad didn't press further. His attention drifted to the cake on the table instead. "Mom, it's time for you to cut the cake."

Miranda sighed and waved him off. "I'm not feeling well. You all handle it." She gestured for the staff to help her upstairs, exiting stage left with zero fanfare.

And then it was just Amelia and Chad.

He held out a hand. "Come on, let's go cut the cake."

Amelia shook her head, raising her bandaged hand. "Can't. Injured, remember? Ask Irina instead."

Chad's face flickered with surprise, like he couldn't process what she'd just said. Something in her tone felt off.

"Why would I ask Irina?" he asked.

She gave him a look. Seriously? Why?

Had he forgotten the last five years?

He'd ditched her for Irina more times than she could count, flying halfway across the world just to be with her. And now that she was giving him the green light, he looked... confused? Unbelievable.

Her faint smile didn't waver. "Because you two get along so well. It's just cutting a cake—no big deal."

Her voice was calm, but something in her tone felt final, like she was slipping out of his reach.

Chad hesitated, but eventually turned and walked over to Irina. Leaning down, he whispered something in her ear.

Irina's face went pink, but she nodded and looped her arm through Chad's. Together, they stepped onto the stage, their hands clasped as they cut the cake.

Cue the piano. Soft and sweet, like they were at a wedding instead of a birthday party.

As the night dragged on, the older crowd trickled out, leaving behind Chad and Irina's inner circle—the people who'd grown up watching their on-again, off-again saga unfold.

Seeing them up there together? Oh, they ate it up.

"Kiss! Kiss!" someone yelled, and the chant caught on like wildfire.

"Kiss! Kiss!"

"Kiss!"

Irina turned the color of a ripe tomato, and even Chad looked flustered, his ears practically glowing. But while he didn't kiss her, he also didn't shut it down.

Amelia? She couldn't care less. The whole thing was background noise as she checked her phone, calculating exactly when she needed to leave. With her flight in three hours, it was game over. Time to bounce.

Of course, her quiet vibe got completely twisted. The crowd, naturally full of armchair psychologists, decided she must be devastated.