Chapter 3

Amelia’s POV

His words cracked like a whip, cutting deeper than any slap could have. 

There was no use trying to convince him that I hadn’t left that photo behind. He had already decided I was guilty.

The irony was bitter. 

I remembered exactly when I’d taken that Polaroid—late one night, the two of us tangled in his sheets, his lips still swollen from kissing me breathless. I had wanted to freeze that moment, to keep proof that he had once looked at me like I was his whole world.

I never thought that photo would be the rope used to hang me.

I watched them walk, hand in hand, up to the stage where his parents waited with a microphone. The crowd cheered as if royalty had arrived. 

Charlie Morgan took the mic first, his voice booming with pride. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us tonight. It gives us great joy to announce the engagement of our son, Cayden Morgan, to the radiant Scarlett Vanderbilt!”

The applause that followed was thunderous. People rose to their feet, champagne glasses lifted high, as Cayden and Scarlett smiled for the cameras.

I sat down hard on a chair in the far corner, my legs weak, my chest tight. From here, I could see everything—the sweep of Scarlett’s gown as she curtsied lightly to the guests, the smug pride on Judith’s face, Cayden’s hand resting protectively on Scarlett’s waist as if she were made of glass and gold. His face was peaceful, triumphant, elated.

Maybe he’d barely even notice if I died. 

I stared at Scarlett—her beauty undeniable, her confidence glowing, her laughter radiant enough to command every pair of eyes in the room. 

No wonder he chose her. No wonder I was nothing but a shameful secret.

I was such an idiot to think he’d be mine.

All the people in this room knew that Cayden and I were foster siblings. The whispers would spread like wildfire through society if the truth of us leaked. The Morgans would be made into a joke. 

Cayden always knew that. So did I. I just chose to live in the delusion that love could survive scandal, that maybe—just maybe—his feelings for me mattered more than what people said.

But what could matter more than reputation and appearances? Nothing. 

He may have been done with me, but the fact was, I needed him. Without his help, there was no way I could afford my surgery. 

With no other choice, I pushed myself up from the chair and approached his parents. Judith’s lips thinned at the sight of me, Charlie’s brows lowering in disgust.

“I need to speak with you,” I said, my voice trembling despite my attempt at composure.

Judith folded her arms. “What is it now?”

I took a deep breath. “I… I need financial help. For surgery. I thought maybe—”

“You thought wrong,” Charlie cut in. “You’ve already bled this family dry.”

“I’m not asking for a private jet, I’m asking for my life,” I whispered.

Judith’s laugh was sharp and cruel. “Your life has never been our responsibility. If you had any decency, you’d go to the hospital tonight and make sure you aren’t pregnant. The last thing we need is an illegitimate child thrown into the press with our name attached.”

Her words hit me harder than Cayden’s had. I felt the heat crawl up my neck, humiliation choking me.

“You’re shameless,” Charlie added, his voice final. “Stay away from us. Stay away from Cayden. And for God’s sake, don’t cause trouble.”

They turned their backs on me without another glance.

My dignity—what little I had left—slipped through my fingers as I turned away. 

The party was growing livelier now, music swelling, guests laughing, couples twirling on the dance floor. And me—drifting invisible through it all, carrying my shame like a brand.

I walked toward the exit, desperate to vanish, when I passed by the pool glittering under fairy lights. 

That’s when I felt it—the shove.

I gasped as icy water swallowed me whole, dragging me under. Panic seized instantly. My arms flailed, legs kicking, but my dress tangled around me like chains.

Above the surface, distorted through ripples, I saw them—Scarlett’s friends laughing on the edge. And then further down the path, Cayden. He heard the splash. He moved—half a step, shoulders tensed, ready to come for me.

But Scarlett’s hand caught his arm. I saw her lips move, calm, dismissive: The pool isn’t that deep. She can stand up on her own.

Maybe for anyone else, that would’ve been true. But for someone who couldn’t swim, waist-high water was already a death sentence. Panic made the water endless, crushing.

Cayden froze where he stood, torn but still. Our eyes met. And he did nothing.

I sank, lungs screaming, heart stuttering. The pacemaker hummed weakly, but it wasn’t enough. 

Please, not here. Not like this.

A pair of hands grabbed me suddenly, pulling me upward, breaking me into the air. I coughed, choking, sputtering as strong arms held me against a chest. The world tilted, lights spinning, as guests gasped and whispered.

I was a spectacle now. 

The orphan girl, soaked and pathetic, clinging to a stranger.

Cayden’s parents rushed forward, faces tight with embarrassment. “Get her out of here,” Judith hissed, her voice low but vicious. “Now.”

Cayden stood behind them, silent, his arm still around Scarlett, his expression unreadable.

The man who’d pulled me out of the pool steadied me as whispers rippled across the crowd.

“I’ve got you,” he said softly. 

I blinked up at him through wet lashes, my teeth chattering so hard my jaw ached. He was tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair plastered damp against his forehead. His grip was steady, grounding.

“I’m Eric,” he introduced himself quickly. “You’re burning up.”

The world swayed, and a dull, strangling throb pulsed in my chest. 

Eric looked around, then lowered his voice. “Where are you staying?”

“The—” I coughed hard, pain lancing through my ribs. “The Sunrise Motel. Off Main.”

“Alright,” he said, firmly. “Let’s get you out of here.”

***

By the time we reached the motel, I was trembling uncontrollably. 

My clothes clung cold and heavy, and every breath burned in my chest. Eric got me inside and sat me on the bed, then disappeared into the tiny bathroom. When he returned, he pressed a towel and a bottle of water into my hands.

“Change out of those wet clothes,” he said. “I’ll wait outside.”

I didn’t have the strength to argue. 

By the time I tugged on a dry t-shirt and sweatpants, my vision blurred with fever heat. I lay back on the creaky mattress, the ceiling spinning above me. 

Eric stepped back in and frowned. He knelt beside me, pressing the back of his hand to my forehead. His palm was cool; my skin was on fire.

“You need a hospital,” he said.

“No—” My voice cracked. “I can’t—”

I wanted to tell him I had no money, but my words tangled in my throat.

Minutes later, red lights slashed across the damp motel curtains. The medics crowded in, their hands cool and efficient as they lifted me onto the stretcher.

“Fever’s spiking,” one muttered to Eric. “It’s causing acute heart failure. We need to move fast.”

***

At the hospital, doctors swarmed. Machines beeped, screens flickered, wires and needles invaded my skin. “She needs surgery soon,” one of them said. “Her condition can deteriorate at any moment, we have to move fast.”

Even in my haze, I wanted to scream that I couldn’t afford it. That no one would help. Too weak to project my voice, I lay there in silence.

Eric pressed my phone into my palm. “Call someone,” he urged. “Anyone who can help.”

There was only one person I wanted to call. One person who might save me—if he still cared at all. 

My hands shook as I dialed Cayden’s number. 

The line rang. And rang. Finally, someone picked up.

“Hello?” Scarlett’s voice, cool and sharp.

My heart lurched. “Scarlett—it’s Amelia. Please, I need to speak to Cayden.”

“He’s busy,” she said flatly.

“Please,” I whispered, my chest aching. 

Eric snatched the phone from me almost instantly. “Whoever you are, please help—” 

The line clicked dead. I saw it in his face. 

Exhausted, I closed my eyes. I felt anchors—hundreds of them—drag me deeper into blackness.

And this time, I didn’t fight it.