Chapter 5

Cayden’s POV

Eric’s voice cut through the morning air. “This plot… she bought it herself.”

I blinked, staring at the crude wooden marker shoved into the earth. Cheap. Bare. It didn’t belong to her. “What did you say?”

Eric’s expression hardened. “Said she didn’t want to burden anyone. Just wanted a place that was hers.”

The words hit me like a slap. 

Amelia? Buying a plot in this miserable corner of dirt when she could’ve been buried with the Morgans, with me? She’d lived in my house, slept in my bed, whispered my name in the dark. 

She belonged to me. Not here.

Eric went on, his voice low. “Before she died, she asked me to help her bury her here. Quiet. Small. She didn’t even want a proper funeral. I felt sorry for her. A girl like that, with no one—”

“No one?” I snapped, the words tearing out of me. “She had me.”

Eric’s eyes flicked to mine, cold. “Did she? Why didn’t you help when she called you?”

The ground tilted beneath me. I gritted my teeth, refusing to let him see the crack. 

Amelia had been fine for years. She’d had that pacemaker, yes, but she was strong. Fiery. Alive. She couldn’t just… stop. This was another one of her stunts. Another way to punish me. The coffin had to be empty.

Eric gestured to the staff to lower it into the ground.

“Stop.” My voice lashed out like a whip. “Open it.”

Eric spun on me. “What the hell is wrong with you? Are you insane?”

“Do it.” I didn’t blink.

He moved to step between me and the coffin, but I raised a hand. My bodyguard, stationed a few feet away, stepped forward and blocked him. Eric shoved against him, shouting, but he was nothing against trained muscle.

The staff hesitated. I repeated, quieter this time, deadly: “Open it.”

The lid creaked.

Cold air rushed up as wood groaned against wood. And then I saw her.

Amelia.

Her face was pale, still, her lips faintly parted as if she might whisper my name the way she always had in my bed as she shook in my arms. 

I dropped to my knees.

The world blurred. My lungs refused air. For years she had been the fire I couldn’t put out, the storm I couldn’t tame—and now she was so impossibly, insultingly still.

“No,” I whispered. “No, no, no…”

Eric’s voice was sharp above me. “Are you satisfied? Can we at least give her a respectful burial? It’s the least you can do as her brother.” 

Brother. 

The word gutted me.

I clenched my fists, staring at her face, willing her to wake up and prove us all wrong. But the silence was final.

***

I locked myself away after the funeral. Curtains drawn. Food untouched. Bottles empty.

Three days blurred into each other, Amelia’s face pressed against every corner of my mind. I sat on the floor, head against the wall, whispering her name until it lost all meaning.

Scarlett came once, mascara streaked. “Cayden, please. You’re scaring me.”

My mother stormed in later, voice shrill. “Are you out of your mind? You just got engaged! You can’t act like this!”

Their words rolled off me. Meaningless noise. I only heard Amelia’s laugh echoing in my head, soft and secret, like she was still here.

On the fourth day, I called Dr. Pierce.

Her voice was brisk. “She had acute heart failure. The fever accelerated it.”

I gripped the phone tighter. “But she’d been fine for so long—”

“She wasn’t fine, Mr. Morgan. She’d already shown signs of weakening. I told her to prepare to get an LVAD, but she kept putting it off.”

The words crashed into me. 

She hadn’t been manipulating me that night. She hadn’t been dramatic. She had been begging for her life.

And I had let her drown in silence.

“Did you really not know? Didn’t she tell you?” The doctor’s voice came from the other line. 

I had to hang up. I couldn’t speak. A primal roar tore from my throat. I smashed the glass on my desk, shards scattering, blood welling in my palm. But I didn’t feel it. The only pain was hers.

***

Six months crawled by.

I became a ghost in my own home.

At night, I saw her on the sofa, legs curled beneath her, smiling at me with that secret curve of her lips. I saw her in the hallways, brushing past me, her scent lingering. Sometimes she appeared in bed, curled against my chest, warm and alive until I opened my eyes and the sheets were empty.

Scarlett wept. My mother raged.

And then my father came.

He stormed into my office, slapped me hard across the face. 

The crack echoed like thunder. “The family doesn’t need a son who falls apart over a mistress,” he spat. “She was your foster sister, for Christ’s sake. Do you understand the scandal you’ve already caused? Pull yourself together, or I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Mistress. 

Foster sister. 

For one wild second, I wanted to tell him she wasn’t my sister, she was my sin, my salvation. The words tangled in my gut, choking me. Wrong, forbidden, shameful—and yet the only thing that had ever felt real. 

All I could do was lower my eyes, swallow the fury, and say nothing.

Because I knew my father. 

If I didn’t bury Amelia once and for all, he would bury me. So I forced myself back to work. I became colder. Harder. Ruthless. The world saw a man climbing the ladder, conquering boardrooms, taking control of Morgan Inc. 

But inside, I was hollow.

Every deal I signed, every hand I shook—I saw Amelia’s ghost in the corner of the room. Every night, I whispered to the Polaroid I could never tear up, tracing her outline with my thumb until I fell asleep.

She was gone. But she was everywhere.

***

ONE YEAR LATER

I returned from a business trip, suitcase trailing behind me through the airport terminal. Bone-tired, hollow-eyed.

And then I saw her.

Just ahead, weaving through the crowd. A woman with her tilt of head, her cadence, her eyes. 

For a heartbeat, I froze. 

Another hallucination. Another trick of my mind. But then she laughed. A bright, living sound that cut straight through my ribs.

I stumbled forward, heart hammering. She walked up to a man waiting by the gate, her smile soft, her hand slipping into his.

Panic surged through me.

Before I knew it, I was running, shoving past strangers, dropping my suitcase. I reached her, grabbed her, pulled her against me.

“Amelia,” I choked out, burying my face in her hair. “Oh God, Amelia—I thought I lost you. I thought—”

She stiffened in my arms. Slowly, she pulled back, eyes wide and startled.

“Sorry,” she said, confusion flickering across her face. “Who are you?”

The world tilted.

The man beside her yanked me back, fury flashing. “Hey man, what do you think you’re doing? That’s my fiancée.” 

I stared between them, my pulse roaring in my ears.

No. Impossible.

And yet… it was her. 

My Amelia. Her face, her eyes, her hair, her body that I knew all too well. It was her. Alive. Breathing. Not in the ground.

And I stood frozen, watching as another man pulled her away from me.