Chapter 5

Cayden’s POV

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

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, her face streaked with mascara. “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, like she was still here, still in my arms. 

On the fourth day, I called Dr. Pierce.

Her voice was brisk. “She had acute heart failure. The fever after the pool incident 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. I saw her in the hallway, brushing past me, her scent lingering. Sometimes she appeared in my 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.

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.

“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. She stared at me, like I was a total stranger.

My heart slammed down to my feet. 

— — —

AMELIA’S POV

I didn’t expect to see him again.

Not here. Not like this.

One moment, I was reaching for my suitcase in the airport terminal. The next, Cayden stood in front of me—eyes wild, face hollowed, older than his years, but still devastatingly recognizable. 

Grief had affected him, but the man was the same.

And then he grabbed me. His arms crushed around me like a drowning man clutching air.

“Amelia,” he rasped, voice raw, broken. “Oh God, Amelia—I thought I lost you. I thought—”

Shock rooted me. For a second, the world spun. His scent, his warmth, the way my name broke on his lips—it dragged me back. Back to late-night whispers, to the heat of his hands, all those nights I told him I couldn’t breathe without him.

But then came the rest.

Being forced out of his life like garbage.

Being treated like a substitute till the real thing came along.

Begging for his help and watching him turn away.

The water closing over my head while he stood there and watched.

The memories burned hotter than my longing. Anger seared away the weakness before it could take root.

I would not be that girl again. 

Against every instinct to cling to him, I shoved hard against his chest, tearing free of his grip. My pulse was a storm under my skin, but I let my face smooth into calm, into the stranger I had become.

“Sorry,” I said coldly, meeting his shattered eyes with steel. “Who are you?”