Chapter Four: A Night Meant To Erase Pain

Paris was alive in a way Amelia had never noticed before.

The city breathed around her as she walked, suitcase abandoned at a quiet corner café, her heels now in her hand. The cobblestone streets were cool beneath her bare feet. Neon lights reflected off wet pavement, and voices in different languages blended into a low, constant hum.

She welcomed the noise. It drowned out her thoughts.

She didn’t know how long she walked. Minutes. Hours. Time had lost its meaning the moment she stepped out of that house. All she knew was that standing still felt dangerous. If she stopped, the memories would catch up. Evan’s hands on Natasha. Sylvia’s cold eyes. Her father’s silence.

So she kept moving.

She passed couples laughing over wine, tourists posing for photos, strangers who had no idea her world had ended a few hours ago. It felt strange, almost insulting, that the world could continue so effortlessly while she struggled just to breathe.

Her phone vibrated in her bag. She ignored it.

At some point, her feet ached and her throat felt dry. She ducked into a small bar near the Seine, drawn in by the low lighting and the soft jazz drifting through the open door.

Inside, it was warm and dim. The smell of alcohol and polished wood wrapped around her like a blanket. A few patrons sat scattered across the room, lost in their own conversations.

She took a seat at the bar.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.

“Something strong,” Amelia said without hesitation.

Moments later, a glass of amber liquid sat in front of her. She lifted it, hesitated for only a second, then took a long sip. The burn was immediate, sharp, grounding.

Good.

She drank again.

The alcohol loosened the tight knot in her chest, dulled the edges of her thoughts. The images still came, but they felt farther away, like scenes from a bad dream.

“You look like you’re running from something.”

The voice came from beside her. Male. Calm.

Amelia turned her head slightly.

He was tall, even seated. Broad shoulders filled out a dark suit that looked expensive without trying to be. His hair was neatly cut, his jaw sharp, his expression unreadable. There was something commanding about him, something that made the air around him feel heavier.

She should have ignored him.

Instead, she laughed softly. “Is it that obvious?”

He studied her for a moment. “You’re gripping that glass like it might disappear.”

She glanced down, surprised to see her knuckles were white. She loosened her hold.

“Bad night?” he asked.

“You could say that,” she replied.

He nodded, as if he understood more than she had said. “I’m Alexander.”

She didn’t offer her name.

“That’s all you’re getting?” he asked, a faint smile touching his lips.

She met his gaze, something reckless flickering inside her. “I don’t need names tonight.”

His smile deepened, slow and deliberate. “Neither do I.”

They drank in silence for a moment. The music shifted, the lights dimmed slightly. Amelia became aware of how close he was, how his presence seemed to steady her.

“What are you celebrating?” she asked suddenly.

He looked at his glass. “Nothing.”

“What are you running from?” she countered.

He considered the question. “Expectations.”

She nodded. “I understand that.”

Another drink appeared in front of her, courtesy of him. She didn’t protest.

The alcohol warmed her veins, emboldening her. She found herself talking. Not about Evan or Natasha, not about betrayal, but about small things. How she loved early mornings. How she hated feeling trapped. How silence in a room could be louder than shouting.

He listened. Really listened. No interruptions. No pity.

In return, he spoke little, but when he did, his words were measured. He talked about responsibility, about being watched all the time, about how lonely power could be.

Power.

She didn’t dwell on that word. Plenty of men exaggerated their importance.

When the bartender announced last call, Amelia felt a pang of disappointment she hadn’t expected.

Alexander glanced at her. “Do you want to keep running?”

Her heart skipped. “Are you offering?”

“I’m asking.”

She should have said no. Every sensible part of her knew that.

Instead, she nodded.

Outside, the night air was cool again. Alexander hailed a car with a subtle gesture that spoke of habit. The ride was quiet, tension building with every passing street.

At his hotel, the lobby was sleek and understated. Expensive without being loud. She noticed how staff straightened when he walked past, how doors seemed to open before he reached them.

Still, she asked nothing.

Up in the room, the city lights stretched endlessly beyond the windows. Amelia stood there, suddenly aware of how far she had come from the girl in the champagne dress.

Alexander stopped a few feet away, giving her space. “If you want to leave, say so.”

She appreciated that more than he knew.

“I don’t,” she said.

He moved closer.

The kiss was slow, exploratory, nothing rushed. It wasn’t about hunger at first. It was about escape. About two people choosing not to think.

As clothes fell away and the night deepened, Amelia let herself forget. The house. The betrayal. The way her name had felt wrong in Evan’s mouth.

For the first time since everything fell apart, the ache in her chest eased.

She didn’t know who Alexander really was.

She didn’t ask.

Tonight wasn’t about tomorrow.

It was about surviving the moment.

And for a few stolen hours, she did.