All Chapters of While Marrying Mr. Steele: Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

POV: AmeliaThe first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was the cream-colored ceiling of my hotel suite. The second was the business card on the nightstand.Plain. White. Just Leo. And a number.My ankle throbbed when I shifted in bed, a low reminder of last night’s stumble. I pulled the sheets tighter around me, staring at that card. I told myself I didn’t care. That it was just a name, just a number, just some stranger with broad shoulders, tattoos curling over golden skin, and a way of looking at me like he already knew the answer before he asked the question.I should have thrown it away.Instead, I left it right where it was.The scent of fresh coffee drifted from the suite’s sitting room, and I knew Jess was already up. She’d been in a mood last night—half worried, half nosy. I padded out, still in the silk robe the hotel provided, my hair loose over my shoulders.Jess was curled on the cream velvet sofa, coffee cup in hand, phone in the other.“Well, well,” she said without loo

POV: EthanAmelia was not answering.The hotel lobby was quiet when I entered, the faint hum of a busy morning barely audible over the click of my cane against the marble floor. I had tried calling Amelia’s phone a dozen times since the night before. Her line was dead. Jess didn’t pick up either, and I had a gnawing feeling in my gut that something wasn’t right. I wasn’t sure what exactly, but something felt off.I rubbed my hand over my tired face. I knew I shouldn’t be this anxious. Amelia and I had barely spoken since our conversation last night. But there had been that spark—those words she had said to me: Let me go back to L.A. I was on my way to her room to fill her in on the flight details. Wheels up in the evening. It wasn’t much, but it was all I could offer. Maybe on the way there, I could convince her to not divorce me, or at least give me the chance to prove that I could be the man she needed me to be. That, at least, was the plan.Just as I was crossing the lobby, my ph

POV: AmeliaLeo was still cradling his jaw when he straightened. His eyes went from me to Ethan like he was deciding whether to punch back or just walk away. Ethan’s chest heaved, fists still clenched, as if the hit hadn’t drained a fraction of the fury boiling in him.“Don’t—” I started, pointing at Ethan, but my voice cracked into something sharper. “Don’t you dare speak yet.”Ethan’s mouth opened anyway. “Amelia—”“No!” I stepped between them. “You don’t get to come in here, swing at people, and then act like you’re the one owed an explanation.”Ethan’s jaw flexed. “Sienna said—”“Oh, here we go,” I snapped. “Sienna. Of course. You still let her crawl into your head, don’t you?”“She told me to check on you,” he said, as if that justified anything. “She said maybe—”“Maybe what?” My chest tightened. “Maybe I’d cheat on you? Is that what you think? That I’d just climb into bed with Leo the second your back is turned?”Ethan’s eyes flickered toward the strap of my nightdress, and I sa

POV: AmeliaThe silence in the car was thick enough to choke on. Ethan’s hand held the steering wheel like it had personally offended him, knuckles white, jaw working in quiet frustration. I sat stiff in the passenger seat, arms folded tight over my chest, staring out the tinted window. The city slid past in a blur of lights, but I wasn’t looking at anything.Ethan had insisted on driving back without the driver.We were still raw from what happened at the Steele estate—walking in unannounced, only to find Veronica and Ryan, his own stepmother and half-brother, tangled in each other like a cheap tabloid fantasy. Ethan had dragged me out of there without a word. I hadn’t exactly gone quietly.“Still not going to say anything?” I asked finally, my tone sharp.“Not now,” he muttered.“Of course not,” I said, with a bitter little laugh. “You never want to talk about anything when it’s inconvenient for you.”His stare remained on me for a fraction of a second. “And you think picking a fig

Amelia’s POVThe elevator ride to the twelfth floor felt longer than the flight back from Dubai. I’d told myself a hundred times that morning to keep my chin up, to walk into the hospital like I hadn’t been gone for weeks, like there hadn’t been headlines and whispers and enough gossip to fuel an entire season of bad reality TV.I wasn’t going to let the stares get to me.The moment the elevator doors opened, the familiar scent of antiseptic and coffee hit me. The ward looked exactly the same—nurses hurrying between rooms, clipboards in hand, monitors beeping steadily.I’d missed this.“Dr. Steele.”I turned toward the voice. Dr. Marks, head of the department, stood in the hallway, his white coat crisp, a clipboard tucked under one arm. He looked exactly the way I remembered—sharp-eyed, efficient, the kind of man who could intimidate with just the tilt of his head.“It’s good to see you back,” he said, offering a rare smile. “Walk with me.”“So whatever happens to my name? Dr. Amelia?