Lahat ng Kabanata ng While Marrying Mr. Steele: Kabanata 41 - Kabanata 50

Amelia's Pov The gallery was suffocating.Not in the way of a huge space under a sky that reached towards the heavens, but in the peculiar way that rooms full of poised smiles and inquiring eyes can. Every glance was a searching inspection; each word uttered was some amazing discovery. I was supposed to be here tonight, but he'd failed to turn up yet again. And here I was, underneath the steel-and-glass chandelier, in a soft graphite-colored dress that hugged my waist and flowed like liquid with each smooth move. It was tasteful, classy, and carefully selected to belie the fact that any effort whatsoever had been involved. My heels added to my height, my hair was tidily brushed back, my makeup was perfect—and none of it provided any feeling of security.I was exposed.I stood next to one of Ethan's sculptures—a metal phoenix in flight, hovering in a blaze of orange—mimicking the examination of its wing contours before I felt her before I saw her. Her heels tapped out the deliberate

Amelia's Pov I found him in the closet.It had become a habit of his lately, disappearing into small spaces, corners of the house where the world narrowed down enough to breathe. The hallway light only extended as far as the threshold, dropping all into soft graying darkness, but in spite of it, I could see him—hunched with his legs folded under him, his chin lowered.Ethan wasn't crying. He didn't cry. His fists were clenched at the edges of an old photograph, one he had never shown me.I knelt down slowly in the doorway. "Ethan?"He didn't look up.I waited. Silence is sometimes better than questioning him. It gives him room to step forward when he is ready.He angled the photograph towards me after pausing for quite some time, resting it in one corner.It must have been dated. Maybe ten, or perhaps fifteen. Two young boys sitting side by side—one suntanned and tall, hair lightened from the sun, smiling readily. The other compact, black-haired, arms folded as if already privy to t

POV: AmeliaI had never hated a hallway before.But that night, it stretched in my memory like something alive and malevolent. White marble floors gleamed like teeth beneath the chandelier’s soft glow, and the heavy silence after Ethan fell was louder than any scream. I could still hear the slap of his cane, the sharp thud of his body against the stairs, the broken exhale he’d tried to swallow to keep from looking weak.He wasn’t weak.But the world—his world—had no room for proof of pain.When his father walked in and dropped that cruel line—“We’ll announce the co-CEO transition on Monday”—I felt something in me go still. Not break. Not yet. Just… still. The way animals freeze before a storm.Ryan looked at Ethan like he didn’t know what to say. Like maybe he didn’t want to be the villain in this, but didn’t have the spine to say no to the crown being pressed into his hands.And Ethan…Ethan didn’t say a word.Just stared at the floor, breathing through his teeth, one hand gripping t

POV: AmeliaThe first thing Amelia had noticed was the light.Neither bright nor harsh—merely soft webs of morning light filtering in around the drapes, etching long golden patterns on the ceiling. The house was still, the kind of silence there was in the very early morning when even the household was asleep.He slept next to her, one arm outstretched across his stomach, his face peaceful in sleep. His chest rose and fell with slow, careful breaths. The knot on his collarbone where he'd been punched had turned black in the night into a blue that was darkening toward sick yellow on the outer edges. She lay there for a long time, memorizing the little spasm of his hand as he slept, the small furrow between his eyes even now.Everything felt off.Not with him. With her.Her stomach churned in a soft queasiness, a muted unease akin to swallowing something sour and dense. She attributed it to nerves at first. The lingering adrenaline of falling, the half-panic at discovering him at the foo

"Ethan. Ethan, wait. Please."I didn’t stop.Her voice chased me down the hallway, soft and panicked, a fraying thread I refused to grab. My palms pushed against the wheels, fast, clumsy, loud. The hall narrowed around me. The pressure behind my ribs was unbearable, sharp as glass.I turned sharply into the east corridor—the part of the house no one used anymore. The lights were dim. The walls still smelled faintly of turpentine and cold marble.I didn’t look back.My hands trembled as I pushed the door open to the old music room. It was dusty, untouched since my mother died. No one ever said it aloud, but we all knew this part of the house was hers. Even after she stopped playing.I rolled to the center of the room and stopped. The silence rang.Pregnant.Amelia was pregnant.And she hadn’t told me.I leaned forward, gripping the wheels tightly, my head bowed. I couldn’t breathe properly. The air felt too thin, or maybe I was just too thick. Heavy and too much and still never enough.