All Chapters of The Billionaire’s Last Clause : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Amelia’s POVI stand outside my mother’s apartment building, staring at the chipped paint and trying to find courage I don’t have. Three weeks of cheerful texts and deflected calls. Three weeks of lying.The stairs to the third floor feel endless. The hallway smells like it always has—a cleaning solution, the scent of barely getting by that I thought I’d escaped forever.I knock.My mother opens the door, and the relief on her face destroys me. She’s thinner, grayer, worn down by worry I caused. “Amelia.” She pulls me into a hug. “Oh, sweetheart. I’ve been so worried.”“I’m sorry, Mom.”Her apartment is exactly the same—thrift store furniture arranged to look intentional, photos covering every surface. Photos of Dad before he got sick. Photos of me at various ages. And new ones—me and Daniel at our wedding, at galas, at Christmas. Three years of a marriage displayed like proof we’d finally made it.I look away before I break.“Sit.” She presses tea into my hands. “Tell me everything.

Amelia’s POVThe numbness cracks at eleven-forty-seven PM on a Tuesday.I’m sitting on my futon, staring at nothing, when I notice the mug on my makeshift nightstand. Navy blue ceramic with a gold rim. Daniel bought it for me on our first anniversary because I’d mentioned liking the one at a café we’d passed. Such a small thing. So thoughtless to anyone else.But he’d remembered.My hands start shaking. Then my whole body.The grief I’ve been carefully compartmentalizing, rationing out in manageable doses, organizing into neat little boxes—it all comes flooding out at once.I’m on my hands and knees before I realize I’ve moved, gasping for air that won’t come. My chest feels like it’s caving in, ribs cracking under the weight of everything I’ve been refusing to feel.Three years. I gave him three years of my life. Three years of making myself smaller, quieter, more convenient. Three years of loving someone who looked right through me.And for what?The sound that comes out of me doesn

Amelia’s POVI cut my hair on a Saturday morning, sitting in a cheap salon.“How much?” The stylist—Kara, according to her nametag—runs her fingers through my hair, assessing. It’s been growing for three years, down to the middle of my back because Daniel once mentioned he liked long hair on women.“All of it.” The words feel like freedom. “Just above my shoulders. Something different.”Kara’s eyebrows rise, but she doesn’t argue. “You sure? That’s a lot to lose.”I meet my eyes in the mirror—it’s been days since I fell apart completely, days of slowly learning to breathe again. “I’m sure.”The first cut is the hardest. Watching chunks of brown hair fall to the floor, three years of being who Daniel wanted me to be dropping away in sections. But with each snip, I feel lighter. More like myself. Like someone I used to know and might remember how to become again.When Kara finishes, I barely recognize my reflection. The shorter hair frames my face differently, makes me look older. Stron

Amelia’s POVI stand at the head of the conference room, a presentation remote in my hand and Daniel’s entire business empire displayed on the screen behind me.“Sterling Holdings has three primary vulnerabilities.” My voice is steady,. “First, their aggressive expansion has stretched their infrastructure beyond optimal capacity. Second, their recent merger with Crane Enterprises relies on projected synergies that may be overestimated. Third, their leadership is consolidated—if key executives were to leave, operational continuity would be compromised.”James Hartwell watches me with sharp attention. Greg takes notes frantically. The rest of the team—five analysts I barely know—lean forward, engaged.I’ve spent two weeks dissecting Sterling Holdings, analyzing quarterly reports, press releases, and market movements. Two weeks proving I can look at Daniel’s life’s work with clinical objectivity.It’s been excruciating.“These vulnerabilities create opportunities.” I click to the next sl

Amelia’s POVI sit at my desk at eight-thirty PM, surrounded by many documents. The office is empty—everyone else went home hours ago. But I couldn’t leave. Not after Nathan’s warning. Not after seeing that photo of Daniel looking like he’s dying by inches.I need to understand exactly what I’ve gotten myself into.The Crane-Hartwell partnership agreement is dense legal language, but certain phrases jump out as I read. Strategic coordination to exploit market vulnerabilities.Leveraging insider operational knowledge.Coordinated client acquisition targeting Sterling Holdings’ weakest service divisions.Weakest service divisions. I flip to the appendix, and my blood runs cold.Commercial real estate development. International logistics coordination. Executive consulting services.Three divisions that Sterling Holdings expanded into aggressively over the past two years. Three divisions that I know—because I lived with Daniel, because I listened to his frustrated phone calls and late-n