บททั้งหมดของ My Ex Fiancé wants be back, but my contract husband owns me: บทที่ 101 - บทที่ 110

Asher's POVThe drug expert’s name is Dr. Meera Patel. She meets us in a small conference room at the precinct. White coat, glasses, file folder full of printouts. She looks tired in the way people look when they’ve been digging through pharmaceutical databases all night. “We pulled everything,” she says, sliding the folder across the table. “Anything Hades Pharma has made in the last five years that’s a sedative, anxiolytic, or amnesic. And anything that’s designed to clear fast.” Arjun and I lean in. There are pictures. Vials. Chemical names I can’t pronounce. “Most of these would flag,” she says, tapping one page. “But this one.” She points to a compound. _HD-47._ “It’s in trial phase. For psychiatric transport. Knocks a person out in 90 seconds. Causes retrograde amnesia for about 6 to 12 hours. Metabolizes completely in 8.” My stomach drops. “Would it show on a standard tox screen?” Arjun asks. “No,” Dr. Patel says. “Not unless you were specifically testing for it

Asher’s POVThe folder is still on the nightstand when I wake up. I didn’t sleep much. Neither did Amelia. We read through it twice. Lab reports. Internal memos. A shipping log with Lester Hades’ signature. HD-48, delivered to “private residence, coastal property.” No address. Just coordinates. At 6AM my phone rings. Arjun. “Asher,” he says. No greeting. “We got it.” “Got what?” “The vial information,” he says. “Same as what you have. HD-48. Off-label. Not approved. Metabolizes faster hours.” I sit up. Amelia stirs next to me. “How did you get it?” I ask. “Dr. Patel called at 4AM,” Arjun says. “She found a leak in their trial database. Someone was moving vials without logging them. All pointing back to Lester.” I look at the folder. “I got an anonymous tip too,” I say. “Dropped through my window last night.” There’s a pause. “Send me photos,” Arjun says. “It’s the same info. Which means someone else is watching this.” “Yeah,” I say. “There's more,” Arju

Amelia's POV “Ivy. Wait.” She doesn’t. She turns on her heel and walks out of my dressing room, phone still in her hand, heels clicking like gunshots down the hall. The door slams. For three seconds no one breathes. Not even me. Then Sam says, “Okay. Talk.” I sink into the chair. My hands are shaking again. “Last night. Damien showed up at the bar. Drunk. He grabbed me. I pushed him off. That’s it.” “Why didn’t you tell us?” Darcy asks, already moving to fix my hair that Ivy’s storm ruined. “Because I wanted today to be normal,” I say. “Because I thought if I said it out loud it would become real and I didn’t want it to touch this.” Sam kneels in front of me. “I get that. But you should have told me. I’m your sister.” “I know,” I whisper. “I’m sorry.” Darcy checks her watch. “We have thirty minutes till the doors open. We can spiral after, not now. Everyone get back to work.” So we do. Lipstick. Veil. Last pin. Sam squeezes my hand. “You deserve this day. D

Amelia's POVThe hotel room smelled like white lilies and cold air-conditioning. I stood by the window with my phone in both hands, staring at the screen until the letters blurred. Killian. Gone. The door to the bathroom opened. Steam rolled out, and then Asher. He had a towel around his waist and water still running down his collarbone. He took one look at me and all the ease left his face. “Amelia?” His voice was low. Careful. He set the phone down on the dresser very slowly. Then he pulled me into his arms. “Hey,” he murmured into my hair. “Hey, breathe with me.” “We need to go home,” I said, and my voice came out thin, cracked. “Right now. I need to fly back home.” “Okay,” he said. “Okay. We’ll figure it out.” “No, Asher. Now. Tonight. There’s a flight at—” “Amelia, look at me.” He pulled back just enough to frame my face with both hands. His thumbs brushed under my eyes. I hadn’t realized I was crying. “Going back right now isn’t going to change anything

Amelia’s POV“Stop the plane!” My voice came out too loud in the small cabin. It cracked on the second word. The pilot’s voice came back over the intercom, confused. “Mrs. Sinclair? We’re cleared. We’re rolling.” I could feel the jet moving. A slow roll forward. The windows showed tarmac blurring. “ASHE—” I started, and he was already standing. “Get the pilot,” he said, and his voice wasn’t calm anymore. It was command. “Now.” He moved to the cockpit door in three strides and banged on it. “Hold! Hold takeoff! This is Asher Sinclair!” I didn’t hear the answer. My phone buzzed again in my hand. _GET OFF. NOW. IT’S GOING TO BLOW._ The words were shaking on the screen. Or maybe my hands were. “I don’t know how I know,” I said to Asher, and I hated how desperate I sounded. “But we have to get off. Right now.” He turned from the cockpit door. His face was all sharp lines. Fear. Calculation. “Amelia, talk to me. What did the text say?” I held it out. He read it.