The silence in the room pressed against Amelia's chest like a steel weight.
Behind the velvet curtain, she barely dared to breathe. The folder was clutched so tightly to her chest that her knuckles ached, but letting go wasn't an option—not now. Not after what she'd read.
Andrew's voice cut through the room like a blade.
"Yes. The contracts are sealed. She won't be a problem."
He paced slowly across the floor, his footsteps echoing off the high walls. Amelia peeked through the sliver between the curtain folds, just enough to see the back of his broad frame. He was on the phone, his voice clipped and controlled—like always.
"No, she suspects nothing," he continued. "Even if she did, she signed. The deal is binding."
Her stomach twisted.
Every word was another crack in the lie she'd been forced to live.
A pawn.
A signature.
A sealed contract.
She had been right to come into this room—but the truth tasted worse than the lie.
Suddenly, Andrew turned.
She froze.
His eyes swept over the room, brows narrowing as he paused near the shattered glass on the floor. The paperweight she'd knocked over glittered in sharp fragments.
Damn it.
He walked toward the mess, his steps slower now, more cautious.
"Hold on," he said into the phone. "Someone's been in here."
Her pulse thundered in her ears. She squeezed her eyes shut, begging the shadows to hold her.
Please don't find me. Please don't—
A phone buzzed. Not his. Hers.
In her coat pocket. Vibrating against her thigh like a fire alarm in a church.
Andrew turned his head sharply.
"Who's there?" he barked.
She stopped breathing.
He stalked toward the curtains.
Footsteps.
One.
Two.
Three.
Then—his hand yanked the fabric back.
Amelia stumbled out, eyes wide, heart ready to explode.
Andrew's eyes flared with shock—then fury.
"What the hell are you doing in here?"
She held up the folder like a weapon. "You tell me. Or should I read this out loud?"
His gaze dropped to the file. For a split second, something flickered in his expression. Panic? Guilt?
Gone before it settled.
"Put that down," he said coldly, stepping closer.
"No." Her voice trembled, but she didn't back away. "You did this. You tore my father's company apart, piece by piece. Before the bankruptcy. Before the trial."
"It was a strategic acquisition," he said calmly. "Business."
"Business?" she echoed. "You forged his signature. You stole everything. And then you offered to save him—from the mess you created!"
He didn't flinch.
"You tricked me into marrying you," she whispered, her voice raw. "This whole time, you were the one behind it."
Andrew's jaw tightened. "You think you know everything now because you found a folder?"
"I know enough," she snapped.
There was a pause. A beat of silence thick with heat and secrets.
Then he moved—fast.
He reached for the file, but she jerked it away, stepping back.
"Don't touch me!" she cried.
"I said give it to me, Amelia."
"Or what?" she shot back. "You'll throw me in a basement? Finish what you started with my family?"
His face darkened. "You're out of your depth."
She backed toward the door. "Maybe. But I'm done playing your pawn."
He followed, slow and calculating. "You don't understand what you're doing."
"I understand exactly what I'm doing." Her hand fumbled for the doorknob. "And I swear, if you take one more step—"
"What?" His tone was mocking now. "You'll run? Go back to your little apartment? Back to nothing?"
Her lip trembled.
"You have nothing, Amelia," he said quietly. "You're nothing without my name."
She slapped him.
Hard.
The sound echoed like a shot.
Andrew didn't move. His cheek turned slightly from the force, but his eyes stayed locked on hers, colder than ever.
"I'll never be your wife," she whispered. "Not really."
Then she bolted out the door.
She didn't stop to think. She sprinted down the hallway, folder pressed tight to her chest, past stunned staff and stunned silence. Her gown dragged across the marble like a phantom as she ran.
She made it back to the south wing, slammed the door shut, and locked it.
Her hands were shaking uncontrollably.
She couldn't think. Couldn't breathe.
But she knew this: the man she married had destroyed her family. And she had proof.
She sank to the floor, gasping for air.
Her phone buzzed again.
This time, she checked it.
1 New Message — Unknown Number
"Careful, Amelia. You're not the only one watching him."
Her blood went cold.
She stared at the message.
And then another came through.
"Meet me tomorrow. 9 a.m. The café on Fifth. Don't tell him."
Her fingers hovered over the screen, unsure whether to delete it or respond.
Then came the third and final message:
"Unless you want to end up like your father."
Amelia dropped the phone as if it had burned her.
Because suddenly, Andrew wasn't the only monster in her life.
Someone else was watching.
Someone who knew everything.
And if she wanted answers—she'd have to risk everything to get them.