After getting back from the orphanage, Amelia went straight upstairs to her walk-in closet and started packing.

It hit her then—she barely owned any clothes.

Most of what she had were the outfits Miranda gave her when she first married into the family. In five years, Chad hadn't bought her a single thing. Not once.

When her clothes were packed, Amelia turned her attention to the gifts she'd given Chad over the years. Carefully chosen birthday presents, each one meant to make him happy—he hadn't even looked at them. They'd sat in a dusty corner, forgotten.

She sold them all for scrap.

Watching the truck pull away, Amelia felt a strange sense of relief. She turned to head back to the villa when a car horn blared behind her.

A sleek Maybach pulled up, and out stepped Yara, Chad's younger sister, in a striking red dress.

Yara's eyes flicked to the departing scrap truck, then back to Amelia with a sneer. "Seriously? Selling scrap? So typical of someone from a small-time family."

Amelia didn't bite. She turned to leave without a word.

Yara's smirk twisted into anger as she stormed forward and grabbed Amelia's arm. "Amelia!"

For years, Amelia had been nothing but quiet and compliant, always trying to stay on everyone's good side. But this cold indifference? It sent Yara over the edge.

"Are you deaf?" Yara snapped, her voice sharp with fury. "I'm talking to you!"

Amelia turned, pried Yara's hand off her arm, and shot her a look that screamed, 'Enough already.'

Yara had hated her from day one, acting like Amelia's background made her unworthy of marrying into the Felton family. For five years, Yara had done everything to make Amelia's life harder—dumping out breakfasts, stomping on freshly washed clothes, you name it.

But now? Amelia was done playing nice.

Yara looked like she was about to snap again, but then her expression shifted. A smug, nasty smile crept across her face.

"Selling scrap suits you," she sneered. "Oh, but you probably don't know yet—Chad's real love is back. Guess the outsider's finally getting kicked out."

Before Amelia could respond, another woman stepped out of the car.

She wore a simple white dress, her eyes sparkling with warmth. Long hair framed her porcelain skin, and her understated look—no jewelry, no fancy extras—only made her elegance stand out more.

It was Amelia's first time seeing Irina.

Five years of a broken marriage, five years of waiting for something that never came—none of it had touched this woman.

No wonder Chad could never let her go.

Irina walked over, gently tugging on Yara's arm. Her voice was soft. "Yara, don't say that. She's still your sister-in-law."

Yara scoffed. "Sister-in-law? Please. Irina, I told you in the car—Chad's always loved you. He's been thinking about you for years, flying out every week just to see you. Those gifts? All from him. How can you still not see it?"

Yara spun back toward Amelia and barked, "What are you standing there for? Go bring in Irina's luggage! Chad already said she's staying here."

Amelia's eyes flicked to the suitcases, but she didn't say a word. She walked past them and headed inside.

Yara stomped her foot, glaring after her.

Eventually, the driver hauled the luggage inside. Yara, still fuming, was about to storm after Amelia when Chad walked in, his pace quick.

His shoulders relaxed the second he spotted Irina sitting on the couch. With a glance toward Amelia, he said, "Irina's house hasn't been lived in for years. It needs renovations, so she'll stay here for a few days."

Amelia stayed silent.

The tension in the room thickened until Irina stood, biting her lip. "Chad, maybe I should go. This is your home, and... your wife doesn't seem too thrilled about me being here."

Chad quickly stopped her. "There's no need for that. Amelia's always been generous. She won't mind something so small."

Amelia watched him, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "You're right. I wouldn't get upset over something so trivial. Stay as long as you like."

Why not? This house would belong to Irina eventually anyway.

Afraid Irina might change her mind and leave, Chad immediately ordered the servants to move her luggage into the largest guest room.

Yara turned to Amelia with a smug sneer. "What are you standing there for? Go make dinner. Oh, and keep it mild—Irina can't handle spicy food."

In this house, even with servants around, it was always Amelia doing the cooking.

Chad was impossibly picky, his standards so high that even Michelin-starred chefs failed to impress him. Somehow, he tolerated Amelia's cooking, though he barely ate more than a few bites. Yara would sometimes join but mostly just complained about the food.

This time, Amelia didn't move. She shook her head lightly and said something that froze everyone in place.

"I can't."

Chad turned to her, frowning. In all the years he'd known her, she had never refused a single thing his family asked. Not once.

Before he could say anything, Irina's eyes filled with tears. She bit her lip and looked down, her voice trembling. "This is my fault. I shouldn't have come here. I'm just an outsider—it's not fair to make Amelia cook for me."

She turned as if to head upstairs, but Chad grabbed her arm.

"This isn't about you," he said, his tone firm.

He turned back to Amelia, his voice colder now. "You said you weren't upset. So, what's this?"

Amelia raised her hand, her fingers wrapped in bandages. Her voice stayed calm. "I'm hurt. I can't touch water for a while."

In reality, her hands were fine. But the contract was over, and she had no intention of wasting her energy on Chad or his family anymore. The bandages were an easy way out.

The room sank into an awkward silence.

Amelia had always handled the chores, so the servants usually left when their shifts ended. Now, with no one to cook, the Feltons were stuck. Even calling the staff back would take too long.

Yara scowled. "If you were hurt, why didn't you say something earlier? Were you planning to let us starve?"

She stepped forward, ready to snap, but Irina gently held her back. "Yara, don't be like that," she said softly.

Irina turned to Chad, her tone soft. "Chad, remember that restaurant by our high school? The one we used to go to after evening classes? How about we eat there tonight?"

Chad's irritation melted away instantly. "Yeah, I'll take you."

As they headed out, they brought Amelia along.

On the drive, Chad kept the conversation lively with Irina and Yara in the backseat.

They dove into stories about their high school days, their laughter filling the car. Irina's smile brightened as the memories poured out, and even Yara joined in, cracking jokes here and there.

In the middle of it all, Irina suddenly turned to Amelia, who sat quietly in the front seat. Flashing a kind smile, she said, "Amelia, sorry about that. We're not ignoring you—it's just... you weren't part of those memories."

'Not just those memories, ' Amelia thought. 'I won't be part of their future, either.'

"Mm," she murmured softly, closing her eyes as she leaned back.

Chad glanced at Amelia, a flicker of unease crossing his face. Something about her felt... different.

When they got to the restaurant, Amelia quietly excused herself to use the restroom.

She splashed cold water on her face and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her long, wavy hair fell loosely around her shoulders, and her pale skin seemed even paler under the harsh lights. But no amount of light could hide the exhaustion etched into her features.

Five years of marriage had left Irina radiant and full of life. For Amelia, it had done the opposite.

"Just a little longer," she told herself. Soon, she'd be free.

When she returned to the private dining room, the others were already ordering.

"The soup should be a clear broth. Irina doesn't eat meat, so add extra vegetables—no cilantro," Chad said, glancing over the menu.

He still remembered Irina's preferences perfectly, even after all these years.

Then, almost like an afterthought, he turned to Amelia. "Amelia, is there anything you don't eat?"

It was the first time he'd ever asked in five years.

Amelia sat calmly across the table, wiping her plate and utensils with a napkin. "Anything's fine, as long as it's not seafood."

Throughout the meal, Chad barely touched his food, his attention fixed on Irina. He kept adding dishes to her plate, making sure she had everything she liked.

Midway through, the peaceful atmosphere shattered as an argument broke out at the next table. Voices escalated into shouts, and then fists started flying.

Nearby patrons tried to step in, but one of the men, clearly losing control, grabbed a steaming bowl of soup and hurled it at his opponent.

The target ducked just in time, and the soup went flying—straight toward Chad's table.

Amid the chaos and panicked screams, Chad acted instantly, pulling Irina into his arms to shield her.

Amelia, caught completely off guard, had no time to react. She could only watch as the scalding soup hurtled toward her.

"Ah!"

The soup drenched Amelia, the boiling liquid searing her skin. Her arms turned bright red as blisters began forming almost instantly. The pain was excruciating. She couldn't even find her voice to cry out.

"Amelia!"

Chad released Irina and rushed to her, his face twisting with panic—the kind of panic Amelia had never seen from him before. "Does it hurt? I'll take you to the hospital!"

Amelia lifted her trembling gaze to him, her whole body shaking from the pain. She wanted to say something, but the words just wouldn't come.

"Oh my God, Irina, look how badly you're hurt!" Yara shrieked.

Chad's focus snapped back to Irina. He rushed to her side, his panic visibly escalating, only to find a few drops of hot oil on her arm.

To Chad, the scene looked "devastating."

Irina gently pulled her arm back, tears brimming in her eyes as she shook her head. "I'm fine. Amelia seems worse—take her to the hospital first."

Yara stomped her foot. "What do you mean you're fine? You've been pampered your whole life! A scratch leaves you crying for days. Chad, what are you waiting for? Take Irina to the hospital!"

She jabbed a finger at the quarreling diners. "Are you insane? If you're going to fight, do it outside! Look at what you've done—you've hurt Irina! My brother will not let this slide!"

Irina's soft whimpers started breaking through, though she still insisted, "I'll be okay, Chad. Really. Amelia's hurt worse—you should check on her."

Her words might have been selfless, but her frail, teary demeanor hit Chad like a freight train. Without hesitation, he scooped her up in his arms and headed for the exit.

At the door, he paused, glancing back briefly at Amelia, who sat trembling in pain. "Irina's always been delicate, and she's afraid of pain," he said apologetically. "The hospital's not far. You can grab a cab and meet us there."

Then he disappeared with Irina in his arms.

For a long moment, Amelia sat frozen in disbelief, her skin on fire from the burns. Gritting her teeth, she sucked in a sharp breath, forcing herself to focus through the agony.

A server rushed over, clearly shaken, and apologized profusely while helping to treat her wounds with a first aid kit.

After taking some painkillers, the worst of the agony dulled to a manageable throb. Borrowing a change of clothes from the restaurant staff, Amelia dressed carefully before stepping outside to hail a cab to the hospital.

...

At the hospital, the doctor carefully tended to her burns, pressing a cotton swab to the blisters to drain them. "Apply this medication daily," he instructed, "and it should heal without scarring."

Amelia clenched her eyes shut, biting back the pain as he worked. Nearby, two nurses passed by, their conversation carrying through the quiet hallway.

"Mr. Felton really dotes on Ms. Baxter," one said. "A few drops of hot oil, and he booked an entire floor, calling in every dermatologist for a consultation."

"Right?" the other replied with a soft laugh. "Her injury was so minor it would've healed on its own. If only I could find a man that attentive!"

"Keep dreaming," the first nurse joked. "A man like that? One in a million."

One in a million.

Amelia let out a faint smile.

A man who abandoned his severely injured wife to coddle someone with a few drops of oil? He truly was one of a kind.

Once her burns were treated and bandaged, she thanked the doctor and walked out of the hospital into the dark night. Alone.

The second Amelia walked out of the hospital, her phone buzzed. Ding! An email.

It was from the art academy she'd applied to—she got in. Oh, and by the way, they wanted an original piece for enrollment.

After five years, she was finally picking up a paintbrush again.

She bought some fresh supplies and, instead of heading back to the Felton mansion, she drove straight to Moonridge Peak.

The view was straight-up stunning—calm lakes tucked between rolling hills, their glassy surfaces mirroring the mountains like nature showing off.

It wasn't just peaceful; it felt like hitting the reset button.

Amelia let out a deep breath, and for the first time in years, the weight of everything just... disappeared. All that was left was a long-lost sense of freedom.

She let her brush hit the canvas, and the scenery practically painted itself. No noise, no interruptions—just the wind and the birds calling out like they got the memo about peace.

Three days flew by in this little bubble of quiet.

When she finally climbed down to mail off the painting, she turned her phone back on.

Cue the avalanche—missed calls and texts, all from Chad.

This was new.

She used to be the one doing all the calling and texting, always getting his voicemail or, worse, radio silence. The guy barely cared enough to return a missed call.

While she stared at her screen, still processing, Yara's name lit up.

The second Amelia answered, Yara's shrill voice exploded. "Amelia! Where the hell have you been? Chad's losing his mind looking for you!

"Don't think this little disappearing act will make him care. Keep dreaming! The only 'lady' of my family is Irina!"

Before Amelia could even get a word in, Yara hung up.

She blinked, frowning.

Wait... Chad was frantically looking for her? That couldn't be right.

Her eyes drifted to the 108 missed calls. Okay, maybe it was right.