"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.

Still trying to piece everything together, Amelia pulled into the driveway and stepped out, sketch board in hand.

The second her feet hit the ground, the villa's staff practically mobbed her. Their faces screamed relief, and a few looked like they'd been one bad day away from crying.

"You're finally back! The house has been chaos without you. Mr. Felton hasn't liked anything we've done—he's been impossible!"

Ah. There it was.

This wasn't about her. Chad didn't care where she'd been; he just couldn't function without his built-in caretaker.

Too bad for him. He'd better get used to it because soon, she'd be out of his life for good.

Amelia gave them a polite smile and headed inside.

The villa was dark, not even a lamp on. Chad was sitting alone on the couch, moonlight cutting across his face and throwing half of it into shadow. It made him look as unreadable as ever.

When he heard her footsteps, his eyes snapped to hers, lingering for what felt like forever. His voice broke the silence, low and sharp. "Where have you been the last few days?"

Amelia shrugged off her coat, her tone as flat as her mood. "Up in the mountains. Sketching."

Chad's brows pinched. "Since when are you into painting?"

She'd always been good at art. If it weren't for her whole 'sacrificing-my-dreams-for-you phase', she'd have been abroad, living her dream as an artist.

But explaining that to Chad? Pointless.

She grabbed a glass of water, took a sip, and replied casually, "I just felt like it."

Chad pressed his fingers to his temple, his voice softening like he was trying to reason with a stubborn child. "About the soup thing—I didn't leave you on purpose. Irina's always been... delicate. She cries over the tiniest scratch. We grew up together, so I'm used to taking care of her. That's why I took her to the hospital first.

"Besides, you didn't say anything at the time, so why make a fuss and leave? Irina's moved out now that her place is ready. Don't blow this out of proportion over something so minor."

His tone carried just enough blame to make it clear—he thought this was her fault. Not just for leaving, but for somehow making Irina move out early, too.

But Amelia didn't care anymore. She just nodded, set her glass down, and headed for the stairs.

"Amelia!" Chad called after her.

She stopped and turned, watching as he stood from the couch. "I'm hungry. Make me some pasta."

Without a word, Amelia raised her bandaged hand. "Did you forget? My hand's injured too."

Chad froze, clearly not expecting that.

Not that she stuck around to see his reaction. She turned and walked upstairs without a second glance.

...

The next morning, Amelia stepped out of her room and was met with something shiny and gaudy shoved in her face.

She blinked and looked up to see Chad standing there, looking a little... awkward.

He cleared his throat. "About the soup incident... I didn't check on you because I was busy taking care of Irina. This is to make up for it."

Amelia's eyes flicked to the jewelry, her expression shifting ever so slightly.

Five years.

In all that time, Chad had never given her a gift—not once.

And now, this wasn't even a real gift. It was compensation. A shiny bribe for the time he spent doting on Irina instead of even pretending to care about her.

Her thoughts wandered to the pile of perfectly curated gifts she'd seen in Chad's study—every single one meant for Irina. Bitterness rose in her chest, sharp and familiar, but she swallowed it back down.

She'd never expected anything from him before. She definitely wasn't starting now.

Chad misread her hesitation entirely.

"If you don't like it..." he started. "I've been busy with Irina's... matters. I asked Leon to grab the most expensive piece at the auction. If it's not your style, then—"

Leon. His assistant. Of course.

Before he could finish, Yara's voice cut through the room.

"Irina! What did I tell you? Chad adores you! You never should've moved out. But even if you did, you should visit more often!"

Amelia turned, just in time to see Yara dragging Irina into the room.

Then Yara's eyes locked on the jewelry box in Chad's hands, and her entire face lit up.

"Oh my God, Chad! Irina just said how much she loved this set, and you actually got it for her!"

She turned to Irina, practically vibrating with envy.

Irina flushed, her cheeks turning the color of rose quartz as she ducked her head in shy embarrassment.

Chad froze. For a split second, something like hesitation flickered in his eyes.

Without missing a beat, Amelia took the jewelry box from Chad and handed it to Irina.

"Since it's for you, then take it," she said, her voice calm.

The decision Chad couldn't make? She'd made it for him.

For the first time, Chad didn't look at Irina. His gaze stayed on Amelia instead.

There was something about the way she carried herself now—graceful, unbothered. It threw him off.

She wasn't the same Amelia anymore, but he couldn't quite figure out how.

A week later, the cooling-off period for the divorce was finally over. Amelia could officially leave.

She started packing.

Midway through, Leon showed up holding a couture gown, saying it was from Chad. Apparently, Chad wanted her to attend a banquet at the family estate.

Amelia stared at the dress, barely holding back a laugh.

Their marriage was basically over—legally done. And yet Chad still thought she'd play the role of his wife.

She was about to say no but paused, thinking of Miranda. The woman had shown her kindness, and Amelia still needed to grab a few documents for her upcoming trip.

After a moment of deliberation, she slipped on the gown and headed to the banquet.

...

The grand banquet hall sparkled, alive with chatter and clinking glasses. The scent of wine and expensive perfumes filled the air.

At the center of it all stood Irina, soaking up the adoration of a circle of fawning socialites.

Every woman's eyes seemed glued to the emerald necklace resting on her collarbone, shimmering under the lights.

"Irina, Chad is so devoted to you," one gushed.

"Totally! That necklace—wasn't it auctioned off at Sotheby's? Global limited edition, symbolizing a love as rare as it is. Turns out Chad was the mystery buyer! Felton romance goals, right?"

"It's insane how he's still hung up on you after all these years. I mean, back in school, he was always waiting to pick you up. All those jelly cups and chocolates in your desk? That was him! And remember when you two fought, and he was a wreck? Asking everyone how to fix it, bloodshot eyes and all, like he hadn't slept for days?"

Another chimed in, "Exactly! No one could ever love you like Chad does. He was heartbroken when you married someone else. And when he found out you were miserable abroad? He flew out every week to see you, secretly showering you with gifts to make you smile.

"Now that you're divorced, and it's so obvious he doesn't even care about his current wife, why don't you two just get back together?"

"Yeah! Get back together! Get back together!" The chorus grew louder, a mix of excitement and champagne-fueled drama.

...

Amelia stood in a quiet corner, unnoticed and detached, her eyes fixed on the scene.

She listened, calm and unblinking, as the room celebrated her husband's devotion to someone else.

"Amelia."

The voice yanked her back to reality. She turned, spotting Miranda. Her first instinct was to call her by name, but she pivoted mid-sentence. "Madam Miranda," she said, all formal-like.

Miranda sighed and handed Amelia a stack of documents. "Everything's ready for your trip. Classes start early, so I booked your flight—it leaves in three hours. Need anything else?"

Amelia stared at the papers, feeling relieved.

Freedom—like, actual freedom—was so close she could almost taste it. After a deep breath, she shoved the papers into her bag and shook her head. "Thanks for setting this up. Really. I mean it."

Then she hesitated, her voice dipping as she added, "One thing. If Chad ever comes asking about me... just tell him you don't know." Because, honestly, they were better as strangers.

Miranda's eyebrow shot up. "Wait. He doesn't know you're leaving?"

What was she supposed to say?

Should she confess that her whole entrance into his life had been, well, calculated? That the last five years of playing the perfect wife weren't about love but some twisted sense of duty? Or that Miranda herself had recruited her to help Chad get over Irina? Oh, and now she was filing for divorce, skipping the country, and disappearing for good?

Yeah, hard pass.

And honestly, what would it change? Irina was back, and Chad? He wouldn't care. Heck, he might not even notice.

Amelia smiled. "No need. I just want to leave quietly and avoid more drama."

"What do you mean, leaving?"

The deep voice cut through the air, and Amelia froze. Turning, she found herself locked in Chad's piercing gaze.

Her heart did this awkward little stutter as she scrambled for a response, but the words stuck in her throat. Did he hear everything? Some of it? Anything?

Luckily, Miranda swooped. "It's nothing," she said smoothly, redirecting. "What brings you here?"

Chad didn't press further. His attention drifted to the cake on the table instead. "Mom, it's time for you to cut the cake."

Miranda sighed and waved him off. "I'm not feeling well. You all handle it." She gestured for the staff to help her upstairs, exiting stage left with zero fanfare.

And then it was just Amelia and Chad.

He held out a hand. "Come on, let's go cut the cake."

Amelia shook her head, raising her bandaged hand. "Can't. Injured, remember? Ask Irina instead."

Chad's face flickered with surprise, like he couldn't process what she'd just said. Something in her tone felt off.

"Why would I ask Irina?" he asked.

She gave him a look. Seriously? Why?

Had he forgotten the last five years?

He'd ditched her for Irina more times than she could count, flying halfway across the world just to be with her. And now that she was giving him the green light, he looked... confused? Unbelievable.

Her faint smile didn't waver. "Because you two get along so well. It's just cutting a cake—no big deal."

Her voice was calm, but something in her tone felt final, like she was slipping out of his reach.

Chad hesitated, but eventually turned and walked over to Irina. Leaning down, he whispered something in her ear.

Irina's face went pink, but she nodded and looped her arm through Chad's. Together, they stepped onto the stage, their hands clasped as they cut the cake.

Cue the piano. Soft and sweet, like they were at a wedding instead of a birthday party.

As the night dragged on, the older crowd trickled out, leaving behind Chad and Irina's inner circle—the people who'd grown up watching their on-again, off-again saga unfold.

Seeing them up there together? Oh, they ate it up.

"Kiss! Kiss!" someone yelled, and the chant caught on like wildfire.

"Kiss! Kiss!"

"Kiss!"

Irina turned the color of a ripe tomato, and even Chad looked flustered, his ears practically glowing. But while he didn't kiss her, he also didn't shut it down.

Amelia? She couldn't care less. The whole thing was background noise as she checked her phone, calculating exactly when she needed to leave. With her flight in three hours, it was game over. Time to bounce.

Of course, her quiet vibe got completely twisted. The crowd, naturally full of armchair psychologists, decided she must be devastated.