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.

And just as she was gearing up to leave, here came Yara and her entourage, strutting over like the mean girl squad.

Amelia glanced up, suddenly boxed in.

Yara's grin was all venom. "Amelia, what's it like being Chad's wife all these years, only to watch him drooling over Irina?" she sneered.

She didn't stop there. "I've said it before—Chad's heart was always Irina's. You were just his rebound. Honestly, you should've taken the hint and left ages ago. But no, here you are, clinging like some desperate wannabe. Pathetic."

Amelia's patience was paper-thin, her mind already on her half-packed suitcase upstairs. She didn't have time for this nonsense. Turning away, she tried to leave.

But Yara and her gang weren't done.

"Still dreaming of your ugly-duckling-to-swan moment, huh?"

"If Irina hadn't left, do you really think someone like you could call yourself Mrs. Felton?"

"Know your place."

"If you've got half a brain, you'll pack up and disappear from the Felton family for good."

Their words were sharp, but their actions were sharper. Hands shoved her, one after another, jerking her back and forth.

"Cat got your tongue? We're talking to you!" one of them snapped. When Amelia stayed quiet, refusing to bite, it only made things worse.

Finally, one woman—bolder or maybe just angrier—lost it. She shoved Amelia hard.

The world tilted.

The deafening crash of glass breaking silenced the room. Amelia hit the towering champagne display, and the cascade of shattering flutes and spilling wine was spectacular.

She landed on the ground with a sharp gasp, the mix of sparkling white wine and bright red blood turning the scene into a chaotic masterpiece.

Then, all eyes locked on her.

Chad, still on stage, froze. His pupils shrank. In a heartbeat, he dropped Irina's hand and rushed toward Amelia.

"Amelia!"

Chad knelt by Amelia, fury etched into every line of his face. He held her close.

He turned to the stunned crowd. "Call the doctor," he barked. Then his eyes swept the room. "Who did this?!"

Silence. No one dared to move.

Chad was about to demand answers again when a bodyguard bolted into the room. "Sir, Ms. Baxter is experiencing stomach pain. She needs you immediately!"

Chad's jaw tightened, but he didn't let go of Amelia. "How bad is it?"

The bodyguard's urgency spiked. "She is crying, sir. She says the pain is unbearable."

For a second, Chad froze. His grip on Amelia faltered as indecision clouded his face. "Amelia, I..."

She didn't need to hear the rest. Pushing herself to sit up, she met his gaze. "I get it. She's always been like that—pampered and delicate. A little pain, and it's a crisis. Go ahead. You've always looked out for her."

Her calmness stopped him cold. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

By then, Amelia was already on her feet, swaying slightly but steadying herself. "I'm fine," she said. "Go. Let the doctor see her first. I can handle this."

Her calm indifference left him unsettled in a way he couldn't quite explain.

Amelia had always been generous to a fault.

But now, standing there with a fresh injury and blood staining her clothes, that same generosity felt almost too much.

It was like he didn't matter to her anymore.

This wasn't the Amelia he knew. She used to look at him with eyes that said he was her everything.

When had that changed?

Chad opened his mouth like he was about to say something groundbreaking, but nope—Irina's dramatic cries cut through the air like clockwork.

He hesitated for half a second, guilt flashing across his face before he turned to Amelia. "I'll check on you later. I'll make it up to you," he said.

Then, without waiting for a response, he bolted, scooping Irina up, whispering sweet nothings as he dashed off.

Amelia just stood there, her lips curving into a smirk.

Of course, Yara and her posse saw it differently. To them, it screamed "heartbroken girl" vibes.

"Wow," Yara snorted. "Think acting all sad's gonna make my brother feel bad for you? Joke's on you—he still ditched you."

"And if you had an ounce of dignity, you'd just leave already," she added.

Amelia didn't waste her breath. She found a servant's room, patched herself up, changed into fresh clothes, and walked out—limping.

...

Back at the villa, Amelia headed upstairs without a word, finished packing, and hauled her suitcase downstairs. She placed the signed divorce papers—yep, both signatures—right on the table.

When she opened the door to leave, she nearly ran smack into Yara, who was waltzing in.

"Why are you running around?" Yara huffed. "Chad told me to bring you medicine. Can you believe it? Leaving Irina to worry about you and making me hunt you down all over the place!"

"I don't need it. Save it for Irina," Amelia said coolly, brushing Yara's hand aside and heading for the door.

That's when Yara's eyes locked on the suitcase. Her face twisted, and she grabbed Amelia's arm. "What are you doing?"

Amelia raised an eyebrow. "Carrying a suitcase. What does it look like I'm doing? I'm leaving. Your brother loves Irina, and you've been dying for her to be your sister-in-law. Congrats—I'm making it easy. I divorced him. I'm done."

Yara's eyes went wide. She stood there, completely frozen. Everyone knew Amelia had been head-over-heels for Chad—so how was she walking away like it was no big deal?

When it finally clicked, Yara's voice shook. "Amelia, cut the act. You love Chad too much to quit like this. You practically forced your way into this marriage! This is some kind of mind game, right? Trying to make him chase you? Well, newsflash—it's not gonna work!"

Amelia didn't even flinch. "If you don't believe me, check the divorce papers on the table. Or"—her voice dripped sarcasm—"is this little hand grab because you'll miss me?"

Yara snatched her hand back like she'd touched fire. "Miss you? Please. I can't wait for you to leave! When you're gone, I'll light fireworks. Chad will probably throw a party, too!"

Her voice cracked a little at the end, but Amelia didn't bother calling her out.

"Then congratulations to you all," she said flatly, stepping outside without looking back.

Yara stared after her. For the first time, a weird unease twisted in Yara's chest, panic creeping in.

"Amelia!" she called out. "Where are you even going? Aren't you going to tell Chad?"

Amelia paused, her suitcase dragging slightly behind her. She turned, her gaze sweeping over Yara and the villa she once called home.

For five years, she'd played the role—pretending to love Chad out of gratitude, letting everyone think she was some desperate, clingy woman chasing after a man who never wanted her.

Five years of giving up her dreams, sacrificing her future, and erasing who she was to pay back a debt. Five years of being the "perfect" wife—running the house, holding everything together—only to be ignored, disrespected, and completely forgotten.

But now? It was over.

For the first time, Amelia smiled—an honest, unguarded smile. "I'm going to live a life that's mine and mine alone."

Everything behind her? It didn't matter anymore.

Goodbye, Felton family.

Goodbye, Chad.

With a wave that felt like freedom itself, Amelia turned and strode into the moonlit night, her suitcase trailing behind her until the darkness swallowed her whole.