Amelia pushed herself away from the wall and walked out of the bedroom on unsteady legs. The hallway stretched before her like a tunnel, and she moved through it blankly, her palm pressed flat against her lower stomach. In the living room, she collapsed onto the sofa, staring at the crumpled ball of paper on the floor—the pregnancy report that Hunter had wadded up in the bedroom and thrown into the hallway. She picked it up, smoothing the torn halves across her thigh, her fingers tracing the creases.

Minutes passed. Or hours. She couldn't tell.

The silence was shattered by the sharp, insistent ringing of a phone. It came from the bedroom—Hunter's private line.

She heard the muffled sound of his voice through the door. Then, moments later, the bedroom door flew open and Hunter strode out, the phone pressed to his ear. The hard lines of his face had softened into an expression she hadn't seen in three years. Tenderness. Concern.

"Audra," he said, the name like a caress.

In the deathly silence of the apartment, Audra's thin, tear-tinged voice carried clearly through the receiver.

"Hunter... I, I don't feel well," she sobbed. "I just got back from the hospital... Manhattan Private."

"What's wrong?" Hunter's voice turned sharp with alarm. "Are you okay? Do you want me to send a car?"

A deliberate pause came from the other end of the line. Then Audra's voice, laced with calculated fragility, delivered the fatal blow.

"I'm pregnant."

The words detonated in the silent room. Amelia's head snapped up, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Hunter stopped in his tracks. His hand tightened around the phone until his knuckles turned white. A flicker of shock crossed his face, quickly replaced by an unadulterated surge of joy. It was pure, unrestrained elation.

It was the expression Amelia had dreamed of seeing on his face—directed at her.

"Are you serious?" he breathed. "Audra, that's... that's incredible." He was already soothing her, promising her the world. "Don't worry. I'll take care of everything. I'll give you the life you deserve. We're going to be a family."

Amelia stood in the shadows of the living room, watching him treasure another woman's pregnancy, another woman's child. The bitter irony flooded her veins like a tangible poison, venomous and searing. Just minutes ago, he had torn up her truth, accused her of being a scheming liar, and threatened their baby's life.

A small, broken sound escaped her lips. It started as a gasp, then turned into a laugh. It was a hollow, desolate sound, filled with a self-mockery so deep it bordered on madness.

Hunter's head whipped around, his eyes blazing with fury at the interruption. He glared at her, silently commanding her to be quiet.

But Amelia didn't stop. The laughter faded, but a strange calm settled over her. The last flickering ember of hope in her heart had been extinguished. There was nothing left to fight for. Nothing left to lose.

She straightened her spine and squared her shoulders. Her gaze was clear, empty of the love and pain that had clouded her vision for so long.

"I agree to terminate the agreement," she said, her voice cutting through his phone call, clear and cold as ice. "You don't need to pay the breach penalty. I'll accept the terms of the original contract. I'll leave with nothing."

Hunter froze, the phone still pressed to his ear. He stared at her, his expression flickering with something she couldn't interpret—perhaps surprise, perhaps disbelief.

"Hunter? Are you there? When are you coming to see me?" Audra's coquettish voice came through the phone.

"I'll call you back," he said curtly into the phone, then hung up without waiting for a reply.

He tossed the phone onto the sofa and narrowed his eyes, studying Amelia as if seeing her for the first time.

"Don't play games with me, Amelia," he warned in a low voice. "You'd better mean what you say."

She didn't argue. She didn't even look at him. She simply turned and walked toward the door, placing her hand on the handle. She paused for a moment, her back still to him.

"Have your lawyer here at nine o'clock tomorrow morning. I want this finished as soon as possible."

Then she was gone, closing the door softly behind her, leaving him alone in the empty, silent room.

Hunter stared at the closed door, his jaw clenched tight. He grabbed the tablet from the coffee table and, with a surge of force, hurled it at the sofa. The tablet bounced off the cushion and fell to the floor with a dull, unsatisfying thud.

Amelia stood in the hallway, her back against the door.

Her hand rested on her stomach.

She didn't cry. She didn't tremble.

Slowly, the corner of her mouth curled upward.

It wasn't a smile. It was the sound of a weapon being loaded.

She pulled out her phone and dialed a number.

"It's me," she said. "Change of plans. I don't want you to investigate Audra."

A pause.

"I want you to investigate Hunter. The past three years. Everything."

She hung up and walked into the elevator.

The doors closed. It began to descend.

She watched the floor numbers tick by.

Eighteen. Seventeen. Sixteen.

Each floor was a funeral. Each floor was a rebirth.

Lobby. The doors opened.

She stepped out into the November wind.

Behind her, the building still stood. Its glass facade reflected the cold city lights.

But she would never look up to it again.

From now on, she would only look down.