The server returned with a glass of aged whiskey. Amelia raised it in a mock toast. "To being invisible. To being replaced. To being… free."
She downed it in one gulp, coughing as it burned down her throat, but smiling afterward like it was worth it.
Ethan ran a hand through his hair. "You're going to regret this."
"Maybe," she said, shrugging as she slumped back into the booth, eyes now locked on his with a sultry boldness. "Or maybe I'm finally letting go."
The next drink came faster.
And the one after that.
Amelia started laughing more, louder. Then, her hand found its way to Ethan's knee under the table.
He froze.
"Do you know what I noticed?" she whispered, voice low and a little too close. "You look at me like I'm not ruined."
"You're not," he said, trying to stay still.
Her fingers traced up, dangerously slow. "And you're kind. Strong. Safe."
"Amelia..."
"I bet you'd never leave a woman crying on the floor just to chase a new toy."
His hand caught hers gently, stilling her movement.
Her eyes met his again.
This time, they were softer. Lost.
"I don't know what I'm doing," she whispered.
"I do," he replied gently. "You're hurting."
"And you're here."
"I always will be," he said before he could stop himself.
The words hung between them, heavy and true.
Amelia pulled her hand back slowly. Looked away. "I think I need to go home."
Ethan stood, tossing cash onto the table, signaling the server to have a car ready.
He didn't say anything more.
He just helped her up, hand steady at her back as they slipped through the club's shadows, past the curious glances of staff who still bowed and called him sir.
Ethan guided Amelia through the thrumming pulse of the club, shielding her from curious glances and subtle stares.
Her laughter had died down to a sleepy hum, and her steps were slightly unsteady, but she clung to his arm with quiet trust.
They were nearly at the car when the sharp click of a camera shutter sliced through the air.
Ethan's head snapped around.
A flash.
Then the blur of a figure slipping back into the shadows near the valet entrance.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath.
Amelia blinked up at him, her words soft and slurred. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he lied. "Let's get you home."
He opened the car door gently and helped her in, his mind already racing. That photo, whoever took it, would be a problem. Not just for him. For her. If it leaked...
But now wasn't the time to panic.
Amelia was quiet during the drive, leaning her head against the window, tracing invisible patterns in the fogged glass.
When they arrived back at the Vale estate, it was eerily still, no security in sight, no sign of Richard's return.
Ethan helped her out, his arm firm around her waist. "Can you walk?"
"I'm not that drunk," she whispered, but her voice wobbled.
He didn't reply. Just steadied her as they ascended the steps to the grand front doors.
Once inside, the silence was heavy. Echoing. Amelia let her heels clatter to the floor in the foyer, kicking them off with little care, and leaned against the wall with a tired sigh.
"Thank you," she murmured.
Ethan turned to her, his expression unreadable.
"You didn't have to do all this."
"I wanted to."
Her eyes lifted to meet his, and for a moment, neither moved.
The space between them crackled, charged, fragile and waiting.
Amelia stepped forward, close enough that he could smell the vanilla and whiskey on her breath. Her fingers brushed against his chest.
"You keep catching me, Ethan," she said softly. "Over and over again."
"Someone has to."
"I don't deserve it."
"You deserve more than you've been given."
She blinked. Her lips parted, the words caught behind them.
And then she kissed him.
It wasn't frantic. It wasn't fueled by lust or liquor.
It was soft.
Deliberate.
The kind of kiss that lingered in your lungs long after it ended.
Ethan didn't pull away. For one impossible second, he let himself feel what he'd been fighting.
But just as quickly, reality crashed back in.
He stepped back gently, eyes searching hers.
But Amelia, dazed and warm, leaned her head on his shoulder.
And said nothing.
The kiss lingered like a soft bruise between them, neither of them moving, neither speaking.
Amelia's head rested lightly on Ethan's shoulder, the silence stretching long and full. Her breath was slow and warm against his neck.
Ethan didn't move.
Couldn't.
Because if he did, he'd pull her into his arms and never let her go.
But she wasn't his to hold.
Not yet.
"Amelia," he whispered after a long moment.
"Mhm?" Her voice was soft, sleepy.
"I should take you upstairs."
She nodded, her hand slipping into his as though it belonged there.
Ethan led her carefully up the winding staircase of the Vale estate, guiding her through the quiet hallway until they reached the large double doors of the master bedroom.
Amelia fumbled with the handle, giggling. "Stupid heavy door."
He opened it for her.
The room was too big, too cold for one person. He hated it immediately.
She sat on the edge of the bed, kicking off what remained of her jewelry. One earring clattered to the ground.
Ethan picked it up. "You okay?"
She looked up at him with glassy eyes and a slow, sad smile. "Are any of us?"
He knelt in front of her, gently brushing her hair back. "You will be."
Her hand touched his jaw. "You keep saying that. Like you believe it."
"I do."
Her fingers traced the side of his face. "You're too good. Too good to be just a gardener."
Ethan's breath caught. But before he could speak, she whispered, "And I'm too broken to love someone like you."
"You're not broken," he said softly.
She didn't argue this time.
He helped her under the covers, pulling the sheets up to her waist. She reached for his hand again before he could step back.
"Stay," she said.
"Amelia…"
"Please. Just until I fall asleep."
Ethan hesitated.
But when she looked up at him with those tired, vulnerable eyes, he couldn't say no.
He sat on the edge of the bed, hand in hers.
She shifted closer, curling slightly into his side.