Amelia stood frozen, the phone dangling loosely from her trembling fingers, her eyes locked on the screen. The chill that crawled down her spine wasn't from the morning air, it was from the sudden realization that someone, somewhere, was watching.
And waiting.
Her knees felt weak, as though the ground had become unstable beneath her.
She reached for the back of a chair to steady herself, the echo of her own heartbeat thudding violently in her ears.
Then...
Footsteps.
Quick. Controlled. Coming from the front door.
Her head snapped up just as Ethan strode in through the hallway.
He stopped the moment he saw her, still in her robe, pale, shaking.
"Amelia?"
His voice was soft but urgent, already closing the distance between them.
She didn't move.
Didn't even blink.
Just held up the phone with the photo still on the screen, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Someone sent this."
Ethan's jaw clenched. He took the phone from her slowly, his eyes scanning the image. The muscles in his neck tightened as he exhaled through his nose.
"I know."
That broke the dam. "You know? You knew someone was watching and you didn't tell me?"
"I found out this morning," he said quickly. "After I left your room. I had my team scrub the club's surveillance. Someone got through.. we're still trying to trace it."
Amelia stepped back like he'd slapped her. "Team? What team, Ethan? You're a gardener."
Ethan cursed silently under his breath. Not now. Not like this.
She was spiraling. And it was his fault.
He took a cautious step forward. "Amelia.."
"No. Don't." She held up a hand. "Tell me the truth. All of it. Right now."
He stared at her. Torn. Then finally, he exhaled.
"My name is Ethan Blackwell. My family owns half the eastern seaboard in hotels, clubs, properties.. including the one we went to last night."
Her face twisted. "You lied."
"I didn't lie," he said softly. "I just didn't tell you everything."
"Oh, right. So it's just omission. Not betrayal."
"You were hurting. You didn't need another man trying to impress you with a bank account."
"I needed honesty," she snapped, tears threatening now.
Ethan stepped closer. "Everything I told you, the way I looked at you, stood by you, held you, that was real. It still is real. I didn't plan to fall for you, Amelia. But I did."
She shook her head. "I'm married."
"To a man who left you bruised, broken, and alone in a house that feels like a mausoleum."
"That doesn't make this okay!"
"No, it doesn't," he said firmly, "but don't confuse guilt with regret. You kissed me because you wanted to. Not because you were drunk. Not because you were lonely. Because for the first time in a long time, you felt something."
Her breath hitched.
"I saw the way you looked at me before you fell asleep," he said, voice gentler now. "Like you finally felt safe. And I'm not sorry for being that for you."
She pressed her fingers to her temple, like she could massage the chaos away.
"Whoever sent that photo," she whispered, "they're going to ruin us."
"Not if I get to them first."
Her eyes snapped to his.
"Let me protect you," he said, stepping closer. "Let me be there for you. No more lies. No more secrets."
Her lips trembled.
"I'm scared," she confessed.
He reached out, gently cupping her cheek.
"Then let me be the one who stands between you and everything you're scared of."
Silence then, slowly, she leaned into his palm.
The door slammed open with such force that the walls seemed to flinch.
Amelia's breath caught in her throat as Richard stormed in, his eyes wild, his jaw clenched so tightly a vein stood out in sharp relief on his temple.
She instinctively stepped back, closer to Ethan.
That was all it took.
Richard's gaze zeroed in on Ethan's hand still resting on her cheek, and his eyes flared with something unhinged.
"What the hell is this?"
Ethan didn't move.
Didn't flinch.
He stepped in front of Amelia with quiet precision, his expression unreadable. "You're early."
"You bastard." Richard's voice cracked. "I leave for one weekend and come home to this? My wife with the gardener?"
"Your wife?" Ethan echoed, voice dangerously calm. "You remember you have one?"
Richard's eyes narrowed into slits, his fists clenched at his sides. "You think I don't know who you are now? Ethan Blackwell?"
Amelia sucked in a breath.
"You've got some damn nerve, pretending to be someone else, working on my estate, and seducing my wife."
"I didn't seduce her," Ethan replied coolly. "I respected her. Something you should've done."
Richard lunged before either of them could stop him.
Ethan ducked just as the first punch flew past his cheek. The second, however, grazed his jaw. It was more rage than skill, and Ethan responded with trained calm.
He shoved Richard back, fists up. "Back off."
But Richard was already swinging again, this time fueled by jealousy and humiliation. The blow landed, slamming into Ethan's ribs, but Ethan retaliated fast, his knuckles crashing into Richard's jaw with a sickening crack.
Amelia screamed, "Stop it!"
They didn't.
The men collided again, this time taking down the edge of a glass side table as they struggled.
Ethan managed to shove Richard off and step back, chest heaving.
"I warned you," he growled. "That's not how you treat a woman."
"She's my wife!"
"No, Richard," Amelia said, her voice shaking but strong, "you lost the right to call me that the moment you called me a gold digger and left me to be humiliated."
Richard staggered up, blood on the corner of his mouth. "You don't get to rewrite the past, Amelia. I gave you everything."
"You gave me a cage and called it love."
Ethan moved closer, between them again.
Richard pointed at him, seething. "This isn't over. You think because your last name is Blackwell, you can take what's mine?"
"I didn't take her," Ethan said, jaw tight. "You threw her away."
"You think this ends with a fight in a mansion?" Richard laughed bitterly. "You've got no idea what you've started."
He turned to Amelia, face twisted with something between desperation and hatred. "You'll regret this. Both of you."
And then he was gone again, slamming the door with enough force to rattle the frame.
Ethan turned to Amelia slowly. "Are you okay?"
Her hands were shaking. Her breath shallow.
But her eyes, those beautiful, wounded eyes, locked onto his.
"I'm tired," she whispered. "Of fighting for a man who never saw me. Of being dragged into darkness every time I try to breathe."
Ethan stepped toward her. "Then let me fight for you."
"I don't want another man fighting for me," she said, tears finally falling. "I want to fight for myself. I want to be free."
Ethan nodded slowly, his chest aching with something deeper than pain. "Then let me walk beside you while you do."
She didn't answer.
But she didn't turn away either.
And that was enough.
Richard gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.
His luxury car tore down the private road, tires screeching as he punched the gas hard enough to make the engine scream.
He wasn't driving to anywhere in particular, he just needed to move, to burn through the rage that was threatening to shatter him from the inside out.
That bastard. That lying, smug gardener turned billionaire.
And Amelia.
His Amelia.
In the arms of another man. Smiling. Looking at him like he was her world.
That look was supposed to be his.
He slammed the heel of his palm against the wheel, nearly veering off the road.
"Son of a bitch!" he shouted to the empty car.
Richard didn't understand it.
He had given her everything, a roof over her head, his name, the spotlight, status. Sure, he hadn't been the most attentive husband lately, but Amelia was always… quiet. Submissive. Convenient.
And now, because some mystery billionaire with calloused hands and fake humility decided to crawl out of the dirt and play knight in shining armor, she thought she could just leave?
No. Absolutely not.
Richard pulled over abruptly, chest heaving. His mind raced.
He couldn't beat Ethan Blackwell with fists. Not with money either.
But reputation?
That was another game entirely.