Hospitals always smelled like endings — sharp, sterile, and sad.
Amelia hated it.
She sat beside Aunt Chloe's bed, her head resting lightly on the edge of the mattress. Machines beeped steadily in the background — the only rhythm keeping her sane.
It had been three days since the virtual inquiry.
Three long, suffocating days of silence from King's Corporation.
"Mommy?"
A soft voice pulled her out of thought. Lily stood at the door, hugging her bunny plushie, her big brown eyes glistening.
Amelia smiled weakly. "Hey, sunshine. Did you sleep?"
Lily shook her head. "Ethan snores. Emily kicked me."
A quiet laugh escaped Amelia — small, fragile, but real. "Come here."
The little girl ran into her arms, curling up beside her mother's lap.
For a fleeting moment, Amelia forgot the weight pressing on her chest. The company, the scandal, the icy man behind it all — none of it mattered when her daughter's tiny fingers clung to her shirt like an anchor.
But her phone buzzed again.
Another headline notification:
> "CEO Christopher King Seen with Socialite Elena Moretti— Is the Gala Scandal Finally Explained?"
Her jaw tightened.
Of course. The media would twist anything to protect power.
She shut the phone off and leaned back, whispering to herself, "Let them talk. Truth always finds a way."
---
Meanwhile, across the city — in his penthouse office — Christopher King wasn't doing what CEOs normally did.
He wasn't signing deals. He wasn't in meetings.
He was watching the grainy security footage from the dinner night . Again.
His assistant, Mark, hovered nearby, clearly nervous. "Sir, that's the tenth time you've watched that segment."
Christopher didn't look up. "Zoom in on the eastern exit."
Mark hesitated, then did as told. The screen showed Amelia and him leaving the restaurant, her head slightly down, clutching her purse. She didn't even glance at the camera.
No guilt. No smirk. No hint of calculation.
Just a woman who looked… tired.
Christopher leaned back, exhaling slowly. "Who had access to these security feeds of that very day?"
"Only the media director and the PR consultant, sir. And… Clara Bennett, since she was in charge of event publicity."
The pen in Christopher's hand snapped clean in two.
Mark flinched.
"Get me the raw server logs," Christopher said flatly. "And not a word of this leaves this room."
Mark nodded and hurried out.
Christopher pinched the bridge of his nose, the truth dawning like an unwanted sunrise.
Clara .
She'd done it — leaked the photo, stirred the scandal, and watched Amelia burn for it.
And he'd let it happen.
He looked out the glass wall of his office — the city stretching beneath him like a kingdom he no longer recognized.
For the first time in years, Christopher King felt something dangerously close to regret.
---
That night, Amelia sat by the hospital window, the glow of city lights reflected in her tired eyes.
Her phone buzzed again. Unknown number.
She hesitated, then answered. "Hello?"
A pause. Then that familiar deep voice:
"It wasn't you."
Her heart skipped. "Mr. King?"
"I looked into it. You were framed," he said quietly. "Don't ask how I know — just… focus on your family. I'll handle the rest."
Before she could respond, the line went dead.
She stared at the phone, her pulse quickening.
For the first time since the nightmare began, she didn't know whether to feel relief… or fear.
Because if the devil was defending her — maybe hell itself was shifting.
---