Chapter 70

Richard

I found her at dawn.

The halls were still, echoing with the kind of hush that only existed before the day remembered to be loud. Fog pressed against the windows, softening the sharp edges of the House, while the sky beyond the eastern wing began to bruise with the first hues of sunrise, rose, lavender, and a trace of gold curling above the trees.

I climbed the spiral stair to the observation tower slowly, knowing without doubt that she’d be there. I hadn’t seen her since the letter went out, but I felt her absence like a bruise that never fully stopped aching.

She was already there.

Bundled in a blanket too thin for the hour, Amelia sat near the arched window, facing the awakening world beyond. The morning light spilled over her shoulders, outlining her in silhouette. The red ink on the sleeve of her sweater caught my eye, vivid and unmistakable, a smudge from the letter I had written, the one signed with every ounce of resolve I had left.

She didn’t turn when I opened the door.

"I told them," I said quietly. My voice barely rose above the hush.

Her fingers tightened on the blanket, but still she said nothing.

"I should have said it sooner," I added, stepping closer. "I should have said it to you first."

I came to her side, watching the dawnlight catch in her lashes, and hesitated. There was nothing left to say that the letter hadn’t already made clear, but I still struggled with the silence between us. I sat beside her, close enough that our shoulders touched, and for a moment we just breathed in the morning together. Then I reached into my coat and offered it to her.

She took it slowly, hands trembling slightly, and her eyes moved across the page I watched her read the words:

To the public and the council—

There has been confusion surrounding the nature of my recent and past romantic associations. I understand the optics of silence, and I regret the delay in clarity. Let me be clear now: I have not, and will not, rekindle any bond with my former mate, Lady Elsa. Whatever expectations once surrounded us no longer hold weight. Her place in this House remains only as the mother of my child and as a member of this community, nothing more.

My loyalty, personal and professional, lies elsewhere. If questions remain after this, they are not mine to answer.

R.

She turned to me then, her lips parted, her eyes bright with something like disbelief, like the hope she’d been trying to bury had suddenly risen in her throat. I could see it happening in real time, the softening of her shoulders, the way she almost smiled, the beginnings of words forming that she didn’t yet know how to say.

And then the knock came.

Elsa.

She stepped inside with the practiced grace of someone who always assumed she belonged. Silk shimmered across her frame. Her makeup was pristine. She moved like she knew the light loved her. The dawn framed her like a painting come to life.

"Richard," she said, sweetness coating every syllable. "Can we talk?"

Amelia stood, unfolding slowly. I reached for her wrist before she could leave.

"You don’t have to go," I said.

But she did.

Not far. Just to the edge of the room. Just enough distance to be apart.

Elsa turned to me, her expression cool, almost pitying.

She began with a monologue, a soft, wistful performance about our shared history, the comfort of familiarity, the public image we could still salvage. Her voice was velvet, every sentence lined with implication.

Then, without pause, she stepped forward and kissed me.

I didn’t move.

Didn’t kiss back.

When I stepped away, her smile cracked.

"We can still fix this," she said, stepping closer, her voice trembling with urgency.

"No one has seen the letter yet, it doesn’t go public until this afternoon. You can issue a retraction. Say you wrote it in haste. Say it was a misunderstanding. We can make it right."

She placed a hand on my chest, her touch too light to feel like comfort, too deliberate to feel like affection. "You know we worked. You know you wanted me once. And I still want you, Richard. We could have everything back."

I looked down at her hand. She pressed forward.

"Don’t throw away everything we were. Don’t pretend this with her is worth the chaos."

I stepped back, and she didn’t follow.

"I’m not yours," I said. "I never was."

She said nothing. Just turned and left, the echo of her heels fading into the stairwell.

The charity ball that evening transformed the Grand Atrium into a glittering palace of performance. Beneath the high stained-glass dome, chandeliers cast warm light across the marble floor, reflecting off polished silver and gold. Towering arrangements of white roses and flickering candles stood between pillars dressed in silk drapery. Music from the string quartet wrapped around the guests, soft and elegant, calculated for maximum admiration.

Elsa had planned every detail. The color scheme. The order of speeches. The seating chart. She made herself indispensable, omnipresent. And she made sure the story of the night belonged to her.

Until Amelia arrived.

She wore black. A gown of structured simplicity with a sharp collar and a single gold clasp at the back. Her hair was pulled into an understated twist, soft curls framing her face. She didn’t smile, but she didn’t need to. Heads turned anyway.

She moved through the crowd like a storm disguised as elegance, and when our eyes met across the ballroom, I felt the air shift in my lungs.

Elsa appeared beside me like smoke. She pressed a glass into my hand.

"You should be making rounds," she said smoothly. "They expect you to smile tonight."

"I don’t feel like smiling."

"Then fake it," she replied, raising her own glass. Her eyes never left mine as I drank.

The taste hit wrong immediately. Too metallic. Too warm.

She stepped closer. Her voice dropped.

"You really think she’s going to save you? That this ends with you intact?"

I tried to respond, but my mouth felt thick. My limbs heavy.

"You can still stay with me," she said, almost kind now. "I'll make it so easy."

The lights above fractured. My balance shifted. I staggered into the hall, barely catching a chair.

She watched me fall.

And smiled.

The glass slipped from my hand and shattered against the marble.

"Get him to his room now!" Nathan shouted to two interns, then turned to someone else in the empty corridor. "Emma, go find Amelia! Now!"

Amelia

By the time I reached his room, they had already carried him there. The ballroom was chaos behind me, a blur of concerned voices and the glint of crystal and candlelight, but here, in the safety of his quarters, it was still.

Simon had beaten me by only a few minutes. He knelt beside the bed, steady and focused, an antigen already administered. Richard lay half-conscious beneath the covers, his shirt removed, chest rising too fast with the effort of breath. Sweat dampened his hair, sticking it to his forehead, and his mouth moved in soft, disoriented fragments of speech I couldn’t make out.

When I stepped into the room, Simon looked up. "He’ll be okay," he said. "But it was close. Whatever it was, it was precise. Deliberate. It hit fast."

I nodded, swallowing the tightness in my throat. "Thank you."

Simon glanced back at Richard, then stood. "I’ll give you a moment."

Richard stirred.

He groaned softly, eyes fluttering open. For a few seconds, he blinked against the light, dazed and confused, before his gaze found mine.

"You stayed," he rasped.

I stepped closer, kneeling beside the bed. "Of course I stayed."

He tried to sit up, winced, and sank back against the pillows. "I need them to leave."

"They already did."

His hand searched for mine beneath the edge of the blanket, and I took it without hesitation. His grip was weak, but it tightened as much as he could manage.

"Elsa..."

"I know," I said. "It’s over. You don’t have to explain it."

I leaned closer, just enough for our foreheads to touch again. "You need rest," I whispered, though my voice had already softened.

He shook his head slowly, eyes locked on mine. "I need you."

He tugged at my hand again, and when I hesitated, his voice broke on my name.

"Amelia, I need you."

I swallowed hard. "You’re still high on whatever Elsa gave you. You don’t know what you’re saying."

But he shook his head with more force than he should’ve had. "No. Amelia. I need you so bad. I need to be inside of you. Please."

The desperation in his voice split something open in me, something I’d been holding back since the first moment I realized what he meant to me. And when he leaned in, mouth catching mine with raw urgency, I didn’t pull away.

And when he pulled me onto the bed, feverish and flushed, I let him. Let myself. Let everything else disappear.