Chapter 99

Amelia

The day started as a promise. A soft one, made in the quiet between sips of coffee and glances that lingered too long. Richard had reached across the breakfast table, brushing his fingers against mine with a warmth that settled something deep in my chest.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he said, already reaching for his jacket. “Someplace with good coffee. Maybe a bookstore. You deserve a day that feels like yours.”

I raised an eyebrow, lips curling. “A bookstore? That sounds suspiciously like a date.”

His mouth twitched into a grin. “Maybe it is.”

The suggestion wasn’t grand. It wasn’t a spectacle. It was the kind of simple, ordinary offer that had become a rare luxury in our lives. Just a day to breathe. A moment of softness in a world that had grown louder with every headline.

And I had wanted that. God, I had wanted that so badly it ached. I wanted to pretend for a little while that we were just a couple, that our lives weren’t the stuff of political scandal and whispered betrayal.

The bookstore we chose was nestled on a quiet side street, its painted sign slightly faded, its windows fogged from the morning chill. Inside, the space smelled of paper and dust, with warm lighting and handwritten shelf labels. The floors creaked beneath our steps. It reminded me of the orphanage’s tiny reading nook, where I had first learned to lose myself in pages. Richard lingered behind me, his presence comforting but unobtrusive. He occasionally plucked a book from a shelf, skimming the first few lines before handing it to me.

One was a satirical volume on werewolf courtship rituals, its cover adorned with dramatic poses and bold fonts.

I snorted, holding it up. “You think this is accurate?”

“Disturbingly so,” he said with mock solemnity. “I’m sure it’s peer-reviewed.”

I laughed, actually laughed, and tucked it under my arm.

For ten minutes, maybe fifteen, it felt like a dream I wasn’t sure I deserved.

Then the spell broke.

At first, it was a glance. A woman near the register nudged her companion. Someone else took a blurry photo over the rim of their book. By the time we moved next door to the sleek new coffee shop, gleaming white counters, minimalist furniture, sterile silence, it had shifted into something heavier.

“Is that her?”

The barista didn’t bother whispering. Another leaned close, their murmurs just loud enough to carry.

“Wolfless.”

“She must’ve seduced him. That’s the only way.”

“Gold-digger.”

“Pretender.”

“I heard she used the Alpha’s daughter to get in.”

Richard reached for my hand under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Let’s just ignore it,” he murmured.

I nodded, gripping the warm ceramic of my mug tighter. “I’m trying. I really am.”

Their words weren’t shouted. They weren’t even directed at me. But they carried weight all the same. Casual poison, passed hand to hand, infecting everything around us. My latte trembled slightly in my grasp. I tried to smile and sit down like none of it mattered. I tried to talk about the poetry collection I’d picked up, but the words wouldn’t form.

“I can’t focus,” I finally whispered.

He leaned in, brows drawn. “Do you want to leave?”

I hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Please.”

By the time we stepped outside, the air felt brittle. The sunlight was too harsh. The breeze too sharp. The city didn’t feel like mine anymore.

Another laugh behind me, a sharp, clipped sound, and I broke.

My steps faltered. I stopped walking. I didn’t speak. My hands clenched at my sides. My entire body felt too heavy, too exposed. And then it all spilled out. The sobbing came fast and uninvited, a flood that stole my breath. It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t the quiet, tearful kind of sadness. It was shaking shoulders and choked gasps and a hand pressed to my mouth to muffle the sound.

And just like always, he was there.

Richard appeared in front of me, his expression fierce with protectiveness. He didn’t try to reason with the crowd or quiet the noise around us. He just stepped into my world and made it smaller, safer.

“Look at me,” he said, voice low but commanding. “Amelia, look at me.”

I met his gaze, blinking through tears. He framed my face in both hands, his thumbs brushing wetness from my cheeks.

“Normal isn’t for us,” he said, holding my eyes. “It never has been. But that doesn’t mean we don’t get to be happy.”

I shook my head. “It feels like they’ll never let us be.”

“Then we make our own space,” he said. “We keep going. Together.”

The certainty in his voice made something loosen in my chest. I was still crying, but I nodded. I didn’t have the words for anything more.

He wrapped an arm around me and led me away. Not rushing. Not fleeing. Just moving with purpose, like we had every right to exist in the daylight.

The car ride home was silent but grounding. His hand held mine the whole way, thumb brushing back and forth in slow, deliberate strokes. I stared out the window and let the motion soothe me, let the warmth of him seep back into my bones.

When we got home, something shifted. It was in the air between us, thick with everything unspoken. The moment the door closed behind us, the quiet turned electric.

I turned to him, brushing his lapel. “Thank you. For not letting me fall apart alone.”

His response was immediate. “I’d never let you fall alone.”

We didn’t speak after that. I dropped my coat on the chair. He pulled me toward him like gravity itself. Our mouths met with no preamble, no hesitation. The kiss was hungry, a clash of breath and heat and desperation. It wasn’t tender. It wasn’t slow. It was fire consuming air. His hands were beneath my blouse before I could think, his mouth pressing hot against my neck.

He lifted me easily, carrying me down the hall like I weighed nothing, and laid me back on the bed as if he’d done it a hundred times. I pulled him with me, fingers in his hair, body already arching to meet his.

We undressed each other with reverence and urgency, buttons popped, fabric slid, skin bared in hurried strokes. Every movement was a reclamation. Every kiss a rejection of what they’d said.

He worshipped me. He moved over me like I was a goddess. And I gave him everything I had left.

When he pushed inside, I gasped, my fingers tightening on his arms. We moved together in a rhythm that felt older than either of us, a conversation our bodies had memorized. I wrapped my legs around his waist and whispered his name between gasps. His lips found my shoulder, my neck, my mouth, again and again.

“Mine,” he murmured against my skin. “Mine. You’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” I breathed back. “Always.”

When I came, it was with a cry I buried in his chest. He followed a heartbeat later, his body trembling above me, his arms locked around my shoulders.

We stayed like that for a long time. Breathing. Tangled. Safe.

Eventually, I turned toward the TV, still flickering quietly in the corner.

“David’s Poll Numbers Surge Amidst Controversy.”

“Rogue Skirmishes Escalate at Eastern Border.”

“Council Divided Over Richard’s Future.”

I sat up, dragging the blanket over my chest. My body still ached in the best way, but my mind was already elsewhere.

Our enemies hadn’t stopped moving while we caught our breath.

Richard’s hand settled on my back, a quiet reassurance. “We’ll face it all,” he said. “You and me.”

But I couldn’t look away from the screen.

Because I understood something now.

This wasn’t just about surviving scandal. It wasn’t about enduring the headlines or ignoring the rumors.

Our love wasn’t just controversial.

It was under siege.