Chapter 2
Amelia's POV
I threw my keys on the kitchen counter and slumped against the door. My tiny rental apartment felt even smaller after the grand ballroom.
The silence was deafening.
The pill box sat heavy in my coat pocket. I pulled it out and set it on the coffee table, staring at it like it might explode.
'Just take them and move on,' I told myself. 'Like he said.'
But I couldn't. Not yet.
Instead, I found myself wandering to the bookshelf where I kept our memories. My fingers traced the spine of the old brown leather photo album until I pulled it free.
The first page made my chest tight. 2018. Remy's bankruptcy year.
There we were in his garage, wrapped in the same ratty blanket, beer bottles scattered around us. His arm was around my shoulders, both of us grinning despite having lost everything.
'God, we looked so young.'
I remembered that morning.
The foreclosure notice had come that morning. Remy cried for the first time since I'd known him.
"Amelia, you're my only support. Without you, I can't make it through this."
His voice from that night echoed in my memory. Broken. Vulnerable. Real.
I flipped the page. 2020. My birthday.
A handwritten card fell into my lap. Remy's messy scrawl: "Amelia, once the winery stabilizes, I'll trade that cake fork in your hand for a ring."
My fingers traced the faded ink. The letters were already blurring at the edges.
"Characters fade," I whispered. "Do promises fade too?"
The third page was harder to look at. His mother's funeral, 2022. I'd stayed up all night at the wake, holding his hand while he stared at nothing.
"Thank God I have you," he'd said, voice raw from crying. "Mom always said you were a good girl. She told me to treat you right."
'Treat me right.' I laughed bitterly. 'Like giving me abortion pills at a party?'
I closed the album and grabbed the manila folder from my desk drawer. The winery's 2025 financial records I'd secretly copied when helping with the books.
My hands shook as I spread them across the table.
There it was. Black and white. Remy had transferred 50% of the winery shares to Olivia Green.
I checked the date. One week before he announced their engagement.
I pulled out my calculator, fingers flying across the numbers. Over ten years, I'd helped generate profits worth three times what those shares were valued at. I'd worked unpaid overtime, negotiated supplier contracts, managed the books during the bankruptcy.
All of it. For nothing.
'I helped you earn millions, and you gave shares to someone you've known for six months,' I thought, shoving the papers back into the folder. 'Turns out my contributions were never part of "our future."'
I buried the folder under a thick accounting textbook at the bottom of the shelf.
The next afternoon, I was back at the winery delivering the financial reports Remy had requested. I knocked on his office door.
"Come in."
Olivia was sitting in Remy's chair, spinning around like a child. My carefully prepared tea sat on the desk beside the European market contracts.
"Oh, it's just Amelia," Olivia said without looking up.
I set the reports down. "These are the quarterly summaries you wanted."
Olivia reached for my teacup—my cup, the one I'd used for three years—and "accidentally" knocked it over. Hot tea splashed across the papers and onto her designer skirt.
"Oops." She grabbed tissues, dabbing at her clothes with exaggerated distress. "Amelia, you're just here to help with the books. How dare you use Remy's personal teacup? What if you stained my skirt?"
I bent to pick up the soaked reports, but Remy appeared and stepped in front of me. He was helping Olivia adjust her skirt, his hands gentle on the fabric I could never afford.
"Olivia grew up privileged. She's never had to deal with inconvenience," he said, not even looking at me. "Cut her some slack. Redo the reports and have them on my desk tomorrow."
He led Olivia toward the break room. "Let's get you some afternoon tea."
I stared at the ruined papers dripping on the floor.
"Okay," I said to the empty room.
That night, my phone rang. Mom.
"Amelia, have you heard? Olivia's engaged! Your father wants you to help plan the wedding."
I opened my mouth to tell her about the pregnancy, but she kept talking.
"You need to be realistic, honey. What can Remy really offer you? The Green family has money and influence. Don't get in their way."
"Mom, I'm pregnant."
Silence.
"Handle it immediately!" Her voice sharpened. "Don't let Remy know you're being so irresponsible!"
The line went dead.
I stared at my phone screen, tears blurring the display. For the first time in my life, I felt completely alone. No family support. No partner who cared. Just me in this tiny apartment with my impossible choice.
I picked up the pregnancy test from the coffee table and threw it in the trash. It landed with a hollow thud.
Later, I sat with the photo album in my lap again. The cover was worn smooth where my thumbs had rubbed the "E&I" letters I'd written there years ago.
I traced Remy's face in the bankruptcy photo, remembering how he'd held me that night. How real his tears had been. How desperately he'd needed me.
Then I thought about today. The way he'd fussed over Olivia's skirt while I cleaned up tea from the floor. The way he'd looked right through me like I was furniture.
I closed the album and slid it under the accounting book with the financial records. Hidden away with all the other evidence of what I used to mean to him.
Walking to the window, I could see the winery lights twinkling in the distance. The place I'd helped save. The place that was no longer mine.
My reflection stared back at me—tired, hollow-eyed, still wearing yesterday's dress.
'One more time,' I decided. 'I'll trust him one more time. If he lies to me again, I'm done.'
But deep down, I already knew the answer.