Chapter 57 Petty Punishment
Amelia
The room where he'd first kissed me while drunk. Where I'd slapped him. Where the story had all started.
"Couch is straight ahead," Jeremy said. "Three steps."
I found it and sat down. Heard Jeremy settle into the chair across from me—the same chair he'd always used.
Luca and Nico's footsteps positioned themselves outside the door.
We were alone.
Sort of.
"Comfortable?" Jeremy asked.
"Yes."
A lie. I wasn't comfortable at all. I was tense and hyperaware, feeling exposed and trapped all at once.
A knock on the door. "Your drinks, Mr Santoro."
"Come in."
I heard Marco enter and set down glasses. The glug of whisky being poured. I could hear the sound of ice clinking in my glass of water.
"Anything else?"
"No. Privacy, please."
"Of course," Marco said, and left. The door closed.
I heard Jeremy pick up his glass. I heard the sound of liquid hitting his glass as he drank. Set it down. Poured more.
He was drinking. Relaxing. He was engaged in whatever activity he had come here for.
And I was just sitting here.
I sat quietly, listening to him sip his drink.
The silence weighed heavily on me.
Minutes passed. Five. Ten.
I heard his glass refill twice more.
"Are you alright?" he asked finally.
"Fine."
"You don't sound fine."
"I'm fine," I repeated, keeping my voice neutral.
More silence. More drinking.
I shifted on the couch, trying to get comfortable. But the room felt smaller than I remembered. The air is thicker. The sounds of the bar beyond the door—laughter, voices, music—reminded me that there was a whole world out there.
A world I couldn't access because I'd agreed to Jeremy's rules.
Stay by his side. Don't wander. Don't talk to anyone.
I'd thought getting out of the estate would feel like freedom.
Instead, I'd just traded one cage for another.
"I need some air," I said abruptly.
"What?"
"Fresh air. Can we—can we step outside for a minute? Just to the back alley or—"
"No."
The word was flat and Final.
"Jeremy, I just need five minutes —"
"I told you the rules before we left. You agreed to them. You stay by my side. That means you stay in this room." He took another drink. "If you wanted freedom to wander, you should have stayed at the estate."
"But I'm just sitting here—"
"Then sit. "That's what you demanded to do. 'Come with me,' you said. Well, you're with me. This is what it looks like."
His voice was stern. Unforgiving.
He was right. I had demanded this. Had forced his hand. Had insisted I was bored at the estate and needed to get out.
And now I was—out. Sitting in a private room at a bar, listening to Jeremy drink, unable to leave, unable to do anything except exist in this small space.
Somehow, this place felt worse than the estate.
At least there, I could move around the wing. Could make coffee in the kitchen. Could lie on my bed and listen to audiobooks.
Here, I was just trapped. With nothing to do. No purpose. I was merely waiting for Jeremy to complete the task he had come here for.
I heard him pour another drink. The fourth? Fifth? I'd lost count.
"Are you going to drink all night?" I asked.
"Maybe. Is there a problem?"
"No. Just wondering how long we'll be here for."
"As long as I want. You demanded to come. So you'll stay until I'm ready to leave." He poured another drink. "Unless you'd like to admit this was a mistake. You should have listened to me when I said no.
I bit my lip. Hard.
He was punishing me. Proving a point. Showing me that getting out of the estate wasn't the freedom I'd thought it would be.
And he was right.
But I was too stubborn to admit it.
"I'm fine," I said again.
"Clearly."
More silence. The silence lasted longer this time.
I could hear the bar beyond the door. Nina's voice calling out drink orders. The girls are laughing. Music is playing from somewhere.
Everyone else was out there. Living. Working. Interacting.
And I was in here. Alone with Jeremy. Jeremy, who was drinking and brooding, made it clear that I had made a mistake.
JEREMY
I poured my sixth whisky and watched Amelia sit rigidly on the couch.
She was miserable. Anyone could see it.
Well. Anyone with the ability to see could witness it.
But I could tell from her posture. The way her hands gripped her cane. The tension in her shoulders. She maintained a careful neutrality in her expression.
She'd wanted to come. Had demanded it. Had forced my hand by blocking the door and refusing to move.
So here she was.
And she was learning what I'd already known—that being with me, in my world, wasn't freedom.
It was just a different kind of cage.
Part of me—the petty, frustrated part—was satisfied. She'd pushed. I'd given in. And now she was facing the consequences.
But another part of me—the part I was trying diligently to ignore—felt guilty.
She'd been locked in the estate for two days. Isolated. Bored. Desperate for any kind of change.
And I'd brought her to Crimson just to make her sit in a room while I drank.
This wasn't about her getting out. This was about me proving a point.
About me punishing her for making me jealous. For going to coffee with Alexei Volkov. For laughing with him in a way she'd never laughed with me.
I was being petty.
And she was too proud to admit she'd been wrong.
So we sat. In silence. Both of us are too stubborn to break first.
I drained my glass and looked at her.
She'd turned her face slightly toward the door. Listening to the sounds beyond it. Probably wishing she was out there instead of in here.
Cristo.
I was being an arsehole.
I pulled out my phone and sent a text to Marco: Send Nina in.
A minute later, I heard a knock on the door.
"Come in," I called.
The door opened. Nina stepped inside, took one look at Amelia sitting stiffly on the couch, then looked at me with something close to disapproval.
"You wanted to see me, Mr Santoro?"
"Yeah. Amelia needs company. Keep her entertained while I finish up here."
Nina's eyebrows rose. "Entertained how?"
"I don't know. Talk to her. Catch up. You two know each other."
Nina moved toward the couch and sat down beside Amelia. "Hey, girl. Didn't expect to see you back here."
"Nina." Amelia's voice was careful. Uncertain. "I didn't know you were working tonight."
"Every night." Nina shot me another look. "So. What brings you back to Crimson? Last I heard, you'd moved on to better things."
"I—" Amelia hesitated. "It's complicated."
"Isn't it always?" Nina's voice softened. "Are you doing okay? You look tense."
"I'm fine."
"Liar." Nina shifted closer. "Come on. Talk to me. What's going on?"
I poured another drink and tried to focus on anything apart from their conversation.
But I could hear every word.