Chapter 39 Chapter 39
“That’s all I get?” Nadia tilted her head, feigning disappointment. “No questions? No ‘how have you been’? No congratulations?”
Lila’s eyes narrowed. “Congratulations for what?”
Nadia’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Oh, I’m sure Amelia knows.”
Before Amelia could respond, one of Bryson’s security team—stationed near the door—took a single step forward, enough for Nadia to notice. Her gaze flicked toward him, then back to Amelia.
“Well,” she said, drawing out the word, “enjoy your lunch. I’m sure we’ll… run into each other again soon.”
She turned on her heel and sauntered out, the café door swinging shut behind her.
The table was silent for a moment, save for the hum of conversation around them.
Claire finally broke it. “Okay, that was straight out of a soap opera.”
Amelia exhaled slowly, steadying herself. “Yeah. And something tells me she didn’t just ‘happen’ to come here.”
Lila’s gaze followed the direction Nadia had gone. “She’s playing a game. And she wants you to know it.”
Amelia was still processing the shock when her phone buzzed against the table. She didn’t have to check the screen—she knew it was him.
Bryson: Stay put, baby. Two minutes.
Her lips curved despite herself. Across the café, one of the security guys caught her eye and gave a subtle nod, his hand pressed to his earpiece.
Claire leaned in, smirking. “Is that your knight in shining Armani or your overly confident boss?”
“Both,” Amelia murmured, a little warmth creeping into her voice.
The soft hum of an engine drew her gaze outside. A sleek black Maybach rolled to the curb, catching the late afternoon light. Lila arched a brow. “Well… that’s not subtle at all.”
The café door opened, and Bryson stepped inside like he owned the air around him—cool, collected, scanning the room until his gaze locked on hers. Whatever tension had been there melted instantly when he smiled at her, slow and deliberate.
“Ladies,” he greeted warmly, but his focus never really left Amelia. “Mind if I steal her for a while?”
Claire pretended to pout. “She’s your assistant, not our hostage.”
“Then I’ll just borrow her,” he countered, extending his hand toward Amelia.
She slid her fingers into his without thinking, and he bent just enough to brush a kiss against her temple. “Come on, baby. Let’s get out of here.”
As they walked to the car, he kept close, his palm warm at the small of her back. “Security told me Nadia was here,” he said quietly once they reached the Maybach.
“She just… wanted to be seen,” Amelia replied, meeting his eyes.
He smiled faintly, but there was an edge of certainty in it. “She wanted to rattle you. All she did was show me how close we are to checkmate.”
Bryson opened the door, helping her in before circling around to join her. The city noise faded as the Maybach eased into traffic, and he reached over, twining his fingers with hers.
“Where to?” she asked softly.
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Home. Where you belong.”
The Maybach purred to a stop beneath the awning of Bryson’s building, the soft glow of the lobby lights spilling onto the curb. The doorman greeted them by name, stepping aside as Bryson guided Amelia inside with a hand at the small of her back.
They stepped into the private elevator, the doors gliding shut with a quiet hiss. The hum of the ascent wrapped them in a kind of cocoon, the world outside fading to nothing.
“Bryson,” Amelia began, turning toward him. “Can we talk? About… everything?”
“You know we can,” he said, voice low and steady. Then, with that quiet authority that always seemed to disarm her, he added, “But first, I’m going to run you a bath.”
She blinked, caught between surprise and the sudden warmth that pooled low in her stomach. “A bath?”
He gave a slow, knowing smile. “We’ll talk while I bathe you.”
Her eyes went wide, and for a moment she was sure he could hear her pulse in the quiet elevator. Part of her wanted to protest—to keep things neatly measured and safe. But another part, the one that had been steadily unraveling since the moment she met him, pictured his hands, the steam, the way he’d watch her with that unwavering focus.
“I…” she hesitated, cheeks warming.
“I don’t want you to feel pressured or confused,” Bryson said, watching her closely. “That’s why I’ve been holding back. Toning it down. You’ve had more than enough taken from you on someone else’s terms—I want you to have this on yours.”
She swallowed, realizing she was gripping the rail behind her. “I don’t know if this is too fast… or just right.”
He stepped in closer, his presence wrapping around her like heat. “Then let’s find out together.”
The elevator chimed, the doors opening directly into his penthouse. Bryson took her hand, leading her inside like there was no question she belonged there.
Amelia had been here before — the sleek living room with its wall of glass, the open kitchen with its steel and marble. She’d even stayed in the guestroom once, back when everything between them had still felt uncertain. But tonight, walking in at his side, the space carried a new weight. It wasn’t just impressive; it felt like it belonged to them.
Bryson didn’t rush. He let her take it in again, as if knowing she was seeing it differently now. Then, with a hand brushing lightly against her lower back, he said, “Go upstairs, pick out something to wear after your bath. Master bedroom — the huge double doors straight ahead at the top of the winding staircase.”
She blinked at him. “Did you… move my stuff?”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a faint, sheepish smile. “I did. Closet on the left is yours. You’ll find everything in there.”
Her pulse quickened. “Everything?”
“Everything,” he confirmed, his tone unreadable but his eyes warm.
Amelia nodded, agreeing without quite knowing why, and started up the stairs. Her feet sank into the plush runner with each step until she reached the set of white double doors, trimmed in gold, gleaming beneath the soft glow of the sconces.
When she pushed them open, her breath caught.
She had never been in here. The master suite was enormous — so large it felt as though it spanned the entire upper level. Modern, sleek lines met soft textures, with a chandelier of crystal drops suspended over a low, wide bed dressed in ivory and charcoal. The furniture was rich and contemporary, every surface spotless, every detail curated. She’d lived around beautiful things all her life, but under Bryson’s roof — under his care — they felt different. Not borrowed, not temporary. This was a claim. Almost a promise.
She crossed to the closet on the left and the door glided open. Soft, recessed lighting illuminated the space automatically, bathing it in a warm, golden glow. To her left, a slim touchscreen panel pulsed faintly, labeled with options for temperature, lighting, and music.
A massive island anchored the center of the room, its velvet-lined drawers opening to reveal delicate lingerie, silk stockings, and lace-trimmed intimates in shades from blush to black. Her cheeks warmed instantly.
She moved toward the walls — all three of them lined with brand-new designer pieces. Rows of heels and boots, shelves of handbags, blouses, skirts, and dresses hung in perfect symmetry, tags still attached to some of them.
Her chest tightened. Bryson had done this for her. All of it.
She finally found what she assumed was the pajama drawer… and her jaw dropped. Not a single oversized tee or cotton lounge set in sight. Everything inside was seductive — sheer slips, lace nightgowns, silk rompers.
Her fingers skimmed over a black lace teddy that looked like it would fit her like a second skin. She hesitated. She’d always been confident in her body — her full legs, rounded hips, small waist, nice round peach for a bottom, and the kind of cleavage that could be transformed with the right bra — but this was different. This was deliberate.
Still, she took it. No underwear — she never wore any to bed.
Shaking her head, half in disbelief, she padded back down the stairs.