Chapter 85 I Just Want to Go Home
The quaint street bustled with late-autumn charm — golden leaves scattered across cobblestones, window displays dressed for the season, and laughter floating from nearby cafés. Amelia strolled between her parents, her scarf tucked neatly under her coat, cheeks flushed from the crisp air.
They had just stepped out of a boutique when a voice slashed through the street noise.
“Amelia!”
She froze. Her heart dropped.
Turning slowly, her eyes locked with the man storming toward her from across the street — Carl. His face was tight with fury, voice echoing too loud for the quiet street.
“We need to talk. Now.”
Amelia’s father instinctively stepped in front of her, but Carl pushed right past him.
Before Amelia could even react, Evan and Marcus emerged from opposite directions — black coats, sharp eyes, all calm control. They closed in just as Carl reached for her arm.
“Back off,” Marcus said coolly, stepping between them with the fluid precision of someone trained to do this in his sleep.
Evan was right behind him, shoulder to shoulder. “Try and touch her again and you’re gonna lose a hand.”
Amelia blinked, startled. “Marcus? Evan? What—?”
“Bryson sent us,” Marcus said, not taking his eyes off Carl. “You’re not alone.”
Amelia swallowed, gathering herself. Her parents stood stunned behind her.
“Stay close,” she whispered to the men. “But let me speak to him.”
Marcus gave a short nod and stepped back — just enough.
Amelia’s voice rang out, clear and deadly calm.
“You and I are divorced, Carl. Finalized. There’s a court-approved protection order in place.”
Carl’s nostrils flared. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
She stepped forward, trembling but fierce. “I’m going to say this once and only once—”
Her voice dropped into a blade.
“Stay. The fuck. Away from me.”
Carl’s face twisted. “You think this is over? You think I’ll let you go that easy? You’re mine! You’ll always be mine!”
“Alright, that’s enough,” Marcus barked.
Evan grabbed Carl by the arm as he lunged again, and Marcus joined in, steering him firmly toward the curb.
“You did this to yourself,” Marcus muttered, holding tight as Carl thrashed and shouted. “You lost. Now take it like a man.”
“AMELIA!” Carl bellowed. “You hear me?! I won’t LET YOU GO!”
Blue and red lights cut through the afternoon.
A patrol car rolled up. Two uniformed officers stepped out as Marcus pulled out a folded sheet of paper and calmly handed it over.
“Court order,” he said. “Signed and filed. My name is Marcus Taylor — I’m with Bryson Hearst’s private security team. We’ve been monitoring her for incidents exactly like this.”
The officers scanned the paper, exchanged a look, and nodded. One moved to cuff Carl as he screamed and cursed. The other began taking Marcus’s statement.
Across the street, Amelia stood frozen — face pale, lips trembling.
Her mother gently wrapped her arms around her.
“I’m sorry,” Amelia whispered. “I didn’t want you both to see me like this.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Maggie said firmly. “Be proud you stood up to him.”
But Amelia shook her head, turning away slightly. “I… I just want to go home.”
“Wait,” Evan said, alarmed. “You mean home home?”
“She can’t go back. Not yet,” Marcus whispered, already pulling out his phone. “You should stay and spend the day with your parents. Don’t let that idiot ruin it for you,” he added, trying to buy time.
He dialed Bryson.
“Yeah,” Marcus said. “It happened. He tried. We intercepted.”
There was a pause.
“Yeah, she’s okay. A little shaken, but—hold on.”
Marcus passed the phone to Amelia.
She hesitated, then took the phone.
“…Hey,” she said softly — and her breath hitched.
Whatever Bryson said on the other end reached her like warmth in the cold. Her free hand lifted to her mouth without her realizing it, fingers pressing there as her eyes glassed. She nodded once, blinking fast.
A single tear slipped free.
She brushed it away quickly, smiling through it as her shoulders eased and her posture straightened — like something heavy had quietly been set down.
She listened a moment longer, lips curving as a soft, breathy laugh escaped her. “Okay." then a beat later "I love you too,” she whispered.
When she finally handed the phone back to Marcus, her eyes were clearer. Steadier.
Maggie noticed it first — the way Amelia’s face had softened, the way color returned to her cheeks. Quincy saw it a beat later. The tension that had wrapped so tightly around his daughter had loosened, replaced by something unmistakable.
Relief.
Certainty.
“Well,” Amelia said, smoothing her coat as she exhaled. “Shall we continue with our day?”
She linked arms with her mother and father before either of them could answer, leaning into them both as they turned back toward the shops.
Maggie squeezed her arm gently. Quincy said nothing — but the look he exchanged with his wife said enough.
Marcus smiled faintly. “Glad you’re back with us.”
Evan gave a small smirk. “You’re tougher than most people I know.”
Amelia glanced back at them with a grateful nod. “Thank you. Both of you.”
And as they walked, the crisp fall breeze carried away what was left of Carl’s presence — leaving only the quiet echo of Bryson’s voice in her chest.
Bryson was in the middle of shifting one of the outdoor couches into place when his phone buzzed in his pocket.
He stilled instantly.
Setting the couch down, he stepped away from the noise — past the string lights being tested, past the low murmur of staff — and answered.
“Yeah.”
“It happened,” Marcus said. “He tried. We intercepted.”
Bryson closed his eyes.
“She’s okay,” Marcus added. “A little shaken, but—she is talking about going home.”
“Give her the phone,” Bryson said immediately.
There was a brief shuffle. Movement. Then—
“Angel,” Bryson said, his voice steady but threaded with something fierce.
“I know you’re tired. I know you feel like every time you step forward, someone from your past tries to drag you back into it. Carl. Ashley. Nadia. I know it feels like they keep reaching for pieces of you that don’t belong to them anymore.”
He paused — not because he was unsure, but because he needed her to hear the next part.
“But listen to me. They don’t get you anymore. Not your body. Not your peace. Not your joy. And they never get to touch the life you’re building now.”
His voice softened, but it didn’t weaken.
“You waited. You endured. You fought your way out of something that tried to hollow you out — and you did it without losing your kindness, without losing yourself. That takes a strength most people will never understand.”
He exhaled slowly.
“You are not broken. You’re finished surviving. And I am not here to watch you keep carrying this alone.”
Then, quietly — devastatingly —
“Come home to me everynight knowing this: nothing that ever hurt you gets to follow you there. I won’t allow it. I won’t tolerate it. And I will spend the rest of my life making sure your happiness is louder than their noise.”
A beat.
“I love you, Angel. Let today be yours, enjoy the day with your parents, please for me? Let the past starve. I’ve got you now.”
He straightened, grounding himself before continuing. “Marcus and Evan will stay with you the whole time. You’re safe. You don’t have to rush. You don’t have to change a thing.”
He imagined her smile — small, real — and it steadied him.
“Enjoy your day with your parents,” he added. “Let yourself have it. I’ll see you soon.”
When the call ended, Bryson stood there for a long moment, phone still pressed to his ear.
His fingers curled tight around it, knuckles pale, jaw set hard enough to crack.
For one sharp, blistering second, he nearly left. Nearly abandoned every flower, every light, every perfectly placed table to go to her — to make sure she was okay with his own two eyes.
But he didn’t.
Because she needed him steady.
Because she needed him to believe in the moment they were about to step into.
And because loving Amelia meant knowing when to hold her close — and when to build the world she’d come home to.
By the time he slid the phone back into his pocket, he had locked himself back in.
Recentered.
Focused.