Chapter 216 085
THE door clicked shut behind her with a soft finality.
Amelia leaned against it for a brief second, exhaling slowly, as though sealing the night outside. The quiet of her suite wrapped around her again, familiar, controlled and safe.
Her phone was already pressed to her ear.
“Yeah,” she said, kicking off her heels as she walked further inside. “I went through that today.”
Ryan’s voice came through calm and measured.
“And?”
She crossed the room toward the closet, unfastening her earrings and placing them neatly on the dresser.
“It aligns with what we suspected. The timelines match. Transfers too.”
A pause on the other end.
“So he is still moving carefully?” Ryan asked.
“Very,” she replied, slipping off her blouse and hanging it properly. “Nothing loud. Nothing obvious. But consistent enough to notice if you are looking.”
“And you are.”
“I always am.”
She changed into a silk sleep set, her movements unhurried but precise.
“What about her?” Ryan asked casually, though the undertone was deliberate.
Amelia’s eyes flickered briefly.
“She is quieter than him I guess,” she said. “But not invisible and very dangerous.”
“Shantel?”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“But no direct contact since the last time?”
“Of course,” Amelia replied evenly. “But proximity doesn’t require conversation, does it?”
Ryan hummed thoughtfully.
“You think she knows you are here?”
“I doubt it,” she said. “And if she does, she won’t show her hand yet.”
She stepped into her bathroom, washing off the remainder of her makeup while balancing the phone between shoulder and ear.
“You sound calm,” Ryan noted.
“I am.”
“That isn't new though.”
She smiled faintly at her reflection.
“I know.”
Ryan let out a quiet chuckle.
“Or maybe distraction is adding to it.”
She ignored that.
“The documents you forwarded?” he continued. “I will have them reviewed again. Discreetly.”
“Good,” she said, patting her face dry. “I don’t want anything traced back prematurely.”
“And Charles?”
She paused just long enough for the silence to register.
“He is… predictable, been blowing up my phone since God knows when,” she said finally. “Ambitious. Impatient. Still chasing something bigger than his current reality.”
“And vulnerable?”
Her gaze hardened slightly.
“Everyone is vulnerable to something.”
Ryan didn’t press further.
“Just don’t underestimate desperation,” he said instead.
“I don’t,” she replied softly.
She walked back into the bedroom and slipped under the duvet.
There was a slight rustle of sheets as she settled in.
“So,” Ryan shifted tone, “enough of covert analysis. Let’s talk real numbers.”
“Ah,” she murmured. “My favorite language.”
“Satin and Sage.”
A small warmth entered her expression at the mention.
“What about it?”
“Your new fall collection preview, response has been strong. Pre-orders exceeded projections.”
She smiled more openly now.
“Good. I wanted that line to feel intimate but bold.”
“It does,” Ryan confirmed. “The silk wraps are already trending.”
“Of course they are,” she teased lightly. “I designed them.”
“Modest as ever.”
“And the resort?” she asked.
“Occupancy is steady. Two corporate retreats booked for next quarter. You might want to review the wellness package proposal, they are requesting a partnership with local therapists.”
“Send it to my email,” she said. “I will go through it tomorrow. And Ames Roses?” She added.
“Ames Roses is doing just fine. Valentine orders are already being placed. I told you fresh peonies would sell.”
“You were right,” she admitted. “Always.”
She lay back fully now, staring up at the ceiling.
“Expansion?” she asked carefully.
“For which one?”
“All of them.”
She heard him exhale thoughtfully.
“Satin and Sage first,” he said. “International shipping optimization. Then the resort— luxury but intentional. We don’t want it to lose intimacy, you know.”
“Sure.”
“Ames Roses stays small,” he continued. “Some things shouldn’t scale too fast.”
She was quiet for a moment, taking that in.
“You are right. But that is for now.”
He laughed, already expecting that.
“I know, I ain't disputing that with you.”
“Better,” she rolled her eyes, her lips curving faintly.
“Now, how is it going over there for real? You wanted clarity, are you getting it?”
She thought about the afternoon spreadsheets. The evening conversations. The way she had turned her phone face down without hesitation.
“Yes,” she said softly. “In ways I didn’t expect.”
Ryan caught the subtle shift but didn’t comment directly.
“Alright,” he said instead. “Get some rest. We will reconvene tomorrow.”
“Ryan?”
“Yeah?”
“Keep everything tight.”
“Always.”
The call ended.
Amelia placed her phone on the bedside table and reached to turn off the lamp.
Darkness filled the room gently.
For a brief moment, her mind drifted— not to spreadsheets, not to Charles, not to Shantel.
But to laughter under warm bar lights.
She rolled onto her side, pulling the covers slightly closer.
Clarity, she had called it.
Perhaps that was what this was.
And as sleep approached, she realized something quietly undeniable—
Her mission was still intact.
But her heart was beginning to move independently of it.
Charles had never hated silence this much.
His apartment felt unusually large that night, too quiet and still, the ticking clock on the wall almost mocking him.
He stood by the window, phone pressed to his ear.
Ringing.
Ringing.
Voicemail.
He pulled it away slowly, staring at the screen as though it had personally offended him.
Again.
He hit redial.
It rang longer this time.
Still nothing.
He ended the call and immediately opened their chat thread.
You good?
Delivered ✓✓
He stared at the two grey ticks like they had betrayed him.
Delivered.
So her phone wasn’t off.
She had service.
She was alive.
She was just not answering him.
His jaw tightened.
He typed again.
Been trying to reach you. Call me when you see this.
Delivered ✓✓
Still no response.
He exited the app and opened Instagram.
How’s Bahamas?
Sent.
Delivered.
No reply.
He tossed the phone onto the couch and ran both hands through his hair.
“What the hell is wrong with her?” he muttered under his breath.
This wasn’t like Amelia. Or maybe it was.
He replayed the last time they spoke. Nothing dramatic. Nothing explosive. Just distance. A slight coolness in her tone that he had dismissed as maybe stress.
He paced the living room now, irritation mixing with something far less comfortable. Anxiety filled his blood.
He picked up the phone again and redialed. It rang twice and immediately went into voicemail.
He swore under his breath.
For hours he had been trying. Since late afternoon. Since evening. Since it became night.
Nothing like reply. Not even a courtesy text.
And that was what unsettled him the most. Because Amelia was always courteous, even when she was upset, even when she was disappointed. She responded, always.
Unless—
His thoughts paused mid-spiral.
Unless she was choosing not to.
He swallowed. Now the silence felt suffocating. He stopped pacing and stared at his phone again.
Delivered ✓✓
No blue ticks. No typing bubble. Nothing.
A slow realization crept into his chest.
Was she doing this on purpose?
Was this her way of… what?
Punishing him?
Testing him?
Or worse—
Moving on?
The thought hit him harder than he expected.
He immediately shook it off.
“No,” he muttered. “Amelia doesn’t play games.”
But the irony of that thought hung thick in the air.
Because he had. Not deliberately. Not maliciously. But he had been comfortable in her availability.
Comfortable in knowing she would pick up. Comfortable in knowing she would wait.
And now? Now he was the one waiting.
He dialed again. It went into voicemail straight.
His frustration peaked.
“For God’s sake, Amelia!”
He dropped onto the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at the dark screen.
What could be going on?
Was she busy?
Out?
With who?
The last thought pricked his ego sharply.
He had funded that trip.
He had paid for the tickets. The hotel.
He remembered telling her, “Yeah, you need the break.”
He had felt generous and supportive. He had felt in control.
And now he was standing in his own living room, calling endlessly while she ignored him.
For a fleeting, bitter moment, he regretted it. He regretted encouraging her to travel. He regretted again, footing the bill.
If she had stayed, at least he would know where she was. What she was doing and most importantly, reach her so easily for anything, and not strategizing on how to do it.
This distance was unbearable.
He opened her Instagram again and discovered her last seen online was 23 minutes ago.
His chest tightened. So she was online? She had seen the world and not just not him.
He stared at their chat thread again, scrolling upward. Scrolling through their old messages.
Messages of her sending him photos of her outfits. Her asking if he had eaten. Her asking when he would call.
Her saying, I waited up for you.
And his replies, they were short, delayed and casual, except of course for when he wants to demand for something.
He swallowed.
He tossed the phone aside again, but this time he didn’t pick it up immediately.
He just sat there, restless and uneasy.
He grabbed the phone again and typed one last message.
Call me. It’s important.
It delivered immediately.
But nothing.
He leaned back heavily against the couch, staring at the ceiling.
For the first time in a long time, Charles felt something unfamiliar creeping in—
Loss of control.
And he hated it.