Chapter 93 Chapter 93
Chapter 93
Amelia stepped into Castellan Enterprise like she still belonged there. Heads turned before whispers followed. She looked different. Fuller hips, a rounder waist, curves that hadn’t existed before.
She used to be tall and slim, sharp like a blade. Now she walked slower, measured, letting people look. She knew they were looking.
Staff members leaned toward each other, murmuring her name like it was a secret and a warning. Everyone knew Amelia. Everyone knew whose woman she used to be. Drake Monroe’s daughter. Ethan Castellan’s former fiancée. The woman who once walked these halls as if the building had been built for her alone.
The lobby felt smaller than she remembered. Or maybe she just filled more of it now.
A receptionist near the front desk froze mid-sentence, phone halfway to her ear. “That’s her,” she whispered to the woman next to her. “Amelia Monroe.”
Two security guys in dark blazers moved in before Amelia even reached the elevator bank. They planted themselves in her path, arms loose but ready.
“Ma’am,” the taller one said, voice polite but firm, “you need clearance to go any further.”
Amelia stopped. Tilted her head. Smiled slow. “Move.”
“You need an appointment or visitor pass,” the other one added.
She laughed under her breath. “An appointment.” Her eyes slid down to his badge, reading the name like it was a joke. “You know who I am, right?”
“Doesn’t change protocol,” the first one said. “Mr. Castellan updated the access rules.”
“Ethan?” She stepped closer, close enough that he had to resist the urge to step back. “That’s cute. He never managed to keep me out before.”
They glanced at each other. Amelia sighed, already done with the conversation. “Listen carefully. If either of you puts a hand on me, my father will know about it before your shift ends. And if Drake Monroe knows, this place will feel it. Everywhere.”
The taller guard swallowed. “We were specifically told—”
“I don’t care what you were told.” Her voice dropped. “Step. Aside.”
A long beat passed. Then they moved. Not gracefully. Just enough to let her through.
“Good choice,” she said, brushing past them like they were furniture.
The lobby watched her go. Phones stayed in hands but screens went dark. People pretended to type, pretended to talk on calls, pretended they weren’t tracking every step she took toward the elevators.
She caught her reflection in the polished glass wall as she waited. Hair still perfect. Makeup flawless. Body changed, but the confidence hadn’t. If anything, it looked stronger on her now. She smirked at herself.
The elevator dinged. Empty. She stepped in alone and pressed four.
When the doors opened on the executive floor, the hallway looked foreign. New carpet. New paint. New doors with electronic panels instead of handles. Someone had tried hard to scrub her out of the place.
She walked straight to Ethan’s office. Stopped. Frowned at the new setup—no visible lock, no glass, just a sleek black panel beside the frame that probably required a badge. A small red light blinked once.
Amelia lifted her hand and tapped the panel lightly. Curious.
Inside the office, Ethan’s monitor flashed. Camera feed. Clear shot of her face. Amelia Monroe. Standing right outside. Smiling.
His jaw locked.
Celine sat across from him, head down over a stack of contracts, glasses slipping a little on her nose. Hair pulled back in a neat knot. Calm. Focused. Completely unaware of the woman ten feet away separated by steel and glass.
Ethan stood up fast. Chair rolled back hard.
Not now.
Not her.
Memories hit quick— Gone one day without explanation. Amelia had smiled at the funeral too. Sworn up and down she had nothing to do with it. Drake had made sure the investigation died quietly.
Ethan grabbed the desk phone.
“Security,” he said when the line picked up. “Fourth floor. Outside my office. Escort her out. Now.”
“Sir, she’s—”
“Now.”
He dropped the receiver.
Outside, Amelia pressed the panel again. Harder this time. The red light stayed red. She muttered something under her breath, lips curling. “Really, Ethan? A locked door? That’s new.”
She leaned in closer, voice low enough that only the hallway cameras would catch it. “Enjoy playing house with your little assistant while you can.”
Footsteps came fast from both ends of the corridor. Four guards this time. Uniforms crisp. Faces set.
“Ms. Monroe,” the lead one said, breathing a little hard from the sprint. “You need to leave the premises.”
She turned slowly. “Excuse me?”
“You’re not authorized.”
Her voice climbed. “Do not put your hands on me.”
“We won’t touch you,” another guard said. “But you need to come with us. Now.”
Employees had started gathering at doorways. Some pretended to work. Most didn’t bother. They watched openly.
Amelia lifted her chin. “I know how to walk.” She smoothed her jacket, adjusted the strap of her bag. “Tell Ethan this visit was just hello.”
She turned and started toward the elevators. Heels hitting the floor sharp and even. No rush. No shame.
The guards flanked her at a careful distance. No one touched her. No one had to.
When the elevator doors slid shut, she stared straight ahead, face blank except for the smallest curve at the corner of her mouth.
Inside the office, Ethan stayed on his feet until the camera feed went dark again. He exhaled through his nose. Sat back down slowly.
Celine looked up from the files. “Everything all right?”
He managed a nod. “Yeah. Just a security thing. Nothing serious.”
She studied him for a second, eyes steady behind the glasses. “You sure?”
“Positive.” He forced a small smile. “Let’s finish these reports.”
She held his gaze a moment longer, then went back to the papers.
Ethan watched her work. The way her pen moved across the page. The way she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear without thinking. Safe. Still here. Still breathing.
That was enough.
For now.
He turned back to his screen, pulled up the next set of numbers, and
tried to focus.
But in the back of his mind, the image of Amelia lingered. Fuller. Sharper. Still dangerous.
And still smiling.