Chapter 146: Unscripted
By late afternoon, Christmas had softened into the kind of beautiful disorder Amelia had once believed only existed in movies.
The pristine living room had surrendered hours ago. Torn wrapping paper peeked from beneath the coffee table, champagne flutes and coffee mugs competed for space on every available surface, and someone's Santa hat had somehow ended up hanging from one of the antlers above the fireplace. The fire burned lower now, casting a warm amber glow over a room filled with people who had long since stopped caring about sitting properly or keeping anything remotely organized.
Amelia sat curled against Bryson in the corner of the sectional, the silver key he had given her resting in her palm.
She had tried putting it away twice.
Both times, she had reached for it again within minutes.
Her thumb moved absently over the tiny engraving at its neck as conversations overlapped around her. Their initials were there, intertwined in the metal, and every time she touched them, another piece of the future Bryson had quietly built for them unfolded in her mind.
The garden, her library, and the nursery—their nursery.
A room waiting for a baby who was still small enough to remain their precious secret from most of the world.
A home beside the lake where their child would learn to walk. Where Christmas mornings would eventually mean toys scattered across the floor and little feet racing toward a tree. Where Bryson would undoubtedly spoil their child beyond reason while insisting he was doing no such thing.
Amelia smiled.
Bryson's fingers brushed lazily over her shoulder. “You're doing it again.”
She glanced up at him. “Doing what?”
“Looking at that key like you're planning to marry it instead.”
A laugh slipped from her. “Are you jealous of your own house?”
“My wife has been paying more attention to a piece of metal than me for the last hour. I'm evaluating the competition.”
“Fiancée,” Lila corrected from across the room.
Bryson did not bother looking at her. “Wife.”
Lila threw her hands up. “Why do I even bother?”
“January twelfth,” Claire reminded her. “Then we can all stop fighting him.”
“No, then he'll become worse.”
Amelia laughed and settled deeper against Bryson's chest.
His wife.
It did not feel strange anymore.
That was perhaps the strangest part.
So much about the last several months should have felt impossible, yet sitting there surrounded by both of their families, Amelia could not imagine herself anywhere else.
For years, she had worked so hard at creating the appearance of a happy home that she had never realized how much effort should not be required when happiness was actually present. With Carl, holidays had been orchestrated. Menus were planned, tables perfected and appearances maintained. She had smiled when she was supposed to smile and ignored whatever hurt threatened to disrupt the picture she had created.
There was nothing perfect about this Christmas.
Roderick and Armando had been arguing about cards for twenty minutes. Maggie was trying to convince everyone to eat again even though no one had recovered from breakfast. Quincy and Charles had somehow turned a harmless discussion about wine into a competition neither man would admit was a competition. Claire was laughing so hard at something Lila said that she had tears in her eyes.
It was loud, messy and completely unscripted.
Amelia had never felt more at peace.
Bryson looked down at her, and his expression changed almost imperceptibly.
“What?” he asked.
Amelia shook her head. “Nothing.”
“That's not nothing.”
She should have known better than to try.
Her gaze wandered across the room before returning to him. “I was just thinking that this might be the best Christmas I've ever had.”
The teasing left his eyes.
His hand moved from her shoulder to the side of her neck, his thumb tracing gently beneath her ear. He did not ask about the Christmases that came before. He did not turn her happiness into another conversation about Carl or everything she had survived.
He simply kissed her temple.
“Good.”
Amelia waited.
When nothing else came, she looked up at him. “That's it?”
Bryson's brow lifted. “What?”
“No grand speech?”
A slow smile appeared. “You want one?”
“I've become accustomed to them.”
His quiet laugh vibrated beneath her cheek before his gaze drifted toward the hand she had resting protectively over her stomach.
“Next Christmas will be better.”
Amelia's smile softened.
Bryson covered her hand with his.
“And the one after that.”
Her throat tightened.
“And the one after that,” he continued. “We've got a lot of Christmases ahead of us, sweetheart.”
Amelia leaned up and kissed him.
She felt his smile against her lips before someone across the room groaned.
“Come on,” Roderick complained. “Some of us are trying to digest.”
Claire smacked his arm. “Leave them alone.”
“You were complaining about them yesterday.”
“I can complain about them. You can't.”
“That makes absolutely no sense.”
“It doesn't have to.”
The room erupted again, and Amelia laughed against Bryson's mouth before pulling away.
This.
She wanted to remember this.
Not because it was extraordinary, but because, for once, nothing terrible was happening—nobody was calling, nobody was threatening her, and nobody was trying to take something from her.
She was simply happy.
Later, after leftovers had somehow become another full meal and everyone had changed back into the matching pajamas Amelia had bought, Maggie insisted on a family photograph before the evening disappeared.
Getting everyone positioned proved considerably more difficult than anticipated.
“Roderick, move over.”
“I can't.”
“You have six feet of legs. Figure it out.”
“That's not how anatomy works, Claire.”
“Today it is.”
Amelia stood near the center of the group laughing as Bryson came up behind her and wrapped both arms around her waist.
“Careful with her,” Maggie immediately warned.
Bryson looked toward Amelia's mother. “I've got her.”
“I know you have her. I'm still going to say it.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
Quincy grinned. “Smart man.”
Amelia turned her head slightly. “Look at you taking orders.”
Bryson lowered his mouth near her ear. “Only from women named Prescott.”
“Soon there won't be one.”
His arms tightened around her.
“Exactly.”
Something warm unfurled inside her.
Claire hurried toward the group after setting the camera timer.
“Everybody look forward. Nobody blink, nobody talk, and Roderick, if you grab my ass during this picture, I swear—”
The flash went off as the entire room burst into laughter.
“Roderick!”
“I didn't do anything!”
“You absolutely did.”
The second photograph was worse because no one could stop laughing.
By the third, Armando was looking at Lila instead of the camera, Maddie was wiping tears from her eyes, and Charles had apparently said something to Quincy that had both men grinning.
The photograph was completely imperfect.
Amelia loved it before she ever saw it.
Claire, however, was apparently not satisfied.
“We need one of just the two of you.”
Amelia glanced at her. “We have approximately nine thousand pictures together.”
“And now you're going to have nine thousand and one.”
Lila was already reaching for Claire's phone. “She's right. Go stand by the tree.”
Bryson sighed. “How did the two of you become directors?”
“Natural talent,” Lila replied.
Amelia laughed as Bryson led her toward the Christmas tree.
“Just stand there,” Claire instructed.
“That is generally how pictures work,” Bryson said.
“Your cooperation is overwhelming.”
Amelia turned to face the camera, but Claire immediately shook her head.
“No. Bryson, behind her.”
Bryson moved behind Amelia without complaint and slipped his arms around her waist.
Lila lowered the phone slightly.
“Wait.”
“What now?” Bryson asked.
Lila's gaze moved to his hands.
Then to Amelia's stomach.
A smile slowly appeared.
“Oh.”
Claire followed her gaze.
“Ohhhh.”
Amelia immediately became suspicious.
“What are those faces?”
“Nothing,” Claire said.
“Those are absolutely something faces.”
Lila stepped closer. “Put your hand on her stomach.”
Bryson looked down at Amelia.
Amelia smiled and nodded.
His hand moved from her waist and settled gently over her stomach.
Without thinking, Amelia covered his hand with hers.
Her engagement ring caught the warm glow of the Christmas lights.
Claire's expression softened.
“Don't move.”
For once, no one made a joke.
Amelia looked down at their joined hands.
Bryson's other arm remained around her waist, holding her against him. A second later, she felt his lips brush her temple.
The camera clicked.
Then again.
And once more.
“Got it,” Claire said quietly.
Something in her voice made Amelia look up.
Claire and Lila were both staring at the screen.
“What?” Amelia asked.
Neither answered.
“Let me see.”
Claire walked over and handed her the phone.
Amelia's breath caught.
The photograph did not look posed.
That was what made it beautiful.
She stood in front of the glowing Christmas tree with Bryson behind her, his body curved protectively around hers. One hand rested over her stomach beneath her own, while his face was turned toward her instead of the camera. Amelia was looking down at their hands, smiling.
Her diamond glittered between them.
But it was not the ring that drew her eye.
It was their hands.
Her baby.
Their baby.
Bryson looked over her shoulder at the photograph.
His arm tightened around her.
“Send me that.”
Claire grinned. “I knew you'd like it.”
Lila had gone unusually quiet.
Amelia looked at her.
“What?”
Lila glanced at Claire.
Claire looked back at her.
Amelia narrowed her eyes. “What are you two doing?”
“Nothing,” they answered together.
Bryson sighed behind her. “That's never good.”
Lila laughed. “Okay, fine.”
She came closer.
“We want to ask you something.”
The excitement in her expression made Amelia suspicious.
“Why do I feel like I'm about to regret this?”
“You're not.”
Claire joined them. “Maybe.”
“Claire.”
“I'm kidding.”
Lila took the phone and pulled the photograph back onto the screen.
“We want to post it.”
Amelia's smile faded slightly.
She looked down at the photograph again.
“You mean the picture?”
Claire nodded.
“With…”
Amelia's hand moved toward her stomach.
Lila's excitement softened immediately.
“With the baby announcement,” she finished gently.
For a moment, Amelia said nothing.
The room continued around them, but the conversations nearby seemed to recede.
Their families knew.
Their closest friends knew.
The people inside their home knew.
But beyond that circle, their baby still belonged almost entirely to them.
Claire reached for Amelia's hand.
“Only if you want to. We mean that.”
“Absolutely,” Lila added. “If you're not ready, forget we asked.”
Bryson had gone quiet behind Amelia.
She turned in his arms.
“What do you think?”
His gaze searched hers.
“I think I've wanted to tell the entire world since the moment we found out.”
Amelia smiled.
“That sounds like you.”
“I've shown remarkable restraint.”
From nearby, Lila snorted.
Bryson ignored her.
“But this isn't something anybody else gets to decide for us.” His hand returned to Amelia's stomach. “If you want to keep this ours a little longer, we keep it ours.”
Amelia looked at the photograph again.
For weeks, their child had been this precious secret carried between the people who loved them most.
The world already knew about the engagement.
People had dissected the photographs, the ring, their families, the wedding date and every detail they could find. Strangers had opinions about a relationship they had never witnessed and a love they did not understand.
Amelia had once hated that.
Some part of her still did.
But this felt different.
Her baby was not something shameful she needed to hide.
Neither was her happiness.
For so much of her life, Amelia had protected herself by making herself smaller. She had hidden disappointment, ignored humiliation and swallowed pain because acknowledging it would have meant admitting the life she had built was not what she pretended it was.
She did not want to live that way anymore.
This was her life.
Bryson was the man she loved.
And beneath her hand was the child they had created together.
Her smile returned.
“Okay.”
Claire's eyes widened. “Okay?”
Lila straightened. “Wait. Okay as in okay?”
Amelia laughed. “Yes. You can post it.”
Claire squealed.
Lila's reaction was somehow louder.
Bryson winced.
“Jesus.”
“You knew what you were marrying into,” Amelia reminded him.
“I did not know Claire came with you.”
Claire looked offended. “Excuse me?”
“She does,” Amelia said. “Nonnegotiable.”
“Fine.”
Lila was already staring at her phone.
“We need a caption.”
Bryson immediately frowned. “No.”
Lila looked up. “I haven't said anything.”
“Your face said enough.”
Amelia laughed.
Claire leaned over Lila's shoulder. “Something simple.”
“Sweet,” Lila agreed.
“Not cheesy.”
“Preferably nothing that embarrasses my unborn child before birth,” Bryson added.
Lila ignored him as her fingers moved over the screen.
Then she smiled.
“I've got it.”
She turned the phone toward them.
Amelia read the words beneath the photograph.
Baby Hearst loading… 2026. ❤️
Her laughter disappeared.
Not because she disliked it.
Because seeing the words made something inside her shift.
Baby Hearst.
August 2026.
Until now, their baby had existed in ultrasound images tucked safely away, whispered conversations in bed, morning sickness, doctor's appointments and Bryson's hand finding her stomach as naturally as though it had always belonged there.
Now there were words.
An announcement.
A tiny place in the future marked specifically for their child.
Bryson leaned closer.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then he kissed Amelia's temple.
“Baby Hearst.”
Amelia looked up at him.
“You like it?”
“I love it.”
Lila looked between them. “So?”
Amelia nodded.
“Post it.”
Lila tapped the screen.
Claire immediately reached for her own phone.
Bryson noticed.
“Why are you holding your phone?”
“Because I'm posting it too.”
“You asked permission for a post.”
“We asked permission to announce the baby.”
“That sounds intentionally broad.”
“It was.”
Amelia laughed as Claire posted the photograph to her own account.
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then Lila's phone vibrated.
Claire's followed almost immediately.
Amelia's phone lit up on the coffee table.
Then Bryson's.
Lila stared at her screen.
“Oh my God.”
Amelia laughed. “What?”
“People are losing their minds.”
Claire was already scrolling. “They really are.”
Bryson reached for Amelia's phone before she could.
She stared at him.
“What are you doing?”
“You're not reading comments.”
“Give me my phone.”
“No.”
“What if they're nice?”
“They can be nice tomorrow.”
Lila laughed. “They're mostly nice.”
Bryson's head snapped toward her. “Mostly?”
Claire immediately lowered her phone.
“Bad word choice.”
Amelia reached for her phone.
Bryson moved it farther away.
“Bryson.”
“No.”
“You do realize pregnancy has not rendered me emotionally incapable of reading Instagram.”
“I do.”
“Then give me my phone.”
“No.”
Amelia narrowed her eyes.
Bryson kissed her forehead.
“Still no.”
“You are irritating.”
“And yet, you're marrying me.”
“Currently.”
Lila burst out laughing.
Bryson looked down at Amelia.
“Currently?”
Amelia smiled sweetly.
“That depends entirely on whether I get my phone back.”
He handed it over immediately.
“Excellent decision.”
Amelia laughed as she unlocked the screen.
Within minutes, the photograph had traveled far beyond either Lila's or Claire's page. Family members shared it. Friends reposted it. Congratulations multiplied faster than Amelia could read them.
By the time one of the entertainment accounts reposted the photograph with a headline announcing that Bryson Hearst and Amelia Prescott were expecting their first child, Amelia stopped trying to keep up.
The secret was no longer a secret.
Strangely, she did not feel exposed.
She felt free.
Bryson slipped his arm around her again.
“You okay?”
Amelia looked down at the photograph one more time.
Then at the hundreds of congratulations beneath it.
She placed her hand over her stomach.
“Yeah.”
She looked up at him.
“I really am.”
His smile came slowly.
“Good.”
Christmas continued around them until daylight disappeared completely and the windows became dark mirrors reflecting the warmth inside.
Eventually, exhaustion began claiming them one by one. Parents retired first, followed by the others, until voices disappeared behind bedroom doors and the house settled beneath the snow.
Sometime after midnight, Amelia stood at the bedroom window watching fresh flakes erase the footprints scattered across the grounds.
Bryson came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.
“You tired?”
“A little.”
His palm spread instinctively over her stomach.
Amelia smiled and covered his hand.
“Eighteen days,” she murmured.
“Until you're legally my wife.”
She turned in his arms. “You know exactly how many?”
“I know exactly how many hours.”
“Of course you do.”
His smile faded into something gentler.
Amelia looked toward the nightstand where the silver key rested beside her engagement ring.
“Everything changed so fast.”
“Too fast?”
She considered the question.
“No.”
Bryson studied her.
“Me either.”
“Not even a little?”
“The only thing that scares me is losing it.”
Her eyes returned to his.
“This,” he said quietly, drawing her closer. “You. Our baby. That's the first thing I've ever had that scares the hell out of me because I know exactly what it would cost me to lose it.”
Amelia's arms slid around his neck.
“You're not losing us.”
“I know.”
The certainty in his voice settled something inside her.
Tomorrow, they would return to Manhattan. Lila's gallery opening was only two days away, and Amelia already knew the moment her feet touched the city she would be swallowed by last-minute preparations. Then would come the wedding, the honeymoon and eventually the home waiting beside a lake.
Tonight, however, none of it required her attention.
She kissed Bryson softly and let him lead her toward bed.
For one final night, the world beyond the snow-covered estate could wait.
Christmas had not reached the correctional facility with quite the same generosity.
There was no fire burning low against stone or windows framing snow-covered grounds. No family crowded together beneath warm lights. No laughter drifting from one room to another.
There was only concrete, metal, reinforced glass and fluorescent lights harsh enough to make everyone beneath them look tired.
Someone had attempted to decorate.
Cheap green garland had been taped along the officers' station, and a plastic wreath hung crookedly from a reinforced door. A small tabletop tree sat behind one of the guards, its battery-powered lights blinking unevenly.
Ashley Reynolds hated it.
The decorations did not make the room feel festive.
They made it feel more like jail.
She sat behind the thick glass of a visitation booth, staring toward the secured door on the opposite side of the room.
Fourteen minutes.
She had been waiting fourteen minutes.
She knew because she had counted every one.
At first, Ashley had watched the clock because there was nothing else to do. Somewhere around minute nine, however, she had begun watching because she genuinely wasn't sure the woman was coming.
By minute twelve, Ashley had decided she wouldn't.
By minute fourteen, she was telling herself she did not care.
Then the opposite door opened.
Ashley stopped tapping her fingers.
A woman stepped into the room wearing a dark wool coat and a scarf wrapped high around her neck. Oversized sunglasses concealed much of her face despite the absence of sunlight inside the building.
She did not immediately approach.
She stood just inside the doorway while the officer behind her said something Ashley could not hear. The woman nodded absently, but her attention had already traveled across the room.
To Ashley.
For several seconds, neither woman moved.
Ashley had imagined this moment differently.
More than once, actually.
Sometimes there had been shouting.
Sometimes there had been tears.
Once, during a particularly lonely night, Ashley had imagined an embrace.
She had not imagined this.
Nothing.
The woman simply stared at her.
There was no smile. No anger Ashley could immediately read. No visible relief at seeing her alive.
Nothing.
Then she started walking.
The distance between the secured door and the visitation booth was not particularly far, but Ashley felt every step.
The woman reached the chair opposite her and sat.
Still, neither of them reached for the telephone.
Ashley studied her through the glass.
It had been a little over two years since they had occupied the same room.
The last time had not ended with a goodbye.
It had ended with screaming and a slammed door.
Ashley finally reached for the receiver.
The woman did not.
Ashley waited.
The silence stretched long enough to become uncomfortable.
Eventually, the woman picked up her own receiver and brought it to her ear.
Ashley tried a small smile.
“Merry Christmas.”
The woman stared at her.
Ashley waited.
Nothing.
“Okay,” Ashley murmured. “Maybe not merry.”
Still nothing.
The silence was beginning to irritate her, which Ashley suspected was precisely the point.
“You came all this way just to stare at me?”
The woman finally spoke.
“I haven't decided yet.”
Her voice was colder than Ashley remembered.
“At least you came.”
The woman's gaze moved slowly over Ashley's face as though she were searching for something.
Ashley was not sure whether she found it.
“You look good,” Ashley said.
The woman did not respond.
Ashley tried again. “Different, but good.”
“So do you.”
Ashley glanced down at the institutional clothing.
“I'd hope so.”
Nothing.
Not even the smallest smile.
Ashley released a quiet breath.
“You're really going to make me work for this, huh?”
“Don't do that.”
Ashley’s smile faded. “Do what?”
“Act like this is normal.”
“I didn't say it was normal.”
“You're talking to me like we saw each other last month.”
Ashley sat back.
“What do you want me to say?”
For the first time since sitting down, the woman looked away.
Something finally cracked through the coldness.
Not anger.
Hurt.
It disappeared quickly, but Ashley saw it.
She always saw things like that.
“I don't know,” the woman admitted.
That answer caught Ashley off guard.
The woman looked back at her.
“I genuinely don't know what I expected when I walked through that door.”
Ashley swallowed.
“Neither did I.”
Another silence settled between them.
This one felt different.
Heavier.
Ashley resisted the instinct to fill it.
For once, she allowed it to sit between them.
The woman studied her for several seconds before asking, “How long?”
Ashley knew what she meant.
“A little over two years.”
The woman nodded.
“You counted.”
“So did you.”
“I didn't say I did.”
“You didn't have to.”
Something moved behind the woman's eyes.
Ashley almost smiled.
She thought better of it.
“I called you.”
“I know.”
“You never answered.”
“I know.”
“I left messages.”
“I deleted them.”
Ashley’s jaw tightened.
“All of them?”
“Eventually.”
That hurt more than Ashley wanted it to.
The woman saw that.
For once, however, she did not seem pleased by it.
Ashley lowered her gaze toward the metal ledge.
“I said I was sorry.”
The woman's posture changed immediately.
There it was.
The first genuine flash of anger.
“No.”
Ashley looked up. “No?”
“You said you were sorry that I found out.”
“That isn't true.”
“You told me I was overreacting.”
“I was angry.”
“You told me Asher came on to you.”
“He did.”
The woman laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
“And there she is.”
Ashley frowned. “What does that mean?”
“It means I wondered how long it would take before what happened became somebody else's fault.”
“I didn't say it was his fault.”
“No. You just made sure I knew he started it.”
“He did.”
“And you finished it.”
Ashley said nothing.
The woman looked away again.
When she spoke, her voice was quieter.
“You slept with my boyfriend in my apartment, Ashley.”
“I know.”
“You knew we were together.”
“I know.”
“You knew I loved him.”
Ashley’s expression softened.
“You had been together less than a year.”
The woman's eyes snapped back to her.
Ashley immediately knew she had chosen the wrong response.
“That is what you have to say?”
“I didn't mean it like that.”
“How exactly did you mean it?”
“I meant—”
“No. Never mind.”
The woman shook her head.
“It doesn't matter whether we had been together for six months, ten months or ten years. You knew he was my boyfriend.”
Ashley looked down.
“And you did it anyway.”
There was no explanation Ashley could offer that would make what happened acceptable.
Not even to herself.
For once, she did not try.
The woman stared at her through the glass.
“That was the last time I saw you.”
“I know.”
“And now, after more than two years, you call me from jail on Christmas Eve.”
Ashley swallowed.
“I didn't know who else to call.”
“That isn't my problem.”
“I know.”
The woman's eyes narrowed slightly.
Apparently, she had not expected that answer.
Ashley continued more quietly.
“I know I don't get to make it your problem.”
“Then why am I here?”
Ashley looked at her.
“Because you came.”
The woman's jaw tightened.
“That doesn't mean what you think it means.”
“I don't know what it means.”
For perhaps the first time since she sat down, Ashley sounded entirely sincere.
“I just know you came.”
The woman looked away.
Ashley did not push.
Not yet.
The silence returned, but it was no longer quite as cold.
Finally, the woman released a slow breath and settled farther into her chair.
“I've seen the news.”
Something inside Ashley immediately sharpened.
There it was.
The reason she had called.
“Then you know what they've done to me.”
The woman's eyes hardened again.
“No. I know what you've done.”
Ashley leaned back.
“Here we go.”
“You stalked Amelia Prescott.”
“I followed her.”
“Repeatedly.”
“I had reasons.”
“You photographed her.”
“I was trying to find something out.”
“You showed up where she was.”
“I needed to know what she was doing.”
The woman stared at her.
“To you?”
“Yes.”
“What was Amelia doing to you?”
Ashley hesitated.
The woman noticed.
“Exactly.”
“You don't know the entire story.”
“Then tell me.”
Ashley lowered her voice.
“She was coming after me.”
“How?”
“Bryson's security. His lawyers. Investigators. Everywhere I went, somebody was watching me. Nadia was feeding them information. Amelia knew things she shouldn't have known.”
The woman frowned.
“You were following Amelia, but you're angry that Amelia had security watching you?”
“That isn't what I'm saying.”
“It sounds exactly like what you're saying.”
“You don't understand how calculated she is.”
The woman gave Ashley a long look.
“Amelia is calculated?”
“Yes.”
“And what exactly does Amelia Prescott supposedly want from you?”
Ashley’s hand moved instinctively toward her stomach.
“She wants to destroy me.”
The woman's gaze followed the movement.
Her expression changed.
“What was that?”
Ashley did not answer.
“Ashley.”
She looked at her.
“I'm pregnant.”
The anger disappeared from the woman's face.
“What?”
“I'm pregnant.”
The woman's eyes dropped toward Ashley's stomach.
“How far?”
“Almost twelve weeks.”
The coldness that had surrounded her since entering the room fractured.
“Is the baby okay?”
Ashley placed her hand protectively over her stomach.
“For now.”
Concern immediately appeared.
“What does that mean?”
Ashley looked down.
“Whose baby is it?”
Ashley raised her eyes.
“Carl's.”
The woman stared at her.
“Carl?”
“Yes.”
“Carl Pierce?”
“How many Carls do you think we're talking about?”
“Amelia's ex-husband.”
“He isn't hers anymore.”
The woman closed her eyes briefly.
“Oh, Jesus Christ.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No. Say it.”
The woman opened her eyes.
“I am trying very hard not to.”
Ashley rolled her eyes.
“She knew.”
“Who knew?”
“Amelia.”
The woman frowned. “Amelia knew you were pregnant?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Nadia told her.”
“And?”
“And she couldn't handle it.”
The woman stared at her.
“Couldn't handle what?”
“That I'm carrying Carl's baby.”
For several seconds, the woman simply looked at Ashley.
Then she slowly shook her head.
“I don't understand.”
“What is there to understand?”
“Amelia Prescott announced today that she's pregnant.”
Ashley’s face tightened.
The woman continued.
“She is having Bryson's baby.”
“I know.”
The speed of Ashley's response made the woman pause.
“You know?”
“Yes.”
“And she's marrying him.”
“I know that too.”
The woman stared at her.
“Then what the hell are we talking about?”
Ashley’s jaw tightened.
“Her having Bryson's baby doesn't erase what happened with Carl.”
“What happened with Carl?”
“He wanted children.”
“And?”
“She never gave him any.”
The woman’s expression shifted into disbelief.
“Gave him?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No. I don't think I do.”
“Carl wanted children. Amelia didn't give him any. Their marriage fell apart, and now another woman is carrying his baby.”
The woman stared at Ashley for a long moment.
“Another woman meaning you.”
“Yes.”
“And Amelia, who is carrying Bryson's child and marrying him in a few weeks, is supposedly so consumed with jealousy over Carl that she tried to hurt you?”
“She tried to make me lose my baby.”
The woman went completely still.
“What did you just say?”
Ashley pressed her palm more firmly against her stomach.
“She came after me when she found out.”
The woman's voice became serious.
“How?”
“She used everyone around her. Nadia. Bryson. His security. His attorneys. She had people following me, watching me and pressuring me. She wanted me scared.”
“Ashley, that is a very serious accusation.”
“I'm aware.”
“Did Amelia physically hurt you?”
“Not herself.”
“Did she tell somebody to hurt you?”
“I don't know what she told them.”
“Then how can you say she tried to make you lose your baby?”
“Because I know what she wanted.”
The woman stared at her.
Ashley could see the skepticism building.
“You don't believe me.”
“I am trying to.”
“No, you're not.”
“Yes, Ashley. I am.”
“Then stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you've already decided I'm lying.”
The woman sat back and studied her.
“Do you want to know what I'm actually thinking?”
“Apparently you're dying to tell me.”
“I'm thinking that you followed Amelia until she became frightened enough to increase her security, and now you're calling her security proof that she was attacking you.”
“That isn't what happened.”
“You admitted you followed her.”
“I had a reason.”
“And Nadia?”
“Nadia betrayed me.”
“You attacked her.”
“She came at me.”
“You attacked her, Ashley.”
“Nadia was helping Amelia destroy me!”
The sharpness of Ashley's voice drew a glance from one of the guards.
Both women fell silent.
Ashley lowered her voice.
“You weren't there.”
The woman continued staring at her.
Then, slowly, something changed in her expression.
Not anger.
Recognition.
“You know what?”
Ashley frowned. “What?”
“Maybe you and Amelia are even.”
Ashley froze.
“What the hell does that mean?”
The woman leaned back.
“You fucked her husband.”
Ashley’s face hardened.
“They were separated.”
“They were still married.”
“Their marriage was over.”
“Were they legally married when you slept with him?”
Ashley said nothing.
“Ashley.”
“Yes.”
The woman nodded.
“Okay.”
“Okay what?”
“You slept with Amelia's husband while he was still her husband, and now you're pregnant by him.”
“They were separated.”
“I heard you.”
“You're making it sound like I broke into their bedroom and climbed on top of him.”
“I don't need the visual.”
“Then stop acting like—”
“No.”
The woman leaned closer to the glass.
“You don't get to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Change the rules because they're inconvenient now.”
Ashley stared at her.
The woman continued.
“You slept with Amelia's husband. You're carrying his child. Amelia is marrying Bryson and carrying his baby.”
She spread one hand slightly.
“So, by your logic, shouldn't the two of you be even?”
Ashley’s expression changed.
“Don't.”
The woman gave a quiet, humorless laugh.
“Oh.”
“Amy.”
It was the first time Ashley had said her name.
Amy’s eyes hardened.
“No. I want to make sure I remember the rules correctly.”
“I said don't.”
“Isn't that what you told me?”
Ashley looked away.
Amy stared at her.
“You remember.”
“I remember that we were both angry.”
“I remember every word.”
“Amy.”
“You fucked Asher in my apartment.”
Ashley’s gaze returned sharply.
Amy's composure finally cracked.
“You fucked my boyfriend in my apartment, and when I asked you how you could do that to me, do you remember what you said?”
Ashley swallowed.
“I was angry.”
“You told me we were even.”
Silence settled between them.
Amy's voice lowered.
“You told me that because you had shared your man with me, you didn't understand why I was so devastated that you slept with mine.”
Ashley’s face hardened.
“That wasn't exactly what I said.”
Amy laughed softly.
“Of course it wasn't.”
“It wasn't.”
“Then tell me what you said.”
Ashley did not answer.
Amy nodded.
“That's what I thought.”
“You knew how I felt about Bryson.”
“Yes. I did.”
“And you still—”
“Bryson was not your man, Ashley.”
“You knew.”
“I knew you wanted him.”
“That should have been enough.”
“No.”
Amy shook her head.
“No, it shouldn't have been.”
“You knew what that night meant to me.”
“And apparently you knew what Asher meant to me.”
Ashley went quiet.
Amy's anger faded just enough for the hurt beneath it to show.
“Asher was my boyfriend. I loved him.”
“You hadn't even been together a year.”
“Stop saying that like it makes what you did less disgusting.”
Ashley looked away.
“You knew he was mine,” Amy continued. “You knew what he meant to me, and you slept with him anyway.”
“He came on to me.”
“And you said yes.”
Ashley said nothing.
Amy's fingers tightened around the receiver.
“Then when I found out, you looked me in my face and told me I shouldn't be angry because you had already shared Bryson with me.”
The word seemed to disgust her.
Ashley noticed.
“You weren't complaining that night.”
Amy went completely still.
The change was instantaneous.
Whatever warmth had begun creeping into the conversation disappeared.
Ashley knew immediately that she had crossed a line.
Again.
Amy's voice became dangerously quiet.
“Don't.”
Ashley held her gaze.
“You brought it up.”
“No. I brought up what you said afterward. Do not sit there and rewrite that night too.”
“I didn't rewrite anything.”
“Bryson didn't even know.”
Ashley’s eyes flashed.
Amy stopped herself.
For a second, neither woman moved.
Something enormous sat behind those words.
Something neither was willing to name.
Ashley leaned slightly closer.
“You knew how I felt.”
Amy stared back at her.
“And you knew how I felt about Asher.”
“That was different.”
“Why?”
“It just was.”
Amy gave a tired laugh.
“Of course it was.”
She looked at Ashley for several seconds.
Then her anger softened into something sadder.
“You hurt me.”
Ashley said nothing.
“You hurt me, and instead of admitting you did something awful, you found a way to make it fair inside your head.”
Ashley’s jaw tightened.
Amy continued more quietly.
“You decided I had taken something from you first, so what you did to me didn't count.”
“That isn't what happened.”
“Isn't it?”
“No.”
Amy nodded toward Ashley's stomach.
“Then look at what you're doing now.”
Ashley’s eyes narrowed.
“You slept with Amelia's husband while they were still legally married. You're carrying his baby. Amelia moved on, fell in love with Bryson, is marrying him, and now she's having his baby.”
Amy paused.
“And somehow you have found a way to make Amelia the woman who wronged you.”
“You don't know her.”
“No.”
Amy held Ashley's gaze.
“But I know you.”
Ashley flinched.
Barely.
Amy saw it.
“This is different.”
“Then help me understand why.”
“Because Amelia is dangerous.”
Amy's expression changed.
“She is.”
Amy sat back slowly.
Ashley continued.
“You think I'm making this up because you want everything to fit some neat little pattern where I'm always the problem. Amelia isn't innocent.”
Amy did not answer.
“She knew exactly what she was doing. She used Bryson's money and his people to come after me. Nadia helped her. Everybody takes Amelia's side because she knows how to make herself look like the victim.”
Still, Amy said nothing.
Ashley leaned closer.
“You think you know women like her.”
Something in Amy's face shifted.
Ashley saw it.
“Don't,” Amy said quietly.
“What?”
“Don't keep going.”
Ashley frowned.
Amy stared at her.
“You said the same thing about Elysa.”
Ashley stopped.
The name changed the room.
The anger surrounding Asher had been personal.
Bryson belonged to a secret neither woman wanted exposed.
But Elysa was different.
Elysa carried something colder.
Older.
Unfinished.
Ashley’s expression emptied.
“This has nothing to do with her.”
Amy watched her carefully.
“You said Elysa manipulated Tommy.”
“She did.”
“You said she turned him against you.”
“She did.”
“You said everybody believed her because she knew how to make herself look like the victim.”
Ashley’s fingers tightened around the receiver.
“Because that was true.”
Amy's voice dropped.
“She got a restraining order against you.”
“She lied.”
“And then she disappeared.”
Ashley went still.
Amy did not look away.
“Elysa Brooks is still missing.”
“She left.”
“You've always said that.”
“Because that's what happened.”
“How do you know?”
Ashley hesitated.
It was barely a second.
Amy saw it anyway.
“I don't,” Ashley corrected. “I mean, that's what everybody assumed.”
“No.”
Amy shook her head slowly.
“That is what you told me.”
“It was years ago.”
“I remember.”
“A lot was happening.”
“I remember that too.”
Ashley looked toward the officers' station.
Amy's voice became quieter.
“You called me after she disappeared.”
Ashley looked back at her.
“You told me Elysa ran because Tommy had finally figured out what kind of person she was.”
“She probably did.”
“Probably?”
Ashley sighed.
“What do you want from me?”
“The truth.”
“I am telling you the truth.”
Amy stared at her.
Then she finally asked the question she had apparently spent years avoiding.
“Did you have anything to do with Elysa disappearing?”
Ashley’s face changed.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“I can't believe you would ask me that.”
“Neither can I.”
“Do you think I killed her?”
“I didn't say killed.”
“You didn't have to.”
Amy held her gaze.
Ashley leaned closer to the glass.
“I did not hurt Elysa.”
Amy said nothing.
“I swear.”
Still nothing.
“She disappeared. That is all I know.”
Amy looked down.
Ashley watched her.
“I didn't do anything to her.”
Finally, Amy nodded.
“Okay.”
Ashley frowned. “Okay?”
“I said okay.”
“You don't believe me.”
Amy looked at her.
“I want to.”
That answer hurt more than an accusation would have.
Ashley looked away.
Amy rubbed one hand over her forehead.
“I defended you.”
“I never asked you to.”
Amy's hand stopped moving.
Ashley regretted the words almost immediately.
Something flickered behind Amy's eyes.
“No,” Amy said quietly. “You didn't.”
“Amy—”
“I defended you anyway.”
Ashley remained silent.
“When people whispered about you after Elysa disappeared, I defended you because I thought they didn't know you.”
“They didn't.”
“I thought I did.”
“You do.”
Amy looked directly at her.
Ashley’s voice softened.
“You do.”
For several seconds, Amy said nothing.
Then she sighed.
“Then help me understand this.”
“I have been trying.”
“No. You've been trying to convince me Amelia is responsible for everything.”
“Because she is.”
“And I'm telling you I've watched you make another woman responsible for everything before.”
“This is different.”
“Then prove it.”
Ashley stopped.
Amy leaned back.
“If Amelia tried to hurt you or your baby, there should be something. Messages. Witnesses. Security records. Something.”
“There is.”
“Then let your attorney handle it.”
“My attorneys can't get close to her.”
Amy's expression changed.
“And you think I can?”
Ashley did not answer.
Amy stared at her.
“Oh, hell no.”
“Listen.”
“You want me to follow her.”
“No.”
“You absolutely do.”
“I want you to look.”
“At Amelia?”
“At everything.”
“Ashley.”
“Don't take my word for it.”
Amy frowned.
Ashley leaned closer.
“Go see for yourself.”
Amy did not respond.
“Talk to people. Find out what happened with Nadia. Find out why Bryson's security was following me. Find out what Amelia has been saying about me.”
“You want me to spy on her.”
“I want you to find the truth.”
“That's spying with a prettier name.”
Ashley sighed.
“You don't believe me.”
“I don't know what I believe.”
“Exactly.”
Ashley gestured subtly at the room around her.
“I can't go anywhere. You can.”
Amy stared at her.
“So go look. If I'm lying, you'll know.”
“And then?”
“Then come back here and tell me I'm wrong.”
Amy's eyebrows lifted.
“You'll listen?”
“Yes.”
“Actually listen?”
“Yes.”
“And if I discover Amelia hasn't done any of the things you're accusing her of?”
Ashley’s jaw tightened.
Amy waited.
“I'll listen.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
Ashley sighed.
Amy leaned toward the glass.
“If I find out Amelia isn't the problem, you leave her alone.”
Ashley said nothing.
“Ashley.”
“Yes.”
“No more following her.”
“Fine.”
“No more photographs.”
“Fine.”
“No more showing up wherever she is.”
“I said fine.”
“And no more Bryson.”
Ashley’s face changed.
Amy saw it.
“He isn't yours.”
“Stop saying that.”
“You need to hear it.”
“I heard you.”
“Good.”
Amy glanced toward the clock.
“I need to go.”
Something flashed across Ashley's face.
“Wait.”
Amy sighed.
“What now?”
Ashley looked down at her stomach.
When she spoke again, her voice had lost its anger.
“I'm scared.”
Amy stopped.
Ashley swallowed.
“I know I've fucked up.”
Amy said nothing.
“I know I shouldn't have followed Amelia.”
Still, Amy waited.
“And I know what happened with Nadia got out of control.”
Amy raised an eyebrow.
“Got out of control?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No. But continue.”
Ashley looked down.
“I've made mistakes.”
The admission seemed to surprise Amy.
Ashley saw it.
“But I'm pregnant. I'm sitting in here on Christmas, and I don't know what's going to happen to me.”
Her palm settled protectively over her stomach.
“Or my baby.”
Amy's expression softened despite everything.
Ashley looked at her through the glass.
“I don't have anybody.”
Amy shook her head.
“Don't.”
“What?”
“Don't use that baby to manipulate me.”
Ashley’s eyes filled.
“I'm not.”
“You are.”
Amy looked away.
“And the worst part is that you know it's working.”
Ashley’s lower lip trembled slightly.
Whether every bit of it was real, even Amy could not tell.
Whatever existed between them had survived years of resentment, competition, betrayal and things neither of them seemed willing to name.
Damaged did not mean dead.
Amy closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, anger and affection existed there in almost equal measure.
“You make it really fucking hard to love you.”
Ashley’s face crumpled slightly.
“I know.”
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Amy asked the question Ashley had been waiting for.
“Where am I supposed to start?”
Ashley did not smile.
She was far too smart for that.
“There is a gallery opening on the twenty-eighth.”
Amy frowned.
“Whose?”
“Lila Hearst's.”
“Bryson's sister.”
“Yes.”
Amy's expression became suspicious again.
“And Amelia will be there.”
“She will.”
“How do you know?”
“It's public. Half of Manhattan knows about it.”
Amy stared at her.
“What exactly are you asking me to do at this gallery?”
“Nothing.”
Amy gave a humorless laugh.
“That is never a reassuring answer from you.”
“I mean it. Just go.”
“And do what?”
“Look.”
“At Amelia.”
“Yes.”
“That is it?”
“That is it.”
Amy's eyes narrowed.
“You don't want me following her?”
“I want you to observe.”
“That's following with better vocabulary.”
For the first time since Amy had entered the room, Ashley laughed.
A real laugh.
Amy tried not to.
She failed.
It lasted only a second, but for that second, the years between them seemed to disappear.
Then Amy's smile faded.
“If I do this, I do it my way.”
“Fine.”
“I don't approach Amelia unless I decide there is a reason.”
“Fine.”
“I don't threaten anyone.”
“I didn't ask you to.”
“I don't touch anyone.”
“Amy.”
“Say it.”
Ashley rolled her eyes.
“I don't want you to hurt anybody.”
Amy held her gaze.
“And if I find out you lied to me?”
“I haven't.”
“If I find out you did.”
Ashley did not answer.
Amy's voice became firm.
“I'm done.”
“You always say that.”
Amy's expression hardened.
“Maybe one day you'll finally give me a reason to mean it.”
The words landed.
Ashley covered her reaction quickly.
Amy began lowering the receiver.
“Wait.”
Amy stopped.
“What?”
Ashley glanced toward the camera mounted high in the corner and then toward the officer stationed nearby.
When she looked back, her voice was quieter.
“There are things I can't tell you here.”
Suspicion immediately returned to Amy's face.
“No.”
“Listen to me.”
“If you're about to ask me to do something illegal, the answer is no.”
“I'm not.”
“Then tell me.”
“I can't. Every conversation in here is monitored.”
Amy shook her head.
“Then maybe whatever you're about to say shouldn't be said.”
“Amy.”
“No.”
“Please.”
Amy closed her eyes.
“Stop doing that.”
Ashley frowned. “Doing what?”
“Saying please like it makes every alarm going off in my head disappear.”
“I need you.”
Amy opened her eyes.
Ashley held her gaze.
“I don't know how long they're going to keep me here. I don't know what will happen with my baby. I don't know who I can trust anymore.”
“You can trust your attorney.”
“I can't love my attorney.”
That silenced Amy.
Ashley’s voice softened.
“I need someone who knows me.”
Amy gave a quiet, humorless laugh.
“I think we've established that knowing you might be part of the problem.”
“Amy.”
For several seconds, neither woman spoke.
Finally, Amy exhaled.
“Find a way to tell me.”
Relief appeared on Ashley’s face.
Amy immediately lifted one finger.
“But hear me clearly.”
Ashley waited.
“I will look.”
Ashley nodded.
“I will find out what happened. And if somebody really is trying to hurt you or your baby, I will help you.”
Ashley remained quiet.
“But I will not help you destroy Amelia Prescott because you're angry that Bryson loves her.”
Ashley’s jaw tightened.
“And if this turns into another one of your games, I'm gone.”
“It isn't a game.”
“If it becomes one, I'm gone.”
“It won't.”
Amy studied her for another long moment.
Then she hung up.
Ashley watched her rise from the chair.
Amy adjusted the scarf around her neck and pulled her coat closed before walking toward the secured door.
She did not look back.
Ashley remained perfectly still as the door opened.
She watched Amy step through it.
She waited until it closed behind her.
Only then did Ashley slowly lower the receiver.
For several seconds, she stared at the empty chair across from her.
The trembling stopped first.
Then the vulnerability disappeared.
The fear drained from her expression.
Even the moisture in her eyes seemed to vanish faster than it should have.
Amy had always believed there was a difference between understanding someone and excusing them.
Ashley knew something Amy had never quite learned.
Understanding someone simply taught you where to press.
Amy wanted facts.
Fine.
Ashley could give her facts.
Amy wanted to believe there was still something inside Ashley worth saving.
Even better.
And despite everything that had happened between them—after Asher, after the things neither of them discussed about Bryson, and after more than two years of silence—Amy had come.
Amy had still come when Ashley called.
That was love.
Ugly love, perhaps.
Damaged love.
But love nonetheless.
And Ashley knew how to use love better than almost anything else.
Her thoughts shifted to Elysa.
For the first time since Amy had said the name, a flicker of unease moved through her at the thought of Elysa Brooks, missing for years with no body, no answers, and no proof.
Nothing that could reach Ashley now.
At least, nothing she knew about.
The unease passed.
Ashley rested a protective hand over the life growing inside her.
She had not lied about everything; she was afraid she could lose years of her life behind these walls and, even worse, lose her child.
And somewhere beyond them, Amelia Prescott was celebrating Christmas beneath warm lights with Bryson Hearst's arms around her.
The photograph was already everywhere.
Amelia standing in front of Bryson.
His hand spread possessively over her stomach.
Her hand resting over his.
That enormous diamond glittering on her finger.
Baby Hearst loading… 2026.
Ashley had stared at the photograph for far longer than she would ever admit.
Amelia had Bryson, his ring, his family, and his child.
Soon, she would have his name.
Everything Ashley had once allowed herself to imagine could have belonged to her had somehow collected around one woman.
But Amy did not need to understand that part.
Not yet.
She only needed enough uncertainty to start looking.
Enough doubt to ask questions.
Enough love left between them to believe her sister might still deserve help.
Ashley knew Amy well enough to know exactly what would happen next.
Amy would investigate.
She would question and observe Amelia, insisting on finding the truth because Amy had always needed facts before she made a judgment.
And once Amy started looking, Ashley would decide exactly how useful she could be.
For the first time since the cell door had closed behind her, Ashley Reynolds no longer felt completely powerless.
A slow smile touched her lips.
Christmas, perhaps, was not entirely ruined after all.