Chapter 157 I Never Thought About It Like That

Chapter 157 I Never Thought About It Like That
Amelia woke to the sound of Bryson arguing in a whisper.

For several seconds, she didn't know where she was. The unfamiliar ceiling came first, followed by the faint antiseptic smell and quiet electronic hum beside her bed. Then the night returned all at once: Marcus bleeding in the corridor, Jason's arm locked across her chest, the gun pressed against her stomach, Amy lunging and the sickening impact of Amelia's body against the tiled wall.

Her hand slipped instinctively beneath the blanket and settled over her abdomen.

The baby was okay.

She closed her eyes briefly and held on to that.

Across the room, Bryson stood near the window in yesterday's clothes. His tuxedo jacket and bow tie were gone, the first few buttons of his white shirt hung open and his sleeves were rolled carelessly to his forearms. He looked exhausted enough to collapse and irritated enough to purchase the hospital simply because someone had inconvenienced him.

“No, I'm not taking her anywhere until the doctors release her,” he said into his phone. “If they want another six hours of observation, she stays six hours. If they want twelve, she stays twelve. I don't care what—”

“Bryson.”

He turned so quickly that Amelia almost laughed.

“I'll call you back.”

He ended the call without waiting for a response and crossed the room. “Good morning, sweetheart. How do you feel?”

“Sore.”

His expression immediately tightened. “Where?”

“My shoulder, hip and side mostly. My stomach is better.”

“Any cramping, dizziness?"

Amelia stared at him. “No, dont worry I don't need the usual questions.”

Bryson's mouth twitched. “No, but I've been awake all night, so I've had plenty of time to organize my interrogation.”

“I can tell.”

He kissed her forehead and pulled the chair closer.

Amelia took his hand. “Marcus?”

The trace of humor disappeared.

“He came out of surgery a little after four. The knife caused significant internal bleeding, and the drug complicated things, but they controlled the bleeding. He's stable.”

Relief hit Amelia hard enough to make her close her eyes.

“Thank God. Is he awake?”

“Not yet. They're keeping him heavily medicated while his body clears everything.”

Amelia looked down at their joined hands. “He fought Jason while that drug was already in his system, and even after he was stabbed, he kept trying to get to me.”

Bryson brushed his thumb over her fingers. “Because he wasn't going to stop while he thought you were in danger.”

“He told me every time he looks for me, he's making sure I'm still there.”

Bryson understood.

He brought her hand to his mouth. “You're still here, sweetheart, and so is Marcus. For today, let that be enough.”

Amelia nodded.

A knock sounded before Ethan stepped inside carrying two coffees and a paper bag. His injured arm was bandaged and supported in a sling, and the exhaustion in his face nearly matched Bryson's.

Amelia frowned. “Why are you walking around?”

Ethan looked offended. “Good morning to you too.”

“You got shot.”

“In the arm, not the legs.”

Bryson accepted the coffee Ethan offered him. “I've already tried.”

“See?” Ethan said. “He already tried.”

“No. I understand that arguing with you is a waste of oxygen.”

Ethan set the paper bag on the table. “Bruce sent breakfast. Samantha had to stop him from coming here at five this morning with soup because apparently hospital food is an attack on human dignity.”

That finally made Amelia smile. “That sounds like Bruce.”

Ethan's expression sobered. “Amy finished with the police a few hours ago. She's still nearby, and she asked to speak with both of you.”

Bryson's answer was immediate. “Not today.”

Amelia turned toward him. “We already agreed to hear her out.”

“I agreed to hear her out. I didn't agree that it had to happen twelve hours after someone put a gun against your stomach.”

“I want to see her now.”

“Amelia, you're in a hospital bed.”

“And I'm awake, the baby is okay and Marcus survived surgery. Waiting until tomorrow isn't going to make anything Amy tells us easier to hear.”

Bryson stared at her long enough for Ethan to become very interested in his coffee.

Finally, he sighed. “Fine. But the second you're tired or uncomfortable, she leaves.”

Amelia smiled faintly. “See how much easier that was when you used full sentences?”

Ethan choked on his coffee.

Bryson looked at him. “You can leave now.”

“I didn't say anything.”

“You didn't have to.”

Still grinning, Ethan backed toward the door. “I'll tell her thirty minutes.”

“Twenty,” Amelia corrected.

Bryson looked betrayed.

Ethan wisely disappeared before he could be dragged into the argument.

Amy almost changed her mind twice before reaching Amelia's room.

Evan met her downstairs and accompanied her to the elevator. He didn't threaten her or say anything particularly unkind. Somehow, his silence made his distrust worse.

“I understand why you don't like me,” Amy said while they waited.

Evan glanced at her. “I don't know you well enough to dislike you.”

“That is somehow meaner.”

“I wasn't trying to be mean.”

“Which makes it worse.”

The elevator arrived, and Amy stepped inside beside him.

She had showered and changed into jeans and a sweater, pulling her copper-red hair into a low ponytail. She'd spent far too long staring at that hair in the mirror that morning.

Ashley had once worn hers exactly the same.

There had been a time when even people who knew them well couldn't distinguish one twin from the other from behind. Today, the memory made Amy sick.

“Is Marcus still alive?” she asked quietly.

“Yes.”

“And Amelia?”

“She's okay.”

“The baby?”

Evan looked at her. “The baby is okay too.”

Amy released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. “Thank God.”

When they reached Amelia's room, Evan opened the door and allowed her to enter alone.

Bryson stood beside Amelia's bed. For one disorienting second, Amy saw another room entirely—a hotel bar, music and a handsome stranger walking toward her.

Then Bryson's expression hardened, and the memory disappeared.

Amelia sat upright against several pillows, pale and bruised but very much alive. Amy's gaze dropped instinctively toward her stomach.

“The baby is okay,” Amelia told her.

Amy's eyes filled. “I'm glad.”

“Marcus made it through surgery too.”

“I heard.”

Bryson didn't invite her closer, so Amy remained near the door.

“My name really is Amy Reynolds.”

“We established that,” Bryson said. “What we haven't established is why you came into my sister's gallery under a false name or how much of what you told Amelia was actually true.”

Amy nodded. She deserved that.

“Brittany doesn't exist. The champagne thing was true, though.”

Amelia's mouth twitched. “You really think it tastes like expensive television static?”

“Yes.”

“And Naomi's painting?”

“I loved it.”

“The sculpture?”

“Absolutely better three inches to the left.”

Amelia gave the smallest smile. “So Brittany wasn't completely fictional.”

The unexpected kindness nearly undid Amy.

“I'm sorry.”

The humor disappeared.

“I came because Ashley asked me to. I hadn't spoken to her in almost three years, but when I learned she was pregnant, I went to see her on Christmas. She told me you were jealous of her, that Bryson's security was harassing her, that Nadia had betrayed her and that you were trying to hurt her because she was pregnant with Carl's child. She asked me to come here, watch you and decide for myself.”

“So you were spying on me,” Amelia said.

“Yes. I called it observing because it sounded less terrible, but I was spying.”

Bryson folded his arms. “Why would you believe her if you already knew what your sister was capable of?”

“Because knowing Ashley lies and believing she would lie to me about something like that were two different things in my head. I understand how stupid that sounds now.”

“What changed?” Amelia asked.

“You did. You weren't anything like the woman Ashley described. Then I talked to Claire and Lila, and every answer exposed something Ashley had conveniently left out. Nadia, Carl, Bryson—all of it.”

Amy's gaze moved reluctantly toward Bryson.

“There is something else you need to know.”

His expression hardened. “What?”

“The night you believe you met Ashley.”

Bryson went still.

“You didn't meet her in that hotel bar. You met me.”

Silence filled the room.

Bryson stared at her. “Explain.”

“Ashley brought me to that hotel without telling me why she'd chosen it. I didn't know then that she already knew who you were or that she'd been trying to get close to you. I know now that she knew you would be there.”

“Through Nadia?”

“No. Nadia came later. Ashley's interest in you started before Nadia ever worked for you.”

Amy forced herself to continue.

“You approached me at the bar. I didn't know who you were beyond your first name. We talked, and afterward I went back to Ashley and told her that a very attractive man wanted me to meet him later.”

Amelia's lips twitched despite the tension. “Very attractive?”

“Fine as hell, actually.”

“Continue,” Bryson said dryly.

Amy's smile disappeared.

“Ashley became furious. I didn't understand why at the time because she hadn't told me she'd gone there hoping to get close to you. But you had approached me at the bar instead.”

Amy swallowed.

“I think I was the first woman Ashley convinced herself had stolen Bryson from her.”

“But you didn't steal him,” Amelia said.

“No. I didn't even know she wanted him when I first met him.”

Bryson's voice hardened. “Finish telling me what happened that night.”

Amy nodded.

“Ashley told me that if you invited me upstairs, I had to let her come too. She wanted us to switch.”

Bryson's face emptied.

“We were completely identical then. Ashley still had her natural red hair. You invited me upstairs, and I went with you. The woman you were with initially was me.”

Bryson stared at her.

“At some point, you fell asleep. I allowed Ashley into the room, and I left. When you woke later, she allowed you to believe she was the same woman you'd met downstairs.”

Amelia's hand slowly covered her mouth.

Bryson remained silent for several seconds.

“When I woke up, I was with Ashley?”

“Yes.”

“And she knew I thought she was you?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know?”

Shame burned through Amy.

“Yes.”

Bryson looked away.

Amelia reached for his hand, and he took it automatically. "What name did you use at the bar?"

"My name", Amy replied. "Ashley told me that she told Bryson after their intense morning together that she gave him her middle name at the bar because she didn't know if she could trust him".

That made Amelia snort. "But she was willing to sleep with him, right".

“I agreed to it,” Amy said. “I told her no at first, but eventually I agreed. Then I left you there believing she was me. You didn't know I had an identical twin, so there was no possible way for you to understand what happened.”

Bryson looked at her again. “You knew I hadn't consented to being with Ashley.”

“Yes.”

“And you said nothing for all these years.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I was ashamed, and telling the truth meant admitting what I'd helped her do.”

His expression hardened.

“That explains your silence. It doesn't excuse it.”

“I know.”

“You helped take a choice away from me.”

“I know that too.”

“And whatever pressure Ashley put on you doesn't change what happened to me.”

Amy held his gaze despite the tears burning her eyes. “I understand, and I am sorry.”

Bryson didn't forgive her.

She hadn't expected him to.

Amelia eventually broke the silence. “Why did Ashley want to switch with you?”

“Because Bryson chose me.”

The answer was ugly in its simplicity.

“She couldn't stand it. Afterward, she erased me from the story completely and told people she'd slept with Bryson and he'd never called.”

“Nadia,” Bryson said.

“Yes. Nadia came later. By then Ashley had already rewritten the entire night. Nadia only knew the version where Ashley had a one-night stand with you and wanted information afterward.”

“So Nadia wasn't how Ashley became interested in me.”

“No. Nadia was how she gained access after she was already interested.”

Amelia studied her. “There's more, isn't there?”

“Yes, Asher. Asher was my boyfriend until Ashley slept with him.”

Bryson frowned. “Why?”

“She said we were even. According to Ashley, I had shared you with her, so she could share Asher with me.”

Amelia stared at her. “But Bryson was never Ashley's.”

“No.”

“You didn't know she wanted him, and he chose you independently.”

“Yes.”

“She made you guilty anyway.”

Amy nodded.

For the first time, the pattern no longer looked like a collection of separate disasters.

“Tommy chose Elysa. Bryson approached me. Later, Bryson chose you. Carl chose you before he destroyed your marriage himself. Every time a man doesn't choose Ashley, she finds a woman to blame.”

Amelia's expression changed. “And then she punishes the woman.”

“Yes.”

A knock sounded before James entered. He took one look at the room and hesitated.

“I can come back.”

“No,” Bryson said. “What happened?”

James closed the door.

“The district attorney finished reviewing the Elysa Brooks evidence. They're moving forward with a murder charge against Ashley.”

Amy froze. “Murder?”

“The DA believes there is sufficient evidence to formally charge Ashley Reynolds with Elysa Brooks's murder. They're also reviewing identity-theft and fraud charges connected to her use of Elysa's identity.”

Amy stared at him. “She told me she didn't hurt her.”

James didn't comment.

Bryson did. “What about Jason?”

“Jason's death makes proving Ashley's role in the gallery attack more complicated. Investigators are working backward through phone records, contacts, visitors, messages and whatever evidence they can recover concerning how he obtained information about Amelia and the gallery. If they establish that Ashley directed or coordinated him, additional charges will follow.”

James paused before adding, “The gallery incident has remained contained. The public explanation is still the suspected utility emergency, and nothing about Jason, Marcus, Ethan or Amelia has reached the press. Law enforcement has the complete picture, but publicly, Lila's opening simply ended early as a precaution.”

Bryson nodded once. “Keep it that way. Lila doesn't lose her gallery because of this.”

“That is the plan.”

“When does Ashley learn about the murder charge?”

“Soon. She hasn't been formally confronted with it yet.”

James looked at Amy.

“That gives us a small window.”

Amy understood. “You want me to go back.”

Bryson answered first. “Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

“Because you were almost shot last night, and I'm not interested in watching another person walk into danger because of Ashley.”

“I'd be inside a correctional facility.”

“That didn't stop her from nearly getting Amelia kidnapped while she was sitting inside one.”

Amy couldn't argue with that.

She looked at James instead. “What would you want me to do?”

“If you're willing, the DA may authorize a controlled visit. You wouldn't interrogate or accuse her. You would let her believe you're still on her side and give her room to talk.”

“A wire?”

“Potentially.”

Amelia looked at her. “You don't have to do this.”

“I know.”

“Then don't do it because you think you owe me.”

“I don't.” Amy glanced toward Bryson. “But I've spent years helping Ashley hide who she is, sometimes actively and sometimes by staying quiet when I knew better. I'm done doing that.”

Bryson remained silent.

“Jason is dead, but Ashley isn't,” Amy continued. “If she reached him from jail, we need to know how. We need to know who else she can reach and what they know about Amelia, the baby or the wedding.”

That got Bryson's attention.

January twelfth.

He turned toward James. “Can this be done safely?”

“Yes. If the DA approves it, the entire visit will be controlled and monitored.”

Bryson looked at Amy for a long moment. He was still furious with her, and she could see it.

Finally, he asked, “Can you get Ashley talking without making her suspicious?”

“I've known her my entire life.”

“That isn't what I asked.”

Amy almost smiled. “Yes. I know how.”

James folded his arms. “How?”

“Ashley doesn't confess when you tell her she's wrong. She explains when she thinks you understand why she's right. If I challenge her, she'll shut down. If I let her believe I agree with her, she'll tell me why whatever she did was justified.”

James's expression sharpened.

Bryson looked at him. “Set it up.”

By late afternoon, the visit had been approved.

The window was narrow. Ashley had not yet been confronted with the Elysa murder charge, and because the details of the gallery attack had remained outside the public narrative, she didn't know the full extent of what had happened after Jason made his move. Most importantly, she had no reason to believe Amy had turned against her.

A female investigator secured the recording equipment beneath Amy's clothes while James reviewed the boundaries one final time. Bryson stood near the door, having come only because Amelia insisted someone Amy knew should be waiting when she returned.

He still didn't know what to make of her.

Amy had helped violate his consent years ago and allowed him to carry a partially false memory of that night ever since. She had also warned him about Amelia and thrown herself toward Jason's gun.

One truth did not erase the other.

Amy looked toward him after the investigator stepped away.

“You hate me.”

Bryson's expression remained controlled. “I am furious with you, Amy, and I don't know whether I will ever forgive what you helped Ashley do to me. But I don't hate you. I don't know you well enough for that.”

The answer seemed to surprise her.

After a moment, she nodded. “Fair.”

James approached. “Don't chase a confession. Let her lead. Don't give her information she doesn't already have, and if she becomes suspicious, back off.”

“I understand.”

Amy took a slow breath.

She thought about Marcus bleeding on the gallery floor, Ethan being struck by the bullet Jason had fired at her and Amelia curling instinctively around the child Jason had threatened. Then she thought about the much older harm she'd finally admitted to Bryson that morning.

She couldn't change any of it.

She could decide what she did next.

“I can do this.”

A guard escorted her into the visitation area.

Ashley smiled the instant she saw her.

That was almost the hardest part.

There was no suspicion in her sister's face, only relief.

Amy sat opposite her and picked up the phone.

“You came back fast,” Ashley said.

“You told me to go see for myself.”

Ashley's eyes brightened. “And?”

Amy looked through the glass at the face that had once been nearly indistinguishable from her own.

For most of their lives, she had believed being twins meant standing on the same side regardless of what happened. That loyalty had cost too many people too much.

Ashley leaned closer. “So? What did you find out?”

Amy allowed several seconds to pass before giving her sister the one thing Ashley had always wanted most.

Validation.

“You were right.”

Satisfaction spread across Ashley's face.

Amy knew that expression. She had spent a lifetime feeding it.

This time, she intended to use it.

She leaned closer to the glass.

“Tell me everything.”