Chapter 79 I Told You She’d Buy It
The heavy front door closed behind him with a soft thud.
Silence poured in.
Maggie shifted. Amelia did not.
After thirty seconds that felt like thirty minutes, Maggie spoke again, voice smaller.
“Please… what’s going on? I’m confused.”
Amelia finally looked at her— direct, unblinking.
“I don’t think we should speak,” she said. The words landed like frost.
Maggie opened her mouth— then closed it.
The door opened again. Andrew re-entered carrying a slim black briefcase. He crossed the room without hurry, shoes silent on the rug. When he reached Maggie he stopped, clicked the latches, withdrew a slim manila folder, and extended it.
Maggie took it with both hands. “What’s this?”
“Open it,” Andrew said. “Read through it.”
He settled beside Amelia, one long leg crossed over the other, elbow resting on the back of the sofa. Casual. Watchful.
Maggie flipped the cover. Her eyes skated across the first page— dense legalese, numbered clauses, signature blocks. Her breathing grew shallow.
“Just tell me what this is.” Her voice rose half an octave. “It looks like a contract.”
Andrew exhaled slowly through his nose.
“It’s a relationship document,” he said. “Between me and you. A contract document signed by the two of us— before you lost your memories. It puts the three of us in a polygamous relationship.”
The word landed like a slap.
Maggie’s lips parted. No sound came out at first. Then a whisper.
“What?”
“Go through it,” Andrew repeated, softer now. “You’ll understand.”
She stared at him. Then at Amelia.
Amelia met her gaze and smiled— slow, deliberate, victorious.
Maggie’s throat worked. “This can’t be real.”
“It is,” Andrew said. “You just need to see for yourself.”
Her hands shook as she began flipping pages. Rapidly. Desperately. Her eyes darted from clause to clause, signature to signature. Her own looping handwriting stared back at her— again and again. Dated. Notarized. Witnessed.
She stopped on page seven. Her breath hitched.
“This can’t be possible.” Her voice cracked into anger. “I would never sign this.”
She flung the folder. It sailed across the space between them, pages fluttering, and struck Andrew’s chest before sliding to the rug.
He didn’t flinch.
“You did,” he said, perfectly calm.
“How do I know the signatures are really mine?” she demanded. Her chest rose and fell too fast.
Andrew tilted his head toward her phone, abandoned on the cushion beside her.
“Check your gallery. You used to take pictures of important documents before and after you signed them. Compare.”
Maggie snatched the phone. Her thumb trembled as she swiped into the gallery. Past photos. Months ago. Years ago. Then— there. A photo of an open document on a glass table. Her signature, unmistakable, glaring up from the screen. The same flourish on the final stroke. The same slight hook on the M.
The phone slipped from her fingers. It landed face-up on the rug.
Bitter tears welled instantly. One fell. Then another.
“This can’t be true,” she whispered. “How would I sign something so… degrading?”
“You were a different person back then,” Andrew said quietly.
Maggie’s head snapped up. “Can we speak privately?”
“No,” he answered. “I have nothing else to say to you.”
“I won’t accept this.” Her voice rose, shaking.
Andrew sighed— almost regretful.
“I don’t care. The document says what it says. And I knew you’d be a bitch about it. That’s why I didn’t show you sooner.” He leaned forward slightly. “You might be thinking you’ll go legal. Pull out of the contract. I’d advise you to read the consequences first. Before you lose everything. Including Pete.”
He rose in one fluid motion.
Then he turned to Amelia. A genuine smile softened his face. He extended his hand. She took it without hesitation. Their fingers laced again— tight, certain.
“Let me take you to your room,” he murmured to her.
They walked away together. Amelia’s heels clicked. Andrew’s steps were measured. They disappeared around the same corner Pete had taken earlier.
Maggie’s mouth hung open. She stared after them until the echo of their footsteps died.
Then she scrambled forward onto her knees. She snatched the scattered pages from the rug, clutching them to her chest. Her breathing came in ragged gasps. Fresh tears splashed onto the paper, smudging the ink in tiny dark blooms.
She began to read again— frantically now— searching for the clause that would ruin her if she tried to walk away.
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Upstairs Andrew led Amelia down a shadowed hallway, her heels clicking softly behind him, every step radiating quiet victory. They reached a pair of tall walnut doors. He pushed one open and held it for her.
She stepped inside. The luxurious bedroom enveloped them— deep blue walls, ivory linens, crystal chandelier casting soft prisms. Andrew closed the door with a firm click.
“Welcome to your room,” he said, watching her settle onto the edge of the thick mattress.
Amelia bounced once, lightly, testing the foam. “I’m here to stay.”
Andrew’s expression deepened. “I told you she’d buy it.”
“You did.” A slow, sharp smile curved into her lips. “By the time I’m done with her, she’ll be more than willing to leave on her own accord.”