CH- 22

CH- 22

AMELIA’S POV

I was on pins and needles all day at work. I’d combed through every feed from the launch, watched every face in the crowd, rewound the cameras until my eyes stung—and found nothing suspicious.

The only thing that could have looked out of place was me, and even that was tucked away out of sight.

I’d been careful; no one could detect that I’d slipped something into Nathan’s drink. It was supposed to be temporary—just enough to wipe his memory for a little while. The talk about murder made no sense.

I tried calling Lucas to tell him I’d found nothing that would raise alarms on the footage, but my phone died somewhere between the elevator and the parking lot—no coverage, as if the city had swallowed my signal whole. I let out a breath that felt like resignation.

Concentrating was impossible; how could anyone focus when the whole world was insisting your boss was a murderer and also missing?

I stood and stared through the glass at the city. Today I’d worn a short black gown that hugged my shape and somehow made me feel smaller, as if the fabric and the heels tried to force me into the background.

Maybe that’s what I wanted—today, invisibility felt safer than any posture of strength.

My phone buzzed and I sprinted back to my desk, heart leaping. Disappointment hit when I saw it was my mother.

“Hey, Mum. I’m at work and—”

“Oh dear, is the news true? Did your boss really kill someone? It’s not safe for you there. You have to leave.” Her voice went thin with panic.

“That’s what they’re saying. No one knows for sure, but I’m fine. Now I really need—”

“It’s so sad. What if his company is forced to close? Where will you work?”

For a beat I let myself think she cared about me. Then I heard the real edge in her voice—money, not worry. “I’ll find something. Goodbye, Mum. I’ll see you later.”

She tried to keep talking but I cut her off. I couldn’t deal with her right now; clearing my head was all I could think about. When the phone rang again, irritation had me ready to ignore it—I assumed it was her. Instead a cold voice cut through.

“4 p.m., the last place we met.”

The call ended. No name. No explanation. But I already knew who it was.

\======================

This time we didn’t meet inside his car, and he wasn’t wearing his blue suit. He looked like a different man—less familiar, and that made the rest of me tense. The alley was the same as before: shadowed and hollowed by the city’s hum, already ghostly even at seven.

He got out of the car and walked toward me, and I couldn’t tell if I wanted to run or to demand everything.

“I don’t like impromptu meetings. What do you want to talk about?” His voice had its usual exasperation; his shoulders were tight. I matched him with my own heat.

“Why can’t I schedule a meeting with you when you do that all the time?” I shot back. “This is business. I deserve the same respect I give you.”

He was quiet for a breath, then gave a small nod. “Alright. Why did you want to meet?”

I scanned the alley, making sure no one eavesdropped. A few distant sounds, but nothing close. “What the hell is going on?”

He looked like I’d interrupted something trivial. “What the hell is going on with what? Where?”

I lost my patience. “Don’t play ignorant with me. You know exactly what I mean.”

He shrugged, almost bored. “Don’t worry about that, Miss Ames.”

“The man is being framed for murder.” I let the words land between us.

“I know who pulled the strings. That wasn’t the deal. You asked me to spike his drink—just to wipe his memory for long enough to copy the flash drive. That was the term.” My fingers twisted my bag strap; my voice shook with the ugly, hot sting of being used.

He answered calmly, like he was explaining a calendar change. “The terms changed.”

“And what does that mean?” I demanded.

“It means terms changed, and you’ll learn to stay out of it. You did your part. You’ll be rewarded as promised.” He moved toward the car like the conversation was over.

Rage flared through me. I stepped forward and slammed the door shut before he could close it. “I don’t care who you think you are. Explain. Where is Nathan?”

He stared, expression unreadable. Even altered, he was infuriatingly controlled. “We don’t know where he is. That’s the truth. Like I said—stay out of it.” He slid into the driver’s seat and drove off, the taillights swallowing his shape into the night.

\=================

Home felt like a thin refuge. I shrugged off my jacket the moment I stepped in.

The boys were painting at the kitchen table, pausing only to hug me before returning to their colors; their casual, childish normalcy felt like a small miracle.

I didn’t bother with my mother—no need to find her. I went straight to my room, anger and humiliation pressing at my ribs.

It hurt: the discovery that I’d been fooled, used, then discarded. I hated Nathan enough to obey orders, but not enough to ruin his life.

Framing him for murder would accomplish more than punishment; it would obliterate everything he’d built. Tears burned at the corners of my eyes and threatened to spill.

Without warning, the door flew open. My mother stood there—unannounced, unwelcome. I’d had enough.

“Get out, Mum. Just go.” My voice cracked, raw.

“Dear, please—” she began.

“I said get out!” I threw a pillow toward the door and then collapsed onto the bed, the sobs coming from somewhere deep and ragged.

I cried until there was nothing left in me. My chest hurt, my eyes burned, and still the tears kept coming.

Then I heard it—a sharp, broken gasp from the hallway.

I sat up fast.

My mom stood at the doorframe, her face drained of color, one hand clutching her chest. Her body gave way beneath her.

“Mom!” I shouted, running as she collapsed to the floor.