Chapter 85 Chapter 85
Chapter 85
Amelia sat cross-legged on the couch, laptop open on the coffee table but untouched. Her phone rested in her palm, screen still bright. She’d been staring at the same message for two full minutes even though it had loaded ages ago.
Richard Hales.
I got something. Not much. But it’s something.
Her mouth curved—just a little. Not quite a smile. More like the first breath after holding it too long.
She typed fast.
Say it.
The three dots popped up. Vanished. Popped up again.
She works at Castellan Enterprise.
Amelia sat up straighter. Fingers curled tighter around the edges of the phone.
That’s it?
Another pause. Longer this time.
New staff. About six months in the company. That’s all for now.
She leaned back slowly against the cushions. Six months. The number clicked into place like a key she’d been turning in the wrong lock for weeks. Her mind flipped through dates she already knew by heart.
Six months ago.
Everything had started shifting then.
She thumbed the screen again.
Department? Name? Anything?
This reply came quicker.
No name yet. Whoever she is, her records are clean. Almost too clean. HR didn’t give much away. She’s not old staff. She came in quietly.
Amelia let out a short, dry laugh. “Of course she did.”
She stood up and walked to the window. The city spread out below her—lights steady, traffic moving in slow rivers. In the distance, Castellan Enterprise stood tall and familiar. The building she used to walk into like it belonged to her. Still felt like it did, in a way that had nothing to do with paperwork or titles.
A woman inside his company. Right there. Every day.
She typed again.
Pictures? Anything visual?
Slower reply this time.
I asked. Security access is tight. Office cameras aren’t something I can just pull without raising flags. But I’ll work on it.
Amelia’s jaw clenched. “You better,” she muttered to the empty room.
She sent one last text.
Don’t rush. Just don’t fail.
She locked the phone and set it down on the table like it was made of glass. Then she sat again, legs crossed, mind already racing ahead.
Six months.
“That’s when he changed,” she said under her breath.
Ethan had stopped being so easy to read around then. He smiled more—real smiles, not the tight ones he used to give when he was trying to keep things together. He didn’t look scared anymore. She wondered if he’d finally put those pills away for good. If he’d stopped needing them because someone else was filling the quiet spaces she used to occupy.
And now this woman.
New staff. Six months. Inside Castellan Enterprise.
Amelia stood again. Started pacing the living room in slow, measured steps.
She got Ella Walls out of the picture so easily. One quiet conversation. One well-placed suggestion. Ella gone. No drama. No scene. Just gone.
This would be the same. Or easier. A staff member. Replaceable. Invisible until she wasn’t.
Her steps slowed.
Fourth floor, probably. That’s where the new offices went after the renovation. Closer to him. Closer to everything.
“So you climbed fast,” she whispered. “Or someone pulled strings.”
She stopped in front of the full-length mirror by the entryway. Studied herself. Hair smooth. Shoulders back. The kind of woman who didn’t wait to be invited into a room—she simply walked in and everyone else adjusted.
She smiled at her reflection. Calm. Controlled.
“I won’t confront you,” she said out loud, as if the other woman could hear her through the glass. “Not yet.”
Confrontation was clumsy. It showed your hand too soon. Amelia liked to watch first. Learn. Decide exactly where to press.
She walked back to the couch and picked up her phone. Scrolled through old messages from Ethan. Ones she’d kept even after he stopped sending them.
“Working late. Don’t wait up.”
She scoffed softly.
Working, she thought. Or working with her?
The phone buzzed.
Richard again.
I’ll keep digging. If I get a name or image, you’ll be the first to know.
She typed back.
Good.
She leaned her head against the back of the couch and stared up at the ceiling.
“She’s careful,” she murmured. “Or he’s protecting her.”
Either option made her stomach twist in the same way.
She pictured the fourth floor. She’d been there more times than she could count. The quiet hallway. The glass doors that opened only for certain badges. The way Ethan always kept his space private—until now, apparently.
Trust.
She pressed her lips together.
“You don’t hand that out,” she said to the empty room, thinking of him. “So what did she do to earn it?”
Her mind sketched the woman she hadn’t seen yet. Quiet. Competent. The kind who didn’t demand attention but somehow ended up with it anyway. The kind men noticed when they were tired of loud.
Amelia exhaled through her nose.
“No,” she said. “I won’t guess.”
Guessing led to mistakes. She dealt in facts.
She stood and walked toward her bedroom. Already thinking about tomorrow’s outfit. Nothing flashy. Nothing that screamed effort. Something simple—tailored trousers, soft blouse, heels low enough to walk comfortably but high enough to remind everyone she belonged. Casual enough to look unplanned. Deliberate enough to feel like a statement.
She would go to the office.
No appointment. No warning.
Just show up.
A quick visit. A file she “forgot” to drop off last time. A coffee run that happened to take her past the fourth floor. A glance. A pause. Enough to see.
She smiled to herself in the hallway mirror as she passed.
“Let me see you,” she whispered. “Let me figure out why you matter.”
Back in the living room, her phone buzzed once more.
Richard.
Just to be clear—this is all I have for now. New staff. Six months. Inside Castellan Enterprise. Nothing else.
She typed back.
It’s enough.
And it was.
Because now she knew the woman wasn’t some outsider circling from far away.
She was already in.
Already close.
Already part of his daily routine.
Amelia set the phone down gently. Decision made.
Tomorrow she would walk into Castellan Enterprise like she still had every right to be there.
Unexpected.
Unannounced.
And completely prepared.
She turned off the living-room light and headed to bed. The city lights kept glowing outside the window, steady and indifferent.
She didn’t feel angry. Not really.
She felt focused.
And that was worse.
She never saw her own flaws.
She was his worst nightmare, his biggest manipulator—but in her mind, she was his true
lover.
She believed she had been wronged, that she never deserved the way he walked away.
In truth, he was the one who suffered.
He was the victim.
Yet in her story, she was the wounded one.