Amelia was gone. She left with Michael, just the two of them, and for the first time since I arrived in this world, I saw something different in her eyes—hope. It was subtle, barely there, but it was enough to make my stomach twist with unease.

I wanted to tell her not to expect anything. I wanted to remind her of what I already knew, of how this story was supposed to go. But I didn't. Because no matter how much I wanted to change things, this was still her life, her heart. And she had already given it to Michael.

She returned three days later, stepping into the house with the same elegance as always. Michael followed closely behind, looking relaxed, as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if maybe—just maybe—something had shifted between them. But hope is a dangerous thing. Because by the time the sun set that day, everything had gone back to how it was before.

Michael was in his office late at night. Back to taking calls for Saddie. Back to checking on her, making sure she was okay. As if nothing had changed. As if Amelia didn't exist.

I watched as the warmth that had flickered in Amelia's eyes slowly faded, as if it had never been there in the first place. She didn't say anything—of course, she didn't. She just moved through her days as she always did, smiling softly when spoken to, pretending everything was fine.

But I saw it. I saw the way her fingers lingered over her phone, debating whether to text him. I saw the way her eyes flickered toward the clock in the evenings, waiting for him to come home.

And I saw the exact moment she stopped waiting. Michael had said he'd be home for dinner. Amelia had foolishly believed him.

I had helped set the table, watching as she carefully placed each dish, her hands moving with quiet precision. She had even prepared one of his favorite meals, something she hadn't done in a long time. I wasn't sure what she was hoping for, but I knew she was hoping for something.

She sat at the dining table, waiting. The food grew cold. The candles on the table burned lower. The clock ticked away the hours, filling the silence with its mocking rhythm.

I sat with Sally and Taylor in the servants' quarters, listening, waiting, my stomach twisting. Go to bed, Amelia, I wanted to tell her. Don't wait for him.

But I knew she wouldn't. Because she was tired. Not just from waiting tonight. From waiting always.

The front door finally opened. Michael walked in, his tie loosened, exhaustion lining his features. He looked up, only to freeze when he saw her.

She was still sitting at the table, untouched plates in front of her, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She didn't speak.

For the first time in months, Michael noticed.

"You're still up?" he asked, sounding almost surprised.

She didn't answer. His gaze flickered to the table, taking in the cold food, the untouched plates. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I lost track of time."

Amelia stood, her movements slow and deliberate. Her voice was calm when she spoke. "With her?"

Michael stilled. His face flickered with something—shock, maybe, or hesitation.

"What?"

She didn't repeat herself. She didn't have to.

Michael exhaled sharply, pressing his fingers to his forehead. "Amelia, Saddie—she needs help. She's going through a lot."

I felt my fists clench from where I stood, hidden in the hallway. I wanted to walk in there and shake him. And Amelia isn't?

But Amelia didn't ask him that. She simply looked at him, her green eyes quiet, unreadable.

"Do you even see me anymore?" she whispered.

Michael opened his mouth, then stopped. Something flickered across his face—hesitation. Guilt. But no words came.

And that was all the answer she needed. She turned away before he could see her eyes glisten. I watched as she walked past him, as she ascended the stairs without another word.

Michael didn't follow her. Instead, he sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and disappeared into his office.

Amelia didn't cry that night. But something inside her broke. And I knew, deep down, that this was the beginning of the end.