The documents sat on her desk, waiting for her signature. It was easy—too easy. A single stroke of ink, and she would no longer be Amelia Valemont.

For three years, she had given him everything. Her patience. Her devotion. Her heart.

And now, she was leaving with nothing. Except for their child. A secret she would carry. She ran a hand over her stomach—still flat, still hiding the life growing inside her. This baby would never know what it felt like to be second. Never know what it was like to be unloved. She would make sure of that. She would raise this child alone. Far away from Michael. Far away from the man who had never chosen her. She exhaled slowly, the weight of the decision pressing against her chest.

"I need to go," she said suddenly, her voice quiet but firm.

My head snapped toward her. "Where?"

"I can't be with him anymore." She stood, moving with purpose, her hands shaking as she began pulling open drawers, tossing what little she owned into a suitcase. "Grandma was right."

Her voice cracked on the last word, but she didn't stop. She wasn't hesitating. I watched her, frozen. This is what I wanted, but why, when it happened, did it feel so strange?

"I'm coming with you," I said, my voice steady.

She paused, looking at me. "Are you sure?"

I nodded. "I told you, Amelia. I won't leave you."

She stared at me for a long moment, then nodded. That was it. Decision made. There was no turning back.

We left at midnight. The house was silent, shrouded in darkness. Sally and Taylor had been reluctant to let me go, their worried eyes pleading with me to stay. But they didn't stop me. They knew. They had seen it coming. And I couldn't stop her. I wouldn't.

"Take care of her," Taylor whispered, squeezing my hand.

I nodded. "I will."

Margaret—the head housekeeper—watched us with understanding. She simply gave a small nod, as if she had known all along that this day would come.

Albert, the driver, frowned but said nothing at first. Then, after a heavy silence, he sighed. "I'll tell Mr. Valemont," he muttered.

He could try. But by the time Michael knew Amelia was gone, she would be too far away to find.

Cheryl was asleep. She had no idea Amelia was slipping away, disappearing into the night without a word.

If she had been awake, maybe she would have stopped her. Or maybe she wouldn't have. Either way, it didn't matter. By the time the sun rose, Amelia would be gone.

We took a taxi. Amelia didn't want to take anything that belonged to Michael—not the car, not the money, not even the clothes he had bought for her. She wanted nothing of him. But now she didn't know where to go. So, I made the decision for us.

"It's late," I said. "We should stay at a hotel for the night. Tomorrow, we can find a place to rent."

She nodded, her voice distant. The hotel wasn't luxurious, but it was enough. It had four walls and a bed, and that was all we needed for now.

I didn't want to stay in the same room as her—I couldn't. But I didn't ask for another. She would be suspicious if I did. Instead, I told her I would sleep on the couch. She protested, but I insisted. And eventually, she let me. I lay there that night, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet rhythm of her breathing.

She had done it. She had left. But somehow, I had a feeling... this wasn't over.

The next morning, the first thing I saw when I woke up was my phone. The screen was flooded with missed calls. Numbers I didn't recognize, but I knew who it was. Michael. The phone rang again just as I reached for it.

I hesitated, then answered. "Hello?"

The voice on the other end was rough, urgent. "Where is Amelia?"

I exhaled, rubbing my temple. He figured it out faster than I thought.

"We're at The Astoria," I said simply. I didn't lie to him. But I had a plan—when he reached our hotel, we wouldn't be there.

The line went dead. I stared at the phone for a long moment before sighing. He's coming.

I turned my head, my gaze settling on Amelia. She was still asleep, curled on her side, her breathing soft and even.

"Amelia," I murmured.

She stirred, her voice groggy. "Lena...?"

I swallowed. "Michael called."

That woke her up completely.

She sat up fast, her eyes wide with disbelief. "You told him?"

I exhaled. "He was going to find you anyway. He just called—I didn't give him time to track us. We still have time if you want to leave."

Her hands clenched the sheets, her mind racing. Then, suddenly, her face hardened. "Leave your phone here," she ordered.

I blinked. "What?"

"So you can't tell anyone where we're going," she said, standing up and moving quickly to grab her bag.

I stared at her. She really wanted to vanish. She really wanted to disappear from Michael's life completely. And I knew this was for the best. For her. I held back my smirk. The story was still following the novel's path, but there was no way I'd let her return to Michael.

Slowly, I reached for my phone and set it on the desk. No hesitation. She met my gaze, searching for doubt, but found none. I was with her. And she knew it.

We left the hotel before Michael arrived. Before he could stop her. Before he could say anything.

The last thing I did before stepping out the door was grab a pen and a small piece of paper. I scrawled a single message and left it on the desk.

"I will take care of her."

For when Michael finally arrived. For when he realized what he had lost.

And now, we had vanished for almost a few days, and somehow... Michael hadn't found us.

Or maybe—he had stopped searching.