Beneath the billionaire’s lies

Chapter Five

HIS AMELIA

Xade’s POV

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

The sound of beeping was the first thing I heard before my vision blurred into a white ceiling.

I blinked slowly, my throat dry and my head hurting, like someone had slammed a hammer on my head from behind.

I tried to move, but pain shot up my arm and down my ribs, making me wince, so I lay back down instead.

I didn't realize I wasn't alone in the room till he spoke.

“Mr. Cross, don’t move too quickly,” a voice said, soft and cautious.

I turned my head toward the sound and saw a nurse standing beside my bed, a clipboard in hand as she scribbled away, watching me before going back to taking her notes.

She does this over and over before walking to the heart monitor and doing the same thing.

It started to unnerve me at her silence.

“What happened?” I croaked, my voice hoarse, probably from not speaking for a long time.

“You were in an accident, sir. It’s a miracle you’re alive.”

Accident?

My head throbbed as I tried to remember, I groaned, placing my hand to my bandaged head and the nurse turned to me sharply.

“You shouldn't stress your brain too much, Sir.”

She removed my hand from my head and the image flashed in immediately.

Her. She was there. She was helping me out of the car.

“Where is Amelia?”

The nurse blinked. “I’m sorry, sir?”

“Amelia,” I said again, my voice firmer this time. “She was there. She pulled me out of the car.”

The nurse hesitated, then glanced toward the door. “You mean Miss Davidson?”

“Davidson?” I frowned. “No, Amelia. Amelia Stone.”

The doctor walked in just then, “Mr. Cross, you need to calm down. You suffered a mild concussion and several injuries. You’re lucky to be alive.”

I ignored him, turning back to the nurse. “Where is she?”

“She’s receiving treatment,” the doctor said after a pause. “She’s severely ill. She was already sick before the rain, and entering the storm only worsened her condition.”

My chest tightened. “Take me to her.”

“Mr. Cross, you shouldn’t—”

“I said take me to her!”

I tried getting up, but the pain in my leg forced me back down. The nurse hurried to my side, holding me, while the doctor sighed, massaging his temples.

“She’s resting,” he said quietly. “You can’t see her right now. If you truly care about her, let her recover in peace.”

The words didn’t ease the frustration clawing up my chest.

“She saved my life,” I muttered, gripping the edge of the bed. “And I can’t even see her?”

“Two days,” the doctor said. “Once both of you are stable, you’ll be discharged.”

—

The days that went on, felt like forever.

I tried to remember what had happened before the crash, but everything blurred together… meetings, phone calls, then nothing. Like my brain had simply cut a piece of my life out and replaced it with a blank page.

The doctor came over with my assistant at who had a list of things that had happened in the recent years but I couldn't answer any of them but When I asked questions regarding Amelia, my assistant would freeze up and avoid eye contact with me.

When I asked the nurse about her again, she told me Miss Davidson was still unconscious but responding to treatment. Miss Davidson.

I didn’t know why the name made me so angry.

By the morning of the second day, I’d had enough.

I swung my legs off the bed despite the pain and ripped the IV line off. The nurse yelled, but I didn’t care. I stumbled down the hall, holding onto the wall for balance until I found the ward they said she was in.

Two nurses blocked the door immediately. “Mr. Cross, you can’t be in here!”

“She saved my life,” I said, my voice low but sharp. “You think I’m going to sit in a bed while she—”

“She needs rest!” one of them snapped.

“I just need to see her.”

“You’ll upset her condition.”

I stood there for a moment, fists clenched, before the doctor appeared again, his expression stern.

“Back to your room, Mr. Cross. That’s an order.”

I wanted to argue, but exhaustion won. I let them lead me back.

The moment my back hit the bed again, the memories started swirling, flashes of her laugh, her eyes, her hand in mine.

But none of it made sense.

Why couldn’t I remember how we’d ended? Why did everything feel like a dream I’d once lived in?

—

Two days later, we were both discharged.

The driver helped me into the car, but my mind was somewhere else entirely. I kept looking toward the hospital doors, hoping to catch a glimpse of her.

But she never came out.

Maybe she’d already left. Maybe she was avoiding me.

The thought stung more than it should have.

—

I was supposed to feel relief being back in my own space, but I didn’t. I felt… off.

“Sir,” the head maid greeted stiffly, bowing slightly.

“Where’s the maid who saved me?” I asked immediately.

Her brows knit together. “You mean Miss Davidson?”

“Bring her to me.”

She hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. “Sir, she’s still recovering—”

“Now.”

I didn’t raise my voice, but the tone made her flinch. She nodded quickly and hurried off.

When she returned, someone followed behind her, the maid I apparently owed my life to.

But the moment I saw her, confusion washed over me.

This wasn’t Amelia.

Her hair was black, not brown. Her eyes were darker and her freckles were gone.

She didn’t even look like the woman in my memories, and yet… something about her made my chest tighten.

“You,” I said slowly, studying her. “You were the one who found me?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, her voice soft.

“You don’t know Amelia Stone?”

“No, sir.”

I frowned, stepping closer. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“You look—” I stopped myself, rubbing the side of my head. A sharp pain pulsed behind my eyes. “Forget it.”

The head maid moved forward nervously. “Sir, perhaps you should rest—”

“Leave.”

She blinked. “Sir?”

“I said leave.”

She obeyed, retreating with quick steps.

I turned back to the maid. “What’s your name?”

“Maria Davidson.”

I nodded slowly,

“Maria…” I repeated, “From now on, you’ll work directly under me.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “Sir?”

“ I will not repeat myself.”

She hesitated, clearly confused by my words, but nodded all the same. “Yes, sir.”

Later that evening, I sat at my desk, and I turned the small framed photo.

Her smile stared back at me as I traced the edge of the glass with my thumb.

I pressed a light kiss to the photo,

“My Amelia.”