Chapter 13 Chapter Thirteen
1501 Words
Amelia's fingers tightened around her fork, knuckles turning pale. "Whether his first love comes back or not has nothing to do with me."
Anselme gave a low chuckle and took a sip of his drink.
"Ms. Clarke, why make things hard on yourself? What do you even get out of sticking around Simon? The guy's practically ice cold—there's no way he'd ever actually care about you. Sure, she's not back yet. But when she does come back? You'll be out before you know it."
She met his gaze and gave a slight smile. "That's my problem, isn't it?"
Anselme tutted. "Ms. Clarke, I'm just trying to give you a heads-up. No need to get so hostile, right?"
He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Look, I'm just saying—build a little rapport early. Say he drops you someday, I'm here. And I'm willing to pay more than him. What do you say?"
The words sounded more like a jab than an offer.
To them, she was just a toy.
Toss one away, pick up the next.
Amelia knew that all too well, but the smile on her lips didn't falter. "Sorry, Mr. Marchand, I'm picky about who I date. Also, Simon's on his way over."
Anselme frowned and turned his head—sure enough, there was Simon, holding a glass of wine, walking straight toward them.
He sat down beside Amelia without a word.
A large hand wrapped around her waist.
He smiled, but his eyes were frosty. "You two looked like you were really hitting it off. Mind letting me in on the fun?"
Amelia forced a smile. "Mr. Marchand said your first love is coming back."
Simon chuckled faintly, choosing not to respond to that. Instead, he asked, "So that's what got you grinning like that, Miss Clarke?"
Her chest tightened. What else could she do—cry and ask him why loving his first love was fine but loving her wasn't?
No way. She knew where she stood.
"I'm just happy for you, that's all."
Simon's expression stiffened. "Well then, I should be thanking you for being so considerate."
She pressed her lips together and stayed quiet.
Anselme, watching the heat between them, let out a laugh.
"Mr. Johnson, once your old flame is back, don't forget to let me know. I'll take over Amelia, then it's not really poaching, right?"
A cold smirk crept onto Simon's face.
"Oh? So this has already been arranged?"
"No!" Amelia cut in firmly.
Anselme probably didn't care if Simon was pissed.
But she did. She had to.
"I already turned him down."
Anselme, however, didn't seem to take it to heart."
Miss Clarke, don't be in such a rush to say no. Sometimes you won't know what really suits your taste unless you try it first."
With that, Anselme tossed out the line and walked off.
Amelia's face had completely darkened.
She was sure Anselme was doing this on purpose to mess with her.
"Mr. Johnson, I seriously don't have any kind of thought like that about him."
Simon gave his glass a slow swirl, gaze unreadable.
"Isn't money what you're into? Why's Anselme not a good option then?"
Amelia forced a weak smile, lips pale.
"After three years with you, my standards couldn't help but get a little higher."
Her words didn't seem to amuse Simon. His eyes pinned her down with a chilling intensity.
"Amelia, once the contract's over, you can go flirt with whoever you want. But before that, don't let me catch you cozying up to anyone else."
Amelia's back stiffened as she gave a tiny nod.
For the rest of the evening, Simon didn't pay her any more attention.
He was busy working the room, needing to juggle far too many people.
Women? They just kept coming.
Amelia sat in a quiet corner, utterly drained.
The recent buzz about Simon's first love had weighed more heavily on her than she wanted to admit.
No matter how hard she tried to brush it off, it still stung deep down.
This man was someone she'd been in love with for who knows how many years.
It was already late when the dinner finally wrapped up.
As they walked out of the venue, the driver was already waiting by the car.
Simon rarely used a driver. He preferred driving himself.
Or maybe it was more accurate to say—he liked being in control of everything.
His need for control was over the top. He couldn't stand anything slipping out of his hands.
That's why Amelia had always thought he'd never had a first love.
Because love, by nature, messes things up.
But she had clearly been wrong.
Maybe he could handle the chaos—just not from everyone.
The car pulled up downstairs. The driver had long since left.
Simon had drunk a little. Now he was leaning back in the rear seat, eyes shut, resting.
"You okay?" Amelia asked softly.
Without opening his eyes, Simon suddenly yanked her shawl off, turned his head, and bit down on her shoulder.
"Ugh..." She let out a stifled whimper from the sharp sting but forced herself to speak calmly. "Mr. Johnson, I'll go upstairs and make you some soup."
Simon didn't answer. Instead, he gripped her waist tightly and pulled her into his arms.
"You and Anselme seemed to be having a real good time chatting, huh?"
Amelia's whole body tensed. "Not really."
"Not really? Then what were you smiling at him for like that?"
Amelia forced a bitter smile. "I was just being polite, nothing more."
Simon let out a low chuckle. "Well then, you sure know how to keep it classy."
She stayed quiet.
Simon leaned in, lips moving slowly down her shoulder, then to her chest.
The designer gown—hundreds of thousands for one night—was ruined in seconds under his rough grip.
"Simon, can we not do this today?" she asked, voice soft.
He pinched her chin. "Why not? Because of Anselme? You saving it for him now?"
Only then did Amelia realize how pissed he was from the little chat she'd had with Anselme earlier.
It was ironic, really. He didn't love her, never did. Yet he acted like she was his property.
Maybe that's just how men are—don't want it themselves, but won't let anyone else near it.
"I'm just really tired... can you go easy?" she tried again, cautious.
Simon's lips curled into a faint smile. "You can beg me, Miss Clarke."
The car rocked violently.
Amelia held back the pain, protecting her belly as best she could while he lost control.
When it was finally over, he actually carried her back inside.
Curled up in his arms, barely awake, she drifted off from exhaustion.
Back home, Simon walked straight into the bathroom with her still in his arms.
After cleaning her up a bit, he scooped her into his arms and tucked her under the covers.
Amelia felt a dull ache in her belly.
But Simon clearly wasn't done yet.
He leaned down and started kissing her again, slow and unrelenting.
She gently pushed against his chest.
"Mr. Johnson, I'm really wiped out tonight."
Simon, however, pressed his knee between her legs, completely ignoring her resistance.
Just as things heated up, his phone suddenly rang.
He usually hated getting interrupted during these moments.
Annoyed, he grabbed the phone to glance at it—surprisingly, he didn't lash out or hang up.
Instead, all his interest seemed to drain in an instant.
He got up, threw on a robe, and walked out with his phone.
Amelia lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling.
She wasn't even sure what she was thinking.
Who had called Simon at this hour? And why?
And her stomach... Had things gotten too rough?
A few moments later, Simon returned.
He headed straight into the closet and came out dressed.
"I need to step out for a bit."
"Alright." Amelia replied flatly, not even bothering to look at him.
Just as he was about to head out, she asked softly, "Are you coming back later?"
"No," Simon replied, not even turning around.
"Mr. Johnson," Amelia suddenly called out, voice a little shaky. Fear crept in.
She was scared—scared something might go wrong with the baby.
And scared that, if it did, there wouldn't be anyone around.
Simon frowned. "What is it now?"
"Can you stay—" Before she could finish, his phone started ringing again.
"Whatever it is, tell me later."
He glanced at the screen, didn't pick up, and walked out without hesitation.
The door closed behind him. Amelia lay down, gently wrapped her arms around her belly.
Like she was trying to shut out reality, trying not to think too much.
All she could do was hope—hope her baby would be okay.
But hope didn't do much. A dull, heavy pain rolled through her lower abdomen, like it was dragging her down from the inside.
- Writer
