The next morning, Amelia moved listlessly through the living room, a damp cloth in hand. The house was quiet—too quiet. Oliver was still at the Best estate, and Brad had left earlier for work after kissing her forehead and promising to make dinner that evening. He had even offered to pick up her favorite wine.
It should have made her feel secure.
But it didn’t.
Instead, the silence in the house only made the noise in her head louder. Every step she took echoed with her guilt. Every surface she wiped reminded her of the fingerprints Andrew had left behind—on her skin, her lips, her heart.
She should’ve felt ashamed.
And she did.
But underneath the shame, something else simmered—anger.
Not at Andrew. Not at Brad, but at herself.
Why had she fallen so easily into Andrew's arms?
She p
