Chapter 6: Torn Between Two
879 Words
The next morning, Amelia woke up to the heavy silence of the penthouse, but something felt different. The tension from the gala still lingered in the air like a cloud that refused to clear. Last night’s confrontation with Veronica had changed something. Not just publicly, but privately.
Liam hadn’t spoken a word on the drive home.
He hadn’t touched her.
He hadn’t even looked at her.
She was beginning to see it—how his silence wasn’t just avoidance, but a punishment. Not for her actions, but for the feelings they stirred.
She walked into the kitchen to find Liam already there, dressed in a dark navy suit, tie undone, staring out the window with a cup of black coffee in his hand.
"Morning," she said softly.
He nodded, not looking at her. "You handled yourself well last night."
"You sound surprised."
"I am."
"Because you thought I’d crumble in front of her?"
He finally turned, his gaze cool and unreadable. "Because I didn’t expect you to match her venom with your own."
She set her coffee cup down harder than she meant to. "You act like I don’t belong in your world. But you’re forgetting—I’ve been surviving all my life. Just not in designer heels."
That made him pause. Something flickered in his eyes.
Respect?
Or regret?
He took a sip of his coffee, then placed it on the counter. "I have a meeting in ten. Don’t wait up."
"Is that your new motto now? Don’t wait up, don’t ask questions, don’t exist beyond the contract?"
He stared at her. "The less you care, the less it hurts."
She stepped closer. "Then why does it still hurt you, Liam? Why are you running from something you’ve already lost?"
He didn’t answer.
He just left.
Again.
---
Later that afternoon, a knock sounded at the penthouse door.
Amelia expected a courier.
It was Aiden.
Again.
"What is it with you and showing up uninvited?" she asked, trying to sound annoyed even though her heart jumped at the sight of him.
"I figured you might need fresh air," he said, holding up two iced coffees. "I know your poison."
She crossed her arms. "You’re dangerously persistent."
"I’m a Blackwood. Comes with the DNA."
Despite herself, she smiled. Aiden was Liam’s twin, but the contrast between them was startling. Where Liam was ice, Aiden was fire. Where Liam held his emotions in a vault, Aiden wore his on a designer sleeve.
"One hour," she said. "And no flirting."
He held up three fingers. "Scout’s honor."
---
They walked through Central Park, keeping to the quieter trails. Aiden kept his distance but watched her with a curiosity that made Amelia self-conscious.
"You’re stronger than I thought," he said.
"That sounds like a compliment."
"It is. I just wonder how long you’re willing to fight for someone who doesn’t know what he wants."
She stopped walking. "What are you trying to say?"
He turned to face her fully. "I’m saying... Liam isn’t the only one who sees you. I see you too. And I don’t think you deserve to be a ghost in your own marriage."
Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. "You’re not helping."
"I could. If you let me."
"Aiden—"
"I’m not asking for anything. Just... don’t forget you have options."
She turned away, suddenly overwhelmed.
---
That night, the silence in the penthouse returned.
Amelia didn’t wait for Liam.
She locked her bedroom door, sat at the edge of her bed, and let the tears come.
She was unraveling. Not because of Aiden. Not even because of Veronica. But because she couldn’t tell whether Liam wanted her to stay—or leave.
---
The next morning, she woke up to a surprise.
A handwritten note tucked beneath her door.
Dinner. 8PM. Formal.
No signature, but she didn’t need one.
It was Liam.
She stared at the note like it might self-destruct.
Why now?
---
At exactly 8:00 PM, Amelia stepped out of her room wearing an emerald green satin gown that hugged her figure like it had been made for her. Her hair was pinned up, lips painted a deep crimson. She felt exposed, but powerful.
Liam stood by the window in a black suit, no tie, glass of wine in his hand. When he turned and saw her, he froze.
"You look..."
"Like I belong here?"
"Better."
He extended his hand. "Shall we?"
The dining table was set for two. Candles. Crystal glasses. No staff. Just them.
Dinner was quiet, almost too quiet. Until he finally said:
"I used to dream about having this."
"Dinner?"
"No. A wife. A home. A moment that didn’t feel like it was borrowed or fake."
She put her fork down. "Then why did you make our marriage a lie?"
He looked at her with pain so raw it made her breath catch.
"Because I stopped believing in real a long time ago."
Amelia leaned forward. "Then let’s try again. For real. No lies. No contracts. No pretending."
He didn’t speak for a long time.
Then he whispered, "You don’t know what you’re asking for."
"I’m asking for the truth. I’m asking for you."
He reached for her hand, holding it gently.
And for once, Liam didn’t walk away.
- Writer
