15 : Fighting Back
504 Words
Amelia barely slept that night. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the headline screaming betrayal, Alexander’s cold expression, and Clara’s triumphant smile.
By morning, her decision was made. If she had only twenty-four hours, then she would use every second of it.
She dressed quickly and headed out of the penthouse without waiting for Alexander’s permission. If he didn’t believe her, she would make him believe.
⸻
The café was quieter now, a shadow of the chaos it had been days earlier. Amelia slid into the same seat she’d occupied then, her heart pounding. The waiter—the man Clara had used in that damning photo—was working behind the counter.
She approached him, her voice firm. “I need to talk to you. It’s about the photographs.”
The man’s eyes darted nervously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do.” Amelia stepped closer. “Someone paid you to sit with me that day. To lean in just as the camera clicked. Who was it?”
The waiter swallowed hard. “I can’t—”
Amelia’s voice softened, though her determination didn’t waver. “Please. I’m not here to ruin you. But my marriage, my life—it’s all on the line. Tell me the truth.”
For a long moment, he hesitated. Then, with a shaky breath, he whispered, “It was Clara Whitmore. She sent a photographer, told me to follow her instructions. She paid me two thousand dollars.”
Amelia’s heart soared with relief and fury. She had her proof.
“Would you be willing to say that publicly?” she asked.
His eyes widened. “Publicly? No, I—”
“I’ll make sure you’re protected,” Amelia pressed. “Alexander Stone has more power than Clara ever will. Stand with me, and you won’t regret it.”
The man wavered, then finally nodded. “Alright. I’ll do it.”
⸻
That evening, Amelia returned to the penthouse, clutching the signed statement the waiter had given her. Alexander was waiting, his expression unreadable as she entered.
“Well?” he asked.
She laid the paper on his desk. “There’s your proof. Clara set me up. Just like I said.”
His eyes flicked over the document, his jaw tightening as he read. When he finally looked up, something had shifted in his gaze.
“You really did it,” he murmured, almost to himself.
Amelia crossed her arms, her chin high. “You gave me twenty-four hours. I proved myself. Now the question is—do you trust me, or do you keep hiding behind your walls?”
For a moment, silence pulsed between them, charged and unsteady. Then Alexander stepped closer, his voice low and rough.
“You’re dangerous, Amelia. Because every time I think I can control this… you prove me wrong.”
Her breath caught as his hand brushed against hers—hesitant, fleeting, but real.
For the first time, it wasn’t possession. It was connection.
- Writer
