The silence stretched long after Victoria’s departure. Amelia tried to steady her breathing, but the poison lingered. Every cruel word, every smirk, every reminder of what Alexander had once shared with another woman gnawed at her heart.
By the time they returned home, Amelia felt a wall rising—not from him, but from her.
At dinner, Alexander spoke little, his mind elsewhere. His eyes would flick to her, lingering as though he wanted to say something, but the words never came.
Finally, Amelia set down her fork. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Alexander,” she said softly. “Your past is yours. I respect that.”
His gaze sharpened. “Amelia—”
“But,” she interrupted, forcing a small smile, “maybe it’s better if I… give you some space.”
The air crackled with tension. “Space?” His
