Ethan leaned back in the chair, eyes lingering on the trail she'd left behind.
He had no idea how long it would take her to heal, to believe in herself again, to believe in them, but he'd wait.
Every single day, he'd wait.
Because he'd seen her fire now.
And he knew that when it finally burned through the cage she was in, nothing could stop her.
The days passed quietly, almost eerily so.
Amelia hadn't heard a word from Richard since the incident in the garden. No texts. No calls. No apologies. The house remained calm in his absence, as though the very air breathed easier without him.
Ethan stayed, professionally, at least. Each morning, he'd be in the garden by sunrise, gloves on, tending to the flowers, watering the shrubs, and showing Amelia how to properly prune the roses she'd long ignored.
She joined him now every day, hair tied back, hands buried in soil, laughter slowly returning to her like muscle memory.
He never pushed. Never overstepped.
But he was there.
And that alone unraveled something inside her.
"I think this one's dying," Amelia said on Thursday morning, frowning at a wilted tulip. She crouched down, finger lightly brushing the fragile stem.
"Looks like it needs more sunlight," Ethan replied, kneeling beside her. "Or maybe it just needs to be replanted somewhere it can breathe."
Amelia looked up at him then, and the way he was watching her, not the flower, made her breath catch in her throat.
"You talk about plants like they're people," she whispered, not unkindly.
He smirked, brushing his hands on his pants. "Maybe they are. They break when neglected. They bloom when they're cared for."
The silence between them stretched, soft but heavy.
Then her phone buzzed in her pocket.
She stood, dusting off her dress. "Probably a spam call," she muttered.
But it wasn't.
It was a notification, a news alert.
Amelia's thumb hovered for a moment before she opened it.
Her heart stopped.
"Heir to Vale Group Spotted Vacationing in Santorini with Mystery Heiress" Below the headline was a photo. Blurry but undeniable.
Richard.
And Isla.
Wrapped in towels, on a yacht, champagne in hand, grinning like high school sweethearts.
Her throat burned.
Amelia blinked once. Twice. The screen blurred. It wasn't the headline that hurt, not really. It was how happy he looked. How quickly he had moved on. Or maybe he hadn't waited at all.
She handed the phone silently to Ethan.
His jaw tightened as he read.
"Publicity stunt," he said flatly.
"He's not even trying to hide it." Her voice cracked. "He's parading her around. Like I was the mistake."
Ethan looked at her. "You weren't."
"I loved him," she whispered, shaking her head like she still didn't understand it. "Even when he started becoming cold. Even when he stopped coming home. I made excuses. I told myself I could fix it. That if I just held on a little longer..."
"You weren't the problem, Amelia."
"Then why does it feel like I'm the one who's been thrown away?"
The pain in her voice ripped something raw inside Ethan.
He stepped closer. Not to console her, but to ground her. To anchor her.
"You're not disposable," he said firmly. "You're not broken. And you're not alone."
She looked at him, really looked, and for the first time, there was no fear in her eyes. Only hurt. And a flicker of something deeper.
He reached out slowly, brushing her hair behind her ear.
"I know it still hurts. But you're waking up, Amelia. You're starting to see him for what he is. That takes strength."
Her lip trembled, but she didn't pull away.
She leaned forward instead, resting her forehead against his chest, hands clutched at his shirt as if trying to hold herself together.
Ethan held her there, arms gentle but secure.
And in that quiet, sacred moment, Amelia didn't know where this was going, or how it would end, but she knew this....
She wasn't grieving Richard anymore.
She was grieving who she had been with him.
And somewhere deep inside, she was ready to let that woman go.
..............
The afternoon sun hung lazily over the estate, casting long golden streaks across the garden. Ethan had gone quiet after holding Amelia, giving her space as she silently watered the flowerbeds.
There was a shift in her, subtle, but unmistakable. Her shoulders were straighter, her eyes no longer glazed with old pain.
Still, he knew she needed more than quiet comfort.
She needed to feel alive again.
"You ever dance?" he asked suddenly, his voice breaking the soft hum of the wind.
Amelia glanced at him, startled. "Dance?"
"Yeah," he said, brushing dirt off his hands. "Music. Lights. A little rebellion."
Her brow rose. "You're suggesting we go out?"
"Why not?" he said with a small smirk. "You deserve one night away from this damn house. Let the world see your smile again."
"I haven't danced in years," she murmured.
"Well," Ethan said, rising to his feet and offering her his hand, "maybe it's time you did."
Amelia hesitated only a moment before slipping her hand into his. "Alright. Let's go somewhere no one knows us."
She paused.
"Actually… I have a place in mind."
He raised a brow. "Yeah?"
"A club I used to love before Richard made me stop going. High end. Classy. No cameras inside. It's called Eclipse."
Ethan froze.
His face didn't betray much, but a flicker of something passed through his eyes. "Eclipse?"
"Yes. Do you know it?"
He cleared his throat. "I've heard of it."
He owns it. Technically, his family does. But he designed half of it himself when he was still involved in the company's nightlife investments. It was supposed to be their 'hidden gem.' Of course she'd pick that one.
Amelia was already heading inside, chattering softly about which dress to wear.
Ethan stood in the garden, staring up at the sky, muttering a curse under his breath.
"This is gonna be a disaster."
That evening, the city shimmered with electricity as night fell.
Amelia stepped out in a silky black dress that hugged her figure with effortless grace. Her hair cascaded in soft waves, her lips painted a daring red that made Ethan blink twice when she descended the stairs.
"You look..." He stopped, cleared his throat, and tried again. "You look like you don't even remember the last time you cried."
She smiled shyly. "That's the goal."