"How long do you think she'll sleep?" I asked, breaking the silence.
Kelly glanced over at Amelia's still form. "As long as her body needs. Rest is the best medicine."
I nodded, though the quiet pressed on me. The crackle of the fire filled the room, and I busied myself with the mugs of tea I'd poured.
"The last few days can't have been easy for you," Kelly said gently, her sharp eyes on me.
"I'm fine," I muttered, sliding a steaming cup across the table toward her.
She studied me for a beat, then asked, "Where have you been sleeping?"
The question caught me off guard. My gaze flicked to the armchair, then to the bed, before I admitted, "I've dozed off in the chair some nights… but mostly in the bed." Heat crept up my neck. "Only because I had to be close by in case she needed me."
Kelly's lips curved into a knowing smile, but she didn't push.
"There's nothing going on," I said quickly.
"Of course," she replied, her tone deliberately light. But her grin lingered as she sipped her tea.
We drank in silence, the fire crackling between us. After a while, restlessness pushed me to my feet, and I started assembling sandwiches from the bread and cheese she'd brought.
"Will you stay for lunch?" I asked.
She shook her head, tugging on her gloves. "No, I should get back. The hospital's stretched thin after the storm. They need every pair of hands."
"When will you be back?"
"In three days, to take out her stitches. Until then, just keep doing what you're doing." She stood, pulling her parka tight.
Amelia stirred just as Kelly opened the door. "Stay a bit longer," she murmured, her voice hoarse with sleep.
Kelly paused, softened, but shook her head. "They need me. Three days," she promised, then stepped out into the cold.
The cabin settled back into silence. Amelia's gaze found mine.
"I made sandwiches," I said, trying to sound casual. "Hungry?"
"Sure." She moved gingerly from the bed to the table, still favoring her ankle.
"Kelly's nice," I offered.
"She is. She helped me get this cabin set up and she's kept me alive with those grocery runs. I've been lucky with her." Amelia's smile was faint, but real.
I hesitated before asking, "And you? Do you have family? Anyone close by?"
Her hand stilled. She looked down. "My family probably doesn't even care where I am."
The words hit me like a blow. Guilt pricked — I shouldn't have pushed.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly.
Her eyes stayed fixed on her hands. "I used to be close to them. Not anymore."
Then, as though she'd been carrying it too long, she straightened and spoke in a low, deliberate voice.
"My name is Amelia Stern. My parents are Ruth and Jeff Stern — directors of Stern Hedge Fund Management." Her jaw tightened. "They announced their retirement last year and named me director. Two months later, the company collapsed."
The name jolted me. Stern. Everyone in London had heard it. The scandal had been everywhere — the downfall of a financial empire. But I'd never imagined the woman huddled in this mountain cabin could be
that
Amelia Stern.
I sat frozen, unsure what to say. She was watching me, waiting.
Finally, I asked, "What happened?"
Her shoulders sagged. "That's what I keep asking myself. The firm thrived under my parents for years. Then I step in, and it crumbles. Clients lost everything. I should have seen it coming. Prevented it. That's what they trusted me to do."
"You can't shoulder that alone," I said, leaning forward. "The markets are volatile. Anyone in the business knows that."
"No. It was my responsibility. I failed them."
"Do your parents blame you?"
Her laugh was hollow. "They haven't spoken to me since. Haven't answered my calls. Last I heard, they were flying to Bali for another honeymoon." She pressed her lips together. "But they know. Everyone knows."
Her breaths came uneven, eyes shining. Without thinking, I moved to her side and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She didn't resist. Instead, her good arm circled my back, and for a moment she let herself lean into me.
Then she pulled away, blinking hard. "Could I get some more painkillers, Brandon?"
I fetched the pills and water, watching her swallow them down.
"We'll need more firewood soon," she added briskly, as though sealing her confession back up again.
I grabbed my coat and stepped out into the biting cold. The mountain air was sharp in my lungs as I gathered fallen branches. But my mind wasn't on the work.
Amelia Stern. The name carried weight, scandal, ruin.
But the woman inside wasn't the caricature the headlines had painted — she was fractured, yes, but there was more. Something about this didn't add up.
As a data analyst, I lived in probabilities and patterns. And something about her story felt off.
If I had a laptop and internet connection, maybe I could trace what really happened to her company. Market crashes didn't come out of nowhere. Not like that.
Something else was hiding beneath the wreckage.
And for reasons I didn't want to examine too closely, I wanted to find it — for her.