I hadn't thought about work in what felt like months, but reality had a way of catching up fast. My manager had been patient — more patient than I deserved — but the reprieve couldn't last forever.
When the police finally told us they were done for now, I didn't even hesitate.
"Come home with me," I told Amelia, my keys already in my hand.
She didn't argue. We were past that stage —the one where you question if it's too soon, too much. After everything, the idea of going our separate ways felt unnatural.
The drive to my flat was quiet, but not in the tense, fearful way it had been before. This was a different kind of quiet — one where the air wasn't thick with danger. The road stretched ahead like it belonged to us alone, the sun breaking through clouds in soft, golden streaks.
When we reached my building, Amelia stood in the entryway, taking it all in. "So… this is where you live," she said, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
"Yeah. Not much, but it's home," I said, unlocking the door and stepping aside so she could enter first.
The moment we were inside, something in both of us loosened. For the first time in over two weeks, we weren't glancing over our shoulders or listening for footsteps that didn't belong.
We could breathe again.
I tossed my bag onto the sofa, and she followed, setting hers down next to mine. We didn't have to fill the space with words. Being together like this — without fear biting at the edges — was enough.
---
The first night in my flat, we didn't bother unpacking. We ordered takeaway, ate on the sofa with our legs tucked under us, and left the empty boxes on the coffee table like two people who'd finally stopped running.
The small domestic details felt almost surreal. Amelia curled up in my hoodie while I made coffee in the morning. I caught her humming to herself while brushing her hair in the bathroom mirror. She fit into my space as if she'd always been here, her presence quiet but grounding.
We took walks in the evenings, exploring the neighbourhood at an unhurried pace. I could see the way her shoulders eased each day we didn't have to look over them. She was learning to breathe again, and so was I.
It wasn't perfect — sometimes, in the stillness before sleep, I'd catch her staring at the ceiling with a faraway look, and I knew her mind was still circling back to what had happened. I didn't push. I was there when she needed me, and she was there when I needed her.
On the eighth day, we were sitting at the kitchen table, sipping tea, sunlight spilling through the blinds, when her phone buzzed.
Her expression shifted instantly — softness hardening into guardedness as she read the message. She set the phone down carefully, almost as if it might explode.
"My solicitors," she said quietly. "It's about… the investigation into my company's bankruptcy."
The way she said it made my chest tighten. Whatever peace we'd been building here had just been punctured.
*****
Amelia's POV
I stared at the email on my phone screen with a stone in my stomach.
"We need to speak in person regarding the ongoing bankruptcy investigation. Please attend the office at your earliest convenience."
I stared at it for a long moment before lifting my gaze to Brandon. He didn't speak, but I could see the question in his eyes.
"They want me to come in," I said finally, my voice thin. "The solicitors."
His brow furrowed. "Today?"
"'At my earliest convenience,'" I said, forcing a small laugh that didn't sound like me. "Which is their polite way of saying 'now.'"
I tried to shake it off, to focus on the fact that I was safe here, with him. But the words "bankruptcy investigation" had a way of worming through every layer of calm I'd built since Mark died.
It wasn't just about the company. It was about the shadow it had left on my life, the unanswered questions, the people who had smiled to my face while quietly gutting everything I'd built. And it was about the fact that, even now, I didn't know exactly how deep the damage went or who was responsible.
The bus ride to the solicitor's office felt shorter than it should have. Brandon came with me, his quiet presence steadying my breathing, but when we arrived, I knew I had to go in alone.
The reception area smelled faintly of lemon polish and paper. A young woman behind the desk looked up and smiled, then her eyes flicked down at the file in front of her, recognition sparking.
"Ms. Stern, they're expecting you," she said, gesturing toward a set of frosted glass doors.
I tightened my grip on my coat and walked through, heart hammering harder than it had when I'd been running from Mark.
Because this time, the threat wasn't outside with a knife. It was buried in contracts, debts, and signatures that could destroy me in a very different way.
The conference room was all glass and polished oak, the kind of space meant to make you feel small before you even sat down.
Graham Lewis, my lead solicitor, rose as I entered. He was in his late fifties, silver hair, immaculate suit, eyes sharp enough to cut through steel.
"Amelia. Thank you for coming in on such short notice," he said, gesturing for me to sit.
I lowered myself into the chair, feeling the leather creak beneath me. "Your message sounded urgent."
"It is." He folded his hands on the table, the file in front of him thick enough to break a man's wrist. "The forensic accountants have been going through the company's financial records. They've uncovered… irregularities."