I'd lost count of how many hours I'd spent staring at the same view from Brandon's living room window. The rooftops opposite, the steady flow of London traffic, the muted grey of the sky — it all blurred together after a while.
But it was safer here, I knew it was. Safer than being seen anywhere else.
Every morning he left for work with that quiet determination he wore like a shield, and every evening he came back with rumours, whispers, and fragments of the day's chaos. My parents' fraud had exploded into the open, and the city buzzed with nothing else.
"They've frozen the accounts," he told me the following night, dropping his tie onto the sofa with a sigh. "Interpol's involved now. Everyone's scrambling —banks, prosecutors, even politicians. No one wants to be accused of looking the other way."
I curled up on the armchair, knees tucked beneath me, trying to keep my voice steady.
"And my parents? Any word?"
He shook his head, running a hand through his hair.
"They're still abroad. The authorities are working on repatriation, but it won't be quick. It never is."
Each new piece of news felt like a weight pressing down on my chest. I was CEO of my parents' company, the fraud and embezzlement happened on my watch. My parents had set me up to take the fall, yet I carried this strange, gnawing guilt — I should have seen something sooner.
But the longer I stayed in his flat, the more Brandon's presence dulled the edge of that guilt. We fell into a rhythm — him bringing takeaway home in the evening, me making coffees strong enough to keep us both awake.
At night, when the city noise ebbed to a hush, we lay side by side in his bed, not talking about my parents or the investigations, but simply holding on to each other.
The world outside was in uproar — banks panicking, journalists circling like vultures, investigators following the Sterns' trail across borders, but here in this small pocket of quiet, we found something neither of us had expected.
It was a strange kind of intimacy, born in the shadow of scandal. Stressful. Exhausting. And yet, it bound us closer with every secret we shared and every silence we kept.
*****
My phone buzzed against the coffee table, making me jump. Brandon had only just left for work, and I wasn't expecting anyone. When I saw Kelly's name flash on the screen, my stomach twisted.
"Amelia?" Her voice was sharp, urgent. "Two men were just at your cabin. Suits, official-looking. I thought you should know."
My fingers tightened around the phone. My refuge on the mountain — the one place that had ever felt truly mine — wasn't safe anymore. "Did they leave a name? A card?"
"No," she said quickly. "But Amelia, they weren't journalists. They were likely investigators. You're part of this, whether you want to be or not."
I thanked her and hung up, though the words rattled in my head long after.
They were looking for me.
By the time Brandon came home that evening, I'd worn a groove in the carpet from pacing. He'd barely set down his bag when his phone rang in his hand. I watched his face tighten as he listened.
It was Daniel.
"They've reached out to him," Brandon said when he finally hung up, raking a hand through his hair.
"The investigators are chasing every lead they can, and you're at the top of their list. You were the CEO. They want to interview you."
The room seemed suddenly smaller, the air heavier.
"What are we going to do?" I whispered.
His eyes softened, though his jaw stayed tense.
"We knew this would happen. We'll figure it out. But Amelia — hiding can only last so long. At some point, you have to face them."
The words terrified me, but when he reached for my hand, I didn't pull away. Maybe he was right. Maybe the only way through was to stop running.
I'd known for weeks now that my parents had left me to carry the blame, but writing it down — in words in black ink on Brandon's kitchen table — made the truth inescapable.
"They put you in charge for a reason," Brandon said quietly, his hand steady on the page as I scribbled. "Not because they trusted you. Because they needed someone to take the fall."
I nodded, my throat tight. The words blurred sometimes, but that didn't make me stop. We made lists: the shell accounts Brandon had found, the questionable transfers Graham had talked me into approving, the charities used as fronts. Every detail I could remember, no matter how small, went onto the page.
When I finally dropped the pen, my fingers ached. The pile of notes between us felt like a confession and a weapon all at once.
Brandon picked up his phone. "Daniel will know someone," he said, and before I could say anything, he was dialing. I listened as he explained, his tone low but firm.
"We need a solicitor. Someone who can represent Amelia."
There was a pause, Daniel's voice muffled through the speaker. Then Brandon nodded.
"Yes. The best you can recommend. We don't have time to gamble on anyone else."
When he hung up, he turned back to me, eyes steady despite the tension running through him.
"You won't face them alone," he said. "Not the investigators. Not your parents. Not anyone."
For the first time in days, the knot in my chest loosened, just a little. I still felt the walls closing in, but now, there was a way through.