Brandon's POV
Amelia was asleep, her breathing soft in the dark. I should have been asleep too, but my mind wouldn't let me. Not after today, not after watching her walk through that fire and come out still standing.
She thought I was strong. She leaned on me like I was unshakable. If only she knew how much of that strength wasn't mine at all.
Julie.
Four years older, small and wiry, but fierce in ways I still couldn't explain. When Dad came home angry, she'd put herself between us. When Mum dissolved into silence, Julie raised her voice for both of us. I can still remember her hand gripping mine in the dark, whispering, "Breathe. Just breathe, Bran. It'll pass."
She never had the chance to be a child. She carried the weight our parents dropped and never set it down. And when I grew old enough to finally hit back, it wasn't because of my courage — it was because she'd taught me not to fold.
Now Mum and Dad were gone, leaving nothing but the scars they carved into us.
Julie stayed, though. She'd built herself a life, small but solid. She worked at a school with children who needed more patience, more care than the world usually gave. She told me once it felt like giving them the safety she never had.
She never married. Never even seemed to want to. I used to wonder if it was because she didn't trust love, as I didn't, not after what we'd seen, or because she'd poured all her heart into the kids at her school. Maybe both.
And me? I learned from her how to stand still in a storm and how to keep breathing when everything inside wanted to break. I carried that into adulthood, into work, now into Amelia's world.
Amelia thought I was the anchor. Truth was, I was just utilising what Julie had shown me.
I glanced at her sleeping face beside me, her hair spilling over the pillow, her hand curled near mine. She had no idea how much of my strength belonged to someone else.
One day, I thought, she should meet Julie. Then she'd understand all of me —the shadows as well as the calm.
*****
Amelia's POV
The morning started with a knock on the door — far too early for it to be anything ordinary. Brandon answered, and I heard the sharp voice of the woman who lived downstairs, saying a reporter had been hanging about the building, asking questions.
By the time Brandon came back inside, his jaw was tight, a folded newspaper in his hand.
"They know," he said grimly, tossing it onto the table.
I stared down at the front page.
Stern Heiress Hiding With Mystery Man
My face, caught mid-step outside the solicitor's office, plastered above a grainy shot of Brandon taken outside his work. They hadn't named him, but it wouldn't take long. His colleagues, his neighbours — they'd all know soon enough.
Guilt burned hot in my chest. "I should never have come here. I've dragged you into this —"
"Stop." His voice cut through mine, firm but quiet. "You needed somewhere safe."
I wanted to believe him, but the tremor in his hand as he folded the paper told me the price of his loyalty was already being counted.
Later that day, as if we hadn't been dealt enough blows, another came — delivered in a plain envelope with no return address. My name scrawled across the front in handwriting I hadn't seen since I was a teenager.
Inside, a letter. My parents' voices leapt off the page, elegant and cold.
"Dearest Amelia,
By now, you will have realized the investigators are circling and the press is feeding on you like wolves. This is not a surprise to us — it was always going to happen. The company was yours, after all. The responsibility, the choices, the consequences. History will write it that way, no matter what you say.
We will not return. Why would we? The world is small for those who know how to use it, and we have secured our place beyond reach. But you, Amelia — you could join us. This was always the plan, though you were too naïve to see it. All you have to do is step away from the mess and meet us. Leave your solicitor, your so-called protector, and the life you were never made for. There is still a future with us, if you are brave enough to claim it.
The final lines chilled me:
Refuse, and the evidence will make its way into the right hands. You will be remembered not as our daughter, but as the architect of everything we built."
My fingers shook as I folded the letter back into its envelope. Brandon was watching me, his expression darkening as I told him what it said.
"It's a trap," he said flatly. "They're trying to force your hand. If you run, you're theirs. If you stay, they'll try to bury you."
I pressed the heel of my hand to my eyes, fighting the wave of panic. "And the media already thinks I'm guilty. If that letter leaks, it's over."
Brandon came to stand beside me, his hand closing firmly around mine. "Then we fight it head-on. We don't run, Amelia. Not from them, not from the press. You've already walked through fire once. You can do it again."
His voice was steady, but I could see the storm gathering behind his eyes. My parents had struck at both of us in one day. But if they thought fear would make me crawl to them, they didn't know me anymore.
This time, I would not bend.