Brandon's POV
Amelia broke the silence first. Her voice was low, careful, as though she was still testing the shape of her own words.
"I suppose now that everything's settled… I should go home."
The word home hung between us. I didn't ask which home she meant — the cabin, the house her parents had abandoned, her flat, or just anywhere that wasn't here. She didn't seem sure herself.
She traced her finger along the rim of her mug, not looking at me. "There are things I've avoided for too long. Accounts to close, belongings to sort through. And people —neighbors, acquaintances — I disappeared on them all when this started. If I want to rebuild anything of my own, I should face it."
Her words made sense, every last one of them. Still, I heard what was left unsaid in the pause after. She didn't want to go. Not really.
I could have asked her to stay. The thought burned at the back of my throat, heavy and insistent. But the last thing she needed after clawing her way out of Mark's and then her parents' shadow, was someone else trying to decide her path.
So I nodded instead. "If that's what you think is best."
Her eyes flicked up then, just for a second, searching mine as though she'd expected me to argue. When I didn't, she gave a small smile — tired, unsure, maybe disappointed — and turned her gaze back to the window.
Inside, my chest tightened. Letting her go felt like loosening my grip on the only steady thing I'd found in years. But if she came back, it had to be because she chose to, not because I held her here.
For now, I would give her that freedom. Even if it meant losing her.
I couldn't bear the distance in her voice, the way she spoke about leaving as if she was already halfway gone.
"There's no rush, Amelia," I said gently. "You don't have to decide everything tonight. Stay. Just… stay here tonight."
She exhaled, long and shaky, and for the first time all evening her body seemed to ease. She gave a small nod. "All right. Just tonight."
It was enough.
We didn't talk much more after that. She curled against me on the sofa, my arm around her shoulders, and the room finally felt at peace.
For once, there was no plan to make, no strategy to discuss.
Just breathing, together.
*****
The morning light came early, spilling across the room, and I woke to the sound of her moving about in the kitchen. By the time I joined her, she was perched on the counter with a half-finished cup of tea, her hair mussed from sleep but her eyes clearer than I'd seen them in weeks.
"I need to find a job," she said abruptly, as though the words had been waiting for daylight.
I blinked at her, still half-asleep. "A job?"
She gave a little shrug, but there was a spark of something more — determination. "I can't just drift. My parents… they built everything on lies. If I want to build something of my own, it has to be honest. Grounded. I don't care if it's small. I just… I need to stand on my own feet."
Her words stirred something in me — pride, and a pang of worry. She'd been crushed under the weight of her family's empire, and now here she was, ready to rebuild from nothing. Stronger than she realised.
I poured myself some tea, careful to keep my tone even. "Then we'll figure it out. One step at a time."
She glanced at me, searching my face, but I didn't push further. This was her road to choose. If she wanted me walking beside her, she'd have to ask.
I was really glad to see the fire back in her eyes.
*****
Amelia's POV
I'd barely finished telling Brandon I needed to find a job when he said it — quiet, steady, but with the weight of something already decided.
"I can talk to Daniel," he offered. "He knows people, good firms, charities even. They'd be glad to have someone like you."
I froze, teacup halfway to my lips. "Someone like me?"
He shrugged, like it was obvious. "You're smart. You've got experience. And after everything that happened, you deserve a chance that isn't starting from the bottom."
My chest tightened, not with gratitude, but with something sharper. "So you think I can't find something on my own?"
"That's not what I —" His jaw flexed, frustration flickering across his face. "I just don't want you to struggle."
I set my cup down a little harder than I meant to. "Brandon, my entire life has been someone else smoothing the path for me. My parents 'setting things up,' always pulling strings, always leaving me wondering if I'd earned anything at all. I can't live like that anymore. I won't."
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. "This isn't the same."
"It feels the same," I shot back. "If I take your help, then I'm still the girl who needs saving. Still defined by what other people give me." My voice cracked, but I pressed on. "I need to prove I can stand on my own feet — even if that means struggling. Especially if it means struggling."
Silence stretched between us. I saw the conflict in his eyes: wanting to fight me on it, wanting to protect me, but knowing he couldn't without becoming the very thing I was pushing against.
Finally, he nodded once, clipped and quiet. "If that's what you need."
It shouldn't have hurt, but it did — the distance in his tone, the way he withdrew instead of holding me. I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly cold.
Neither of us said anything more.
But in the silence, I realised this was the first time the danger wasn't outside us. It was right here, between us, waiting to see if we could survive each other.