James did not touch the letter again that night.
It lay face down on the small dining table, as though turning it over might summon something he wasn't ready to confront. He slept little, drifting in and out of uneasy half-dreams, his thoughts circling the same points without resolution. His father's death. The inheritance. The unfamiliar name—Clara Holden.
By morning, the silence in the apartment felt oppressive.
James dressed carefully, choosing a plain shirt and jacket, his movements deliberate. Routine steadied him. Routine gave shape to chaos. As he locked the door behind him, his gaze lingered briefly on the table where the letter remained. He didn't pick it up.
Not yet.
At the college, James moved through familiar corridors on instinct alone. Students greeted him. Colleagues nodded in passing. Everything appeared unchanged, yet he felt slightly detached from it all, as though he were walking just outside his own life.
During his lecture, he caught himself pausing mid-sentence, the words momentarily slipping away. He recovered quickly, but the lapse unsettled him. Control mattered to him. Precision mattered. Losing focus—even briefly—felt like a crack in his carefully built composure.
After class, he retreated to the lab.
Amanda was already there.
She stood near the workbench, organizing samples with practiced efficiency. When she sensed movement at the doorway, she looked up immediately.
She always noticed him.
Amanda had admired James Mercer long before she ever allowed herself to name the feeling. It wasn't infatuation—not at first. It was the quiet way he carried himself, the patience in his voice when explaining difficult concepts, the respect he showed even to students who struggled. He never spoke down to anyone. Never demanded attention. Never tried to impress.
And today, something about him felt different.
He looked tired.
Not the usual professional fatigue, but something deeper—an exhaustion that seemed to sit behind his eyes.
"Good morning, Mr. Mercer," she said softly.
James looked up. Their eyes met.
For a brief moment, Amanda felt her breath catch. His gaze was thoughtful, distant—but when it rested on her, it softened, just slightly. It made her chest tighten in a way she had learned not to reveal.
"Good morning, Amanda," he replied.
She hesitated, clutching the clipboard to her chest. Ask him, she urged herself. Just ask.
"You… don't look like you slept much," she said carefully, unsure if she had crossed a boundary.
James paused, clearly surprised—not by the question, but by the concern behind it.
"I didn't," he admitted. "But I'll manage."
Amanda nodded, though the worry didn't leave her expression. She turned back to the bench, pretending to adjust the equipment, but her thoughts stayed with him.
He always carries everything alone, she thought. Even when it weighs him down.
Throughout the morning, Amanda found small reasons to be near him.
She asked about lab schedules. Clarified storage protocols. Offered help he didn't strictly need. Each interaction was professional but layered with something unspoken. She noticed things others might miss—the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightened when he thought no one was watching, the moments when his gaze drifted before snapping back into focus.
James noticed her too.
The careful way she spoke. The quiet respect in her tone. The absence of expectation.
Once, as she handed him a stack of reports, her fingers brushed against his.
The contact was brief—accidental—but it sent a quiet jolt through Amanda. She withdrew instantly, heat rushing to her face, heart pounding.
Stupid, she scolded herself. Get a grip.
James felt it as well.
The warmth of her skin. The softness of her touch. The way she stepped back as though embarrassed by her own presence. The moment lingered longer than it should have.
This is dangerous, he told himself.
Not because of Amanda—but because of what she made him feel.
By midday, James knew he could not delay any longer.
He excused himself, leaving campus earlier than planned, and drove across town to the solicitor's office. The conversation there was precise and professional. Nine million pounds. Clara Holden. Claims. Options. Litigation.
When he returned to the college later that afternoon, the weight of it all pressed harder than before.
Amanda noticed immediately.
She was wiping down a lab table when he re-entered. His posture was rigid now, shoulders tight, as though he were bracing himself against something unseen.
"Everything okay?" she asked gently.
James hesitated.
It would have been easy to deflect. To hide behind authority and distance. But something about her expression—open, sincere, unguarded—made him pause.
"I have… personal matters to deal with," he said finally.
Amanda nodded. "I understand."
And she meant it.
She watched him move away, a quiet ache settling in her chest. She didn't know what troubled him, but she felt instinctively that it was something old. Heavy. Something rooted deep in his past.
If only he'd let someone in, she thought. If only he knew he didn't have to carry it alone.
That evening, James replayed the day in fragments.
The solicitor's words. The figures. Clara's name.
And Amanda.
Her concern. Her restraint. The quiet admiration in her eyes.
It unsettled him more than anything else.
Amanda lay awake that night in her small bedroom at home. Her mother and younger brother slept in the next room. Bills sat unpaid on the table. Responsibilities waited for her in the morning.
Yet her thoughts drifted to James Mercer.
To the way he listened when she spoke. The way he never dismissed her ideas. The sadness she glimpsed beneath his calm.
He doesn't know how much he means to me, she thought. Or how easily I'd choose him—even if life stayed simple.
Across town, Clara Holden poured herself a drink.
James Mercer was no longer an abstraction. His name was now attached to money. To opportunity. To leverage.
And Clara was patient.
James stood by his apartment window, staring at the city lights below. The quiet life he had built—careful, controlled, solitary—was beginning to fracture.
And somewhere between the inheritance and the woman watching him from afar, another truth settled in.
Amanda Lewis was becoming the one thing he did not want to lose.