Chapter 5

"Ah!"

The soup drenched Amelia, the boiling liquid searing her skin. Her arms turned bright red as blisters began forming almost instantly. The pain was excruciating. She couldn't even find her voice to cry out.

"Amelia!"

Chad released Irina and rushed to her, his face twisting with panic—the kind of panic Amelia had never seen from him before. "Does it hurt? I'll take you to the hospital!"

Amelia lifted her trembling gaze to him, her whole body shaking from the pain. She wanted to say something, but the words just wouldn't come.

"Oh my God, Irina, look how badly you're hurt!" Yara shrieked.

Chad's focus snapped back to Irina. He rushed to her side, his panic visibly escalating, only to find a few drops of hot oil on her arm.

To Chad, the scene looked "devastating."

Irina gently pulled her arm back, tears brimming in her eyes as she shook her head. "I'm fine. Amelia seems worse—take her to the hospital first."

Yara stomped her foot. "What do you mean you're fine? You've been pampered your whole life! A scratch leaves you crying for days. Chad, what are you waiting for? Take Irina to the hospital!"

She jabbed a finger at the quarreling diners. "Are you insane? If you're going to fight, do it outside! Look at what you've done—you've hurt Irina! My brother will not let this slide!"

Irina's soft whimpers started breaking through, though she still insisted, "I'll be okay, Chad. Really. Amelia's hurt worse—you should check on her."

Her words might have been selfless, but her frail, teary demeanor hit Chad like a freight train. Without hesitation, he scooped her up in his arms and headed for the exit.

At the door, he paused, glancing back briefly at Amelia, who sat trembling in pain. "Irina's always been delicate, and she's afraid of pain," he said apologetically. "The hospital's not far. You can grab a cab and meet us there."

Then he disappeared with Irina in his arms.

For a long moment, Amelia sat frozen in disbelief, her skin on fire from the burns. Gritting her teeth, she sucked in a sharp breath, forcing herself to focus through the agony.

A server rushed over, clearly shaken, and apologized profusely while helping to treat her wounds with a first aid kit.

After taking some painkillers, the worst of the agony dulled to a manageable throb. Borrowing a change of clothes from the restaurant staff, Amelia dressed carefully before stepping outside to hail a cab to the hospital.

...

At the hospital, the doctor carefully tended to her burns, pressing a cotton swab to the blisters to drain them. "Apply this medication daily," he instructed, "and it should heal without scarring."

Amelia clenched her eyes shut, biting back the pain as he worked. Nearby, two nurses passed by, their conversation carrying through the quiet hallway.

"Mr. Felton really dotes on Ms. Baxter," one said. "A few drops of hot oil, and he booked an entire floor, calling in every dermatologist for a consultation."

"Right?" the other replied with a soft laugh. "Her injury was so minor it would've healed on its own. If only I could find a man that attentive!"

"Keep dreaming," the first nurse joked. "A man like that? One in a million."

One in a million.

Amelia let out a faint smile.

A man who abandoned his severely injured wife to coddle someone with a few drops of oil? He truly was one of a kind.

Once her burns were treated and bandaged, she thanked the doctor and walked out of the hospital into the dark night. Alone.

The second Amelia walked out of the hospital, her phone buzzed. Ding! An email.

It was from the art academy she'd applied to—she got in. Oh, and by the way, they wanted an original piece for enrollment.

After five years, she was finally picking up a paintbrush again.

She bought some fresh supplies and, instead of heading back to the Felton mansion, she drove straight to Moonridge Peak.

The view was straight-up stunning—calm lakes tucked between rolling hills, their glassy surfaces mirroring the mountains like nature showing off.

It wasn't just peaceful; it felt like hitting the reset button.

Amelia let out a deep breath, and for the first time in years, the weight of everything just... disappeared. All that was left was a long-lost sense of freedom.

She let her brush hit the canvas, and the scenery practically painted itself. No noise, no interruptions—just the wind and the birds calling out like they got the memo about peace.

Three days flew by in this little bubble of quiet.

When she finally climbed down to mail off the painting, she turned her phone back on.

Cue the avalanche—missed calls and texts, all from Chad.

This was new.

She used to be the one doing all the calling and texting, always getting his voicemail or, worse, radio silence. The guy barely cared enough to return a missed call.

While she stared at her screen, still processing, Yara's name lit up.

The second Amelia answered, Yara's shrill voice exploded. "Amelia! Where the hell have you been? Chad's losing his mind looking for you!

"Don't think this little disappearing act will make him care. Keep dreaming! The only 'lady' of my family is Irina!"

Before Amelia could even get a word in, Yara hung up.

She blinked, frowning.

Wait... Chad was frantically looking for her? That couldn't be right.

Her eyes drifted to the 108 missed calls. Okay, maybe it was right.