Chapter 8

And just as she was gearing up to leave, here came Yara and her entourage, strutting over like the mean girl squad.

Amelia glanced up, suddenly boxed in.

Yara's grin was all venom. "Amelia, what's it like being Chad's wife all these years, only to watch him drooling over Irina?" she sneered.

She didn't stop there. "I've said it before—Chad's heart was always Irina's. You were just his rebound. Honestly, you should've taken the hint and left ages ago. But no, here you are, clinging like some desperate wannabe. Pathetic."

Amelia's patience was paper-thin, her mind already on her half-packed suitcase upstairs. She didn't have time for this nonsense. Turning away, she tried to leave.

But Yara and her gang weren't done.

"Still dreaming of your ugly-duckling-to-swan moment, huh?"

"If Irina hadn't left, do you really think someone like you could call yourself Mrs. Felton?"

"Know your place."

"If you've got half a brain, you'll pack up and disappear from the Felton family for good."

Their words were sharp, but their actions were sharper. Hands shoved her, one after another, jerking her back and forth.

"Cat got your tongue? We're talking to you!" one of them snapped. When Amelia stayed quiet, refusing to bite, it only made things worse.

Finally, one woman—bolder or maybe just angrier—lost it. She shoved Amelia hard.

The world tilted.

The deafening crash of glass breaking silenced the room. Amelia hit the towering champagne display, and the cascade of shattering flutes and spilling wine was spectacular.

She landed on the ground with a sharp gasp, the mix of sparkling white wine and bright red blood turning the scene into a chaotic masterpiece.

Then, all eyes locked on her.

Chad, still on stage, froze. His pupils shrank. In a heartbeat, he dropped Irina's hand and rushed toward Amelia.

"Amelia!"

Chad knelt by Amelia, fury etched into every line of his face. He held her close.

He turned to the stunned crowd. "Call the doctor," he barked. Then his eyes swept the room. "Who did this?!"

Silence. No one dared to move.

Chad was about to demand answers again when a bodyguard bolted into the room. "Sir, Ms. Baxter is experiencing stomach pain. She needs you immediately!"

Chad's jaw tightened, but he didn't let go of Amelia. "How bad is it?"

The bodyguard's urgency spiked. "She is crying, sir. She says the pain is unbearable."

For a second, Chad froze. His grip on Amelia faltered as indecision clouded his face. "Amelia, I..."

She didn't need to hear the rest. Pushing herself to sit up, she met his gaze. "I get it. She's always been like that—pampered and delicate. A little pain, and it's a crisis. Go ahead. You've always looked out for her."

Her calmness stopped him cold. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

By then, Amelia was already on her feet, swaying slightly but steadying herself. "I'm fine," she said. "Go. Let the doctor see her first. I can handle this."

Her calm indifference left him unsettled in a way he couldn't quite explain.

Amelia had always been generous to a fault.

But now, standing there with a fresh injury and blood staining her clothes, that same generosity felt almost too much.

It was like he didn't matter to her anymore.

This wasn't the Amelia he knew. She used to look at him with eyes that said he was her everything.

When had that changed?

Chad opened his mouth like he was about to say something groundbreaking, but nope—Irina's dramatic cries cut through the air like clockwork.

He hesitated for half a second, guilt flashing across his face before he turned to Amelia. "I'll check on you later. I'll make it up to you," he said.

Then, without waiting for a response, he bolted, scooping Irina up, whispering sweet nothings as he dashed off.

Amelia just stood there, her lips curving into a smirk.

Of course, Yara and her posse saw it differently. To them, it screamed "heartbroken girl" vibes.

"Wow," Yara snorted. "Think acting all sad's gonna make my brother feel bad for you? Joke's on you—he still ditched you."

"And if you had an ounce of dignity, you'd just leave already," she added.

Amelia didn't waste her breath. She found a servant's room, patched herself up, changed into fresh clothes, and walked out—limping.

...

Back at the villa, Amelia headed upstairs without a word, finished packing, and hauled her suitcase downstairs. She placed the signed divorce papers—yep, both signatures—right on the table.

When she opened the door to leave, she nearly ran smack into Yara, who was waltzing in.

"Why are you running around?" Yara huffed. "Chad told me to bring you medicine. Can you believe it? Leaving Irina to worry about you and making me hunt you down all over the place!"

"I don't need it. Save it for Irina," Amelia said coolly, brushing Yara's hand aside and heading for the door.

That's when Yara's eyes locked on the suitcase. Her face twisted, and she grabbed Amelia's arm. "What are you doing?"

Amelia raised an eyebrow. "Carrying a suitcase. What does it look like I'm doing? I'm leaving. Your brother loves Irina, and you've been dying for her to be your sister-in-law. Congrats—I'm making it easy. I divorced him. I'm done."

Yara's eyes went wide. She stood there, completely frozen. Everyone knew Amelia had been head-over-heels for Chad—so how was she walking away like it was no big deal?

When it finally clicked, Yara's voice shook. "Amelia, cut the act. You love Chad too much to quit like this. You practically forced your way into this marriage! This is some kind of mind game, right? Trying to make him chase you? Well, newsflash—it's not gonna work!"

Amelia didn't even flinch. "If you don't believe me, check the divorce papers on the table. Or"—her voice dripped sarcasm—"is this little hand grab because you'll miss me?"

Yara snatched her hand back like she'd touched fire. "Miss you? Please. I can't wait for you to leave! When you're gone, I'll light fireworks. Chad will probably throw a party, too!"

Her voice cracked a little at the end, but Amelia didn't bother calling her out.

"Then congratulations to you all," she said flatly, stepping outside without looking back.

Yara stared after her. For the first time, a weird unease twisted in Yara's chest, panic creeping in.

"Amelia!" she called out. "Where are you even going? Aren't you going to tell Chad?"

Amelia paused, her suitcase dragging slightly behind her. She turned, her gaze sweeping over Yara and the villa she once called home.

For five years, she'd played the role—pretending to love Chad out of gratitude, letting everyone think she was some desperate, clingy woman chasing after a man who never wanted her.

Five years of giving up her dreams, sacrificing her future, and erasing who she was to pay back a debt. Five years of being the "perfect" wife—running the house, holding everything together—only to be ignored, disrespected, and completely forgotten.

But now? It was over.

For the first time, Amelia smiled—an honest, unguarded smile. "I'm going to live a life that's mine and mine alone."

Everything behind her? It didn't matter anymore.

Goodbye, Felton family.

Goodbye, Chad.

With a wave that felt like freedom itself, Amelia turned and strode into the moonlit night, her suitcase trailing behind her until the darkness swallowed her whole.