3

Chapter 3

I went back to the bedroom and started packing, stripping off the conservative, drab clothes I'd been wearing.

I pulled out the style I used to love.

No longer the understated, shadow-like rock star's wife.

The woman in the mirror had crimson lips, precise eye makeup, and chestnut brown waves cascading down.

I put on a blue slip dress with a black leather jacket over it.

Sharp, bold, distinctly individual.

For the first time in five years, I dressed like myself again.

I made a call.

"I need a drink."

At the bar, the lighting was moody, deep rock music vibrating through the floor. The air smelled of whiskey and cigarettes.

Bella—my most trusted friend, we'd grown up together.

She looked me up and down, a smile playing on her lips.

"Now that's the woman I know. Not some socialite buried by marriage."

I tilted my head back, downing the liquor in one gulp. My throat burned like fire.

"Pathetic, isn't it? I gave up my board position, gave up the Wallis family's billions, all for Damien. Five years, I put out fires, covered up scandals, whitewashed his 'bad boy' image into 'rock legend.' And for what? My sacrifice wasn't worth even a thank you."

Bella tapped her glass lightly, her gaze sharp. "Stop calling it pathetic. You were born for center stage, not to be his backdrop. Come back, Amelia. A Wallis daughter shouldn't be cowering in some rock star's shadow."

I curved my lips, a long-absent edge flashing in my eyes. "I will."

Bella's gaze shifted, her voice dropping meaningfully.

"But... have you considered that the child might actually be Damien's?"

The glass slipped from my hand, liquor splashing across the table.

My heart clenched.

"Impossible." I shook my head, but my voice was so weak even I didn't believe it.

Since Daisy moved in, Damien's behavior had grown increasingly abnormal.

All his patience, all his tenderness, poured into her.

And she... every look, every word, was so precisely calculated it made you suspicious.

That child... could it really be his?

I drank glass after glass until the world started spinning. My last memory was of a tall figure bursting into the bar, his voice low and furious.

"Amelia!"

Damien.

He walked over wearing a hat and mask, scooping me up from the booth, his movements rough and urgent.

"Have you lost your mind? Drinking like this here—if the paparazzi catch you, do you know what that would mean?!"

I struggled desperately, not wanting him to touch me. But the alcohol made my limbs feel like cotton. I couldn't break free, could only be carried away.

His scent was familiar, yet more searing than the liquor.

I closed my eyes, a tearing pain surging through my chest.

...

The next morning.

My head pounded. I was still wearing last night's clothes. I stumbled downstairs, freezing at the scene in the living room.

Daisy sat in the center of the sofa, looking completely at ease, as if this were her home.

I suddenly noticed the cushions on the sofa, the decorations on the table—so many things had changed, things I'd never seen before.

She turned to look at me, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "You're finally awake. Damien was so worried about you last night, carrying you all the way to the bedroom."

She stroked her belly, her tone full of provocation. "You really should learn to depend on him."

I stared at her, laughing coldly. "Depend on him? What gives you the right to lecture me?"

Her expression shifted slightly, but she still maintained her fragile act. "I just... don't want to see your marriage fall apart."

I stepped closer, my voice low but vicious. "Cut the act. Don't forget, you're living here on charity. Yet here you sit on this sofa putting on airs like you own the place. If you really didn't want our marriage to fall apart, you'd get the hell out of this house right now."