Chapter 51
Chapter 51
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(Amelia’s POV)
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Morning light filtered through the tinted windows, painting the leather seats in pale gold.
Edmund sat beside me in the back seat, relaxed but too composed, like a man who always had a plan tucked behind every calm expression. The driver, a broad–shouldered man in a dark suit, didn’t say a word. Only the occasional turn signal or hum of tires against the road filled the silence.
I glanced out the window, trying not to look at him. I’d promised myself not to start any conversation that wasn’t absolutely necessary. Unfortunately, Edmund had other ideas.
“Are you always this quiet during long rides?” he asked, his voice smooth but teasing.
I turned my head slightly, not quite meeting his gaze. “Only when I’m forced into one at six in the morning.”
He chuckled, his voice low and warm. “Forced? You make it sound like I kidnapped you.”
“Didn’t you?” I shot back lightly, eyes still on the window. “You changed the departure time without telling me, so technically, yes. This counts as abduction.”
His laughter deepened, filling the car in a way that made my chest tighten. “I’ll remember to have you sign a consent form next time.”
“There won’t be a next time,” I muttered.
We fell silent again. For a few minutes, it was just the muted thud of my heartbeat against my ribs.
Then he spoke softly, breaking the fragile quiet. “Tell me about her.”
My brows drew together. “Who?”
He turned slightly, his gaze settling on me. “Scarlett.”
I froze.
The name rolled off his tongue so naturally, yet it hit me like a punch to the stomach. There was a small, careful pause in his tone, the kind that only comes when someone’s saying a name they’re still learning to
own.
“What do you want to know?” I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.
He exhaled slowly, leaning back. “Everything. Start with… what she’s like.”
I hesitated, watching the reflection of the passing trees streak across the glass. Talking about Scarlett always came so easily, except now, sitting next to the man who didn’t even know she existed until recently.
I took a deep breath. “She’s… stubborn,” I said finally, a smile tugging at my lips. “She gets that from you.”
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Chapter 51
He turned to look at me, eyes narrowing just slightly. “From me?”
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“Oh, absolutely,” I said, chuckling softly. “She argues about everything. If she doesn’t like the food, she negotiates her way out of eating it. If I say bedtime is nine, she asks for ten, and somehow gets nine–thirty.”
His lips curved into a small smile. “Sounds like a smart girl.”
“She’s too smart,” I said, shaking my head. “She remembers everything. One time, I told her I’d take her to the park after work, and when I got home late, she was waiting by the door with her backpack. She didn’t even say anything, she just gave me that look.”
He laughed under his breath, and for a second, his eyes softened, the way they used to years ago when he wasn’t hiding behind walls of composure and wealth. “I’d like to meet her properly. I mean, really meet her, not just stand there like a stranger in my own child’s life.”
The quiet sincerity in his tone caught me off guard. I looked at him, really looked at him, and saw something raw there. Something unguarded.
“She already likes you,” I admitted softly. “She talked about you after you left that day. Said you were ‘nice for a man in a suit.””
He smiled faintly. “Nice for a man in a suit? That’s… oddly specific.”
“She’s seven,” I said, chuckling. “Her standards are interesting.”
He laughed again, then turned his gaze forward, a quiet shadow crossing his features. “Seven years,” he murmured. “I missed everything.”
My smile faltered.
He didn’t say it accusingly, just… brokenly, like someone trying to grasp the weight of what time had stolen.
I wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault, that he wasn’t supposed to know, that I’d made that choice out of fear, not malice. But the words wouldn’t come.
“Edmund,” I said finally, my voice small. “Back then… things were complicated.”
“They were,” he agreed quietly. “But I still wish I’d known.”
I looked away, blinking fast. “You had your life then. You were married-”
“And miserable,” he cut in. “Don’t sugarcoat it.”
The sudden edge in his voice startled me. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t mean to sound bitter. I just ” He paused, glancing at me. “When I saw her, Amelia… it did something to me. Like something I didn’t know I was missing just fell into place.”
I bit my lip, trying to steady the tremor in my chest. “You can’t just walk into her life now and expect everything to fall into place,” I whispered.
“I’m not expecting that,” he said, his tone soft but firm. “I’m asking for a chance. To earn it.”
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Chapter 51
I looked at him, startled by the conviction in his voice. “You really think she’ll just-”
“She’s my daughter,” he said simply. “And if she’s anything like you, she’s worth fighting for.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. My throat felt tight, my heart even tighter.
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I turned back toward the window, hoping the scenery could distract me from the warmth rising in my chest. But even then, I could feel his gaze lingering on me.
After a long pause, he said quietly, “You look tired.”
I let out a short laugh. “Thanks. That’s one way to compliment a woman.”
He chuckled, leaning back against the seat. “I meant it kindly. You’ve been working too much.”
“So have you,” I said.
He gave a small shrug. “Work keeps me sane.”
“Or maybe it keeps you from feeling,” I murmured without thinking.
He turned his head, eyes sharp. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I regretted saying it the moment it left my mouth. “Nothing. Forget it.”
“No,” he said softly. “Say it.”
I sighed, staring down at my hands. “It means… sometimes I wonder if you hide behind your work. Like you’d rather drown in meetings than deal with what’s real.”
The silence that followed was heavy.
Then he said, almost in a whisper, “Maybe I do.”
Something in his honesty disarmed me completely.
For the next few minutes, neither of us spoke. The driver turned down a quieter road, and sunlight filtered through the trees like golden ribbons.
Then, out of nowhere, Edmund said, “Does she like strawberries?”
“What?” I turned to him, caught off guard.
“Scarlett, Strawberries.”
I blinked, then smiled. “She loves them. Why?”
“Because there’s a strawberry farm near Brixton,” he said casually. “Maybe after the outreach, we could take
her there.”
For a moment, I just stared at him. Not as my boss. Not as the man who once broke me. But as someone who
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Chapter 51
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was trying awkwardly, stubbornly, genuinely, to fit into a life he’d been missing.
“I’ll think about it,” I said quietly.
“That’s a start.”
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The rest of the drive was quieter. Comfortable, even. I hated to admit it, but there was something about being near him that felt dangerously familiar, like muscle memory. The kind that never really leaves, no matter how hard you try.
By the time we neared Brixton, the roads were lined with greenery. The driver turned off the highway, and a cluster of modern buildings appeared in the distance, the hotel where we’d be staying.
I stretched slightly, glancing at my phone. “I should probably let the others know we’re close,” I murmured.
He hummed in response but didn’t take his eyes off the view outside. “You might not need to.”
“What do you mean?”
He smiled faintly. “You’ll see.”
When we finally pulled into the hotel driveway, the car slowed to a stop. The place was quiet, eerily quiet. No buses. No chatter. No sign of the rest of the team.
I frowned, looking around. “Wait. Where is everyone?”
He reached for the door handle, the hint of a smug smile tugging at his lips. “They’ll be here later.”
I blinked. “Later?”
“Yes. Around one pm, I believe.”
I turned sharply to him, realization dawning like a slow burn. “You did change the time.”
He raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Did I?”
“Edmund Montgomery,” I said, pointing a finger at him, my voice half disbelief, half laughter. “You absolutely did.”
He chuckled, stepping out of the car. “Well, someone had to make sure you didn’t escape again.”
I stared at him through the open door, speechless, torn between wanting to yell at him and… laugh.
“Unbelievable,” I muttered under my breath, grabbing my bag.
He looked back, a smirk playing at his lips. “Welcome to Brixton, Dr. Garcia.”
And just like that, the door between our past and present cracked open a little wider.
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
