THE bedroom was a quiet testament to how far she had come. She. Amelia. Now Amelia Harlow. Having dropped her husband's last name. No… ex-husband’s.
Soft golden lights glowed from crystal wall sconces, reflecting off polished marble floors and a massive king-sized bed dressed in silk sheets the color of champagne. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city skyline beyond, sheer curtains swaying gently as the evening breeze slipped in. Every piece of furniture was deliberate, custom-made, tasteful, expensive without screaming for attention. A woman who had survived storms lived here. And she had rebuilt beautifully.
Seated on her velvet dressing stool, Amelia faced the mirror, her posture relaxed, confident. Time had been kind to her— no, generous. The six years that had passed since her life shattered had only refined her beauty. Her skin glowed, her curves softened into elegance, her presence radiated a quiet glamour that turned heads effortlessly.
She lifted her hands to her hair, gathering it expertly, twisting and pinning it into an intricate style. Pearls glinted between dark strands, secured by pure gold hairpins that caught the light. Her makeup was already done, flawless foundation, softly contoured cheeks, lips glossed to perfection, lashes darkened just enough to frame her eyes without trying too hard.
As she worked, she hummed.
A slow, sweet tune. She was carefree. She was content.
Well, who wouldn't? Life had been sweet. So sweet. And peaceful.
She leaned closer to the mirror, tilting her head as she admired her handiwork. A wide smile spread across her lips, genuine and proud.
“Gosh!” she exclaimed softly. “Not only am I the most beautiful woman on earth right now, I’m also the happiest.”
She giggled, reaching for her diamond-studded earrings on the dressing table.
Then a knock came on the door, sharp and impatient.
Before Amelia could respond, the door opened.
Hazel walked in.
She didn’t bounce in like a child. She didn’t hesitate. She moved with long, purposeful strides, arms folded across her chest, lips pressed tight. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, school bag tossed carelessly over one shoulder. The annoyance on her face was unmistakable.
She stopped beside her mother.
And said nothing.
Amelia glanced at her through the mirror, smiling.
“Hazel?”
Silence. She didn't respond.
Amelia finally turned on the stool.
“What is it?”
“He is here,” Hazel said flatly.
Amelia’s smile widened.
“Already?”
“Yes. And he has been here for a while.” Hazel’s jaw tightened. “Waiting. In the living room.”
Amelia stood, smoothing her dress.
“Well, that is polite of him.”
Hazel scoffed. “Or desperate.”
Amelia paused, giving her daughter a look.
“Hazel.”
“I don’t like him.”
“We have been over this.”
“And I still don’t like him.”
Amelia sighed, reaching for a sleek bottle of expensive perfume. She sprayed it lightly around her neck and wrists, the scent rich and intoxicating. Hazel watched her, eyes narrowing.
“Mom, he is fake, this guy is fake,” Hazel blurted. “Everything about him feels—”
Amelia picked up another bottle, spritzing the air playfully.
“You are imagining things.”
“I’m not a kid anymore.”
“Well, you are still my child,” Amelia replied calmly. “And you are letting your imagination run wild.”
Hazel’s hands clenched at her sides.
Amelia turned back to the mirror briefly, then asked, casually,
“Where are your brothers?”
“In their room,” Hazel replied stiffly. “Playing.”
“Make sure they eat before I get back. And don’t let them stay up too late.”
Hazel rolled her eyes. “I know.”
Amelia grabbed her designer bag from the bed.
“Be good.”
Hazel muttered something under her breath.
“Hard to be when Charles exists.”
Amelia laughed, shaking her head as she walked toward the door.
“You are supposed to be happy your mom is happy, Hazel.”
Hazel followed her down the hallway, still grumbling. The moment they reached the living room, Hazel abruptly turned and slipped back toward her bedroom.
Amelia stepped forward, and Charles rose immediately.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, his athletic frame filling the room effortlessly. His suit was impeccable— dark, tailored to perfection, hugging his body just enough to hint at the abs beneath. His face was handsome in a gentle way, eyes warm, smile open and disarming. He looked like the kind of man women trusted easily.
“There you are,” he said softly. “You look… stunning.”
Amelia blushed.
“You always say that.”
“Because it is always true.” He leaned in, kissing her cheek, then pulled her into a warm hug. “I have missed you.”
“It has only been a day,” she laughed.
“A long one.”
“Are you ready, my lady?” he asked, offering his arm.
Her laughter echoed down the hallway.
“Of course, my lord.”
They both laughed as he led the way.
“After you, mi amor.”
She stepped ahead, smiling nonstop, teeth gleaming as the door opened to a serene evening. The sky was painted in soft hues of purple and gold, the air cool, calm— perfect for a perfect date.
Charles’s car waited in the driveway, sleek and expensive, its surface gleaming under the lights. He opened the door for her, and she slid in gracefully.
“Thank you,” she giggled.
“You are welcome.”
He got into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and with a soft hum, they drove off into the night, unaware of the storm quietly watching from behind closed doors.
They arrived at one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city a few minutes later.
It stood tall and elegant, glass and gold catching the glow of the night lights, guarded by valets and discreet security. This was not just a restaurant— it was a statement. A créme de la créme. A place where deals were sealed, where the elite dined without looking over their shoulders. Amelia had seen it in magazines, heard whispers about it in business circles, dreamed about it in quieter moments.
De’Luca Cravings.
Her breath caught the moment Charles parked.
“Oh my…” she whispered, eyes widening as she took it all in.
Charles glanced at her, pretending mild surprise. “What?”
She turned to him slowly.
“How do you know?”
He frowned playfully.
“Know what?”
“That this is my dream place,” she said, disbelief and excitement mingling in her voice. “I have always wanted to eat here. I mean, I could come here on my own, but…” She paused, smiling shyly. “I always imagined a man who truly loves me bringing me here.”
Charles chuckled as he unbuckled his seatbelt.
“Let’s just say,” he said smoothly, “I don’t only love you, but I can read the innermost parts of your heart as well.”
Amelia blushed, her cheeks warming.
“Now, aren’t you the best man in the world?”
He laughed. “Come here.”
They leaned toward each other, sharing a light, affectionate hug before stepping out of the car. Charles walked around and opened the door for her, extending his hand. She took it, still smiling as if the night itself had been made just for her.
Hand in hand, they walked into the restaurant.
Inside, the atmosphere was soft and refined, dim lighting, muted conversations, crystal glasses catching the glow above polished tables. The scent of fine cuisine lingered in the air. It was luxurious without being loud.
They were led to a private VIP section and seated comfortably.
Charles ordered appetizers and a bottle of chilled champagne. As the waiter left, they clinked glasses lightly.
“To us,” he said.
“To peace,” Amelia replied, smiling.
They talked easily, about work, investments, upcoming projects. Charles listened attentively, nodding, occasionally teasing her about how passionate she got when discussing business.
“You know,” he said with a grin, “it is very attractive when you talk numbers like that.”
She laughed.
“Now you are biased.”
“Completely.”
Minutes later, Charles signaled for the waiter again.
This time, they ordered dinner— a rich, indulgent spread. Butter-seared lobster tails, filet mignon cooked to perfection, truffle mashed potatoes, garlic prawns, creamy pasta infused with herbs, and a deep red wine that promised warmth with every sip.
When the food arrived, they began to eat, savoring each bite, exchanging satisfied looks.
They had barely eaten for a few minutes when something caught Amelia’s eye.
Something glittered.
It rolled gently across the polished floor, stopping right near her heel, reflecting the restaurant lights in sharp, dazzling flashes.
She frowned slightly.
Maybe she imagined it.
But it was too bright, too beautiful to ignore.
She leaned down, reaching for it, her fingers closing around something cool and smooth. Amelia straightened slowly, studying what lay in her palm.
A ring.
No— an engagement ring.
Her heart skipped.
“Oh!” she murmured, glancing around. “This must have slipped from someone—”
She lifted her head to call a waiter.
And froze.
Charles was no longer seated.
He was on one knee.
Right in front of her.
Looking straight into her eyes.
Amelia gasped, her breath catching in her throat, her fingers tightening instinctively around the ring as the world seemed to pause around them.