Chapter 4

The ninety-day waiting period for the divorce crawled by with excruciating slowness for one, and unnoticed swiftness for the other.

Amelia kept to herself, meticulously orchestrating her departure.

She finalized her application to the design institute in New York, secured a modest apartment in a quiet Brooklyn neighborhood, and booked a one-way ticket for travel.

She confided in no one, not even Sarah and Ben, the precise details of her plans. She could not risk Ethan discovering them, attempting to impede her.

This was her secret, her lifeline.

A week before the divorce was to be finalized, an invitation arrived for a high school reunion.

She had never before attended. In her past life, she had been too mired in the unhappiness of her marriage, too ashamed of her unfulfilled promise.

This time, some impulse compelled her to accept. A desire, perhaps, to reconnect with the person she had been before Ethan, before the Caldwells.

The reunion was held in the grand ballroom of a local hotel. She saw familiar faces, now etched with the passage of a decade, some radiating success, others still bearing the look of a search in progress.

A group of her old art club friends greeted her with genuine warmth.

"Amelia Hayes! I have not seen you in an age!" one of them, a woman named Lisa, exclaimed. "You look... changed. In a good way."

They reminisced about bygone days, about ambitious art projects and the hazy shape of teenage dreams.

Then, another classmate, Mark, a quiet, observant young man she barely recalled, remarked, "You know, Amelia, we were all convinced you harbored a colossal crush on Ethan Caldwell back then. You would fall silent and your cheeks would flame whenever he passed by."

Another, Jenny, concurred, "Oh, absolutely! You used to fill the margins of your sketchbook with his initials! It was hardly a state secret!"

Amelia froze, a hot blush creeping up her neck. She had believed her adolescent infatuation had been a private, well-guarded thing.

To hear it spoken of so casually, after all these years, after everything that had transpired... it was profoundly disorienting.

The sheer depth of her long-held, unrequited devotion, laid bare so artlessly, felt like an exposed nerve.

She managed a weak smile. "Did I? It was a great while ago."

The memories, the years of silent pining, the desperate hope that had been the fuel for her disastrous marriage – it all came rushing back, a suffocating tide.

Overwhelmed, Amelia excused herself, murmuring an excuse about needing some air.

She stepped out into the hotel's quiet, dimly lit corridor, leaning against the flocked wallpaper, struggling to draw a breath.

The casual revelation had shaken her more than she had anticipated. It was a reminder of the naive girl she had been, the girl who had willingly stepped into Ethan's gilded cage.

"So, it was true then."

Amelia's head snapped up.

Ethan Caldwell stood at the far end of the corridor. The customary mask of faint, patrician amusement was absent. In its place was an unguarded curiosity, a look of such genuine inquiry it was more disarming than any sneer. He must have been attending a business function in the same hotel.

He had clearly overheard.

"You truly were in love with me, even then," Ethan stated, his voice flat. He began to walk towards her at a deliberate pace. "All those years, all those altercations, your purported 'suffering'... it was never simply about the arranged marriage, was it? You genuinely wanted me."

There was no triumph in his voice, no mockery. Just a strange, almost bewildered inquiry.

Amelia stared at him, her mind racing. This was a complication for which she was unprepared.

She had no desire to re-examine the past, no intention of giving him any further ammunition, any deeper insight into the ruins of her heart.

"It is of no consequence now, Ethan," she said, her voice cool, detached.

She pushed herself from the wall, intending to walk past him, to make her escape.

"It is ancient history. And in a few days, so shall we be."

She tried to brush past him, but he shifted his position, obstructing her path.

"No, wait," Ethan said, his voice possessing a surprising urgency. "I wish to discuss this."

He looked almost... vulnerable. A fleeting expression she had never before witnessed on his features.

"Why did you never simply say it?" he asked, his brow furrowed. "All those years, why the stratagems, the melodrama?"

Amelia nearly laughed at the irony. He was accusing her of games.

"I have nothing further to say to you, Ethan," she said, her voice firm. She sidestepped him and walked quickly towards the exit.

He called after her, "Amelia, wait!"

But she did not stop. She hailed a cab and fled, his confused, frustrated face a lingering image in her mind.