Chapter 5 The Quiet Between Heartbeats

Amelia sat on the edge of the bathtub, the cool porcelain pressing against her thighs, her hands trembling as she stared at the thin plastic stick in her palm. The silence around her was deafening, interrupted only by the slow drip of a leaking faucet.

Two pink lines.

She blinked once. Then again.

But they didn't change.

Two. Bold. Unforgiving.

Her throat tightened. She couldn't breathe.

Her body felt foreign, like she'd just been handed someone else's life, someone else's fate. This wasn't part of the plan. This wasn't supposed to happen. Especially not now.

Especially not his child.

She clutched her stomach instinctively, almost protectively. A sob caught in her throat, but she swallowed it back. Crying wouldn't change anything.

She stared blankly at the stick for what felt like hours before setting it gently on the counter. The bathroom light above flickered, casting a dim, almost cinematic hue on the pale tiles.

She felt like a ghost in her own body.

And then the memories began to flicker in, slow and uninvited, like a movie reel unraveling behind her eyes.

Eight Weeks Ago

Amelia had barely made it to the lift on her first accidental day as Alexander Langford's assistant. She had been running on nerves and caffeine, faking confidence with every click of her heels. She'd lied, not maliciously, just desperately.

She needed the money. She needed the chance.

She hadn't expected him to walk into the glass office with that voice, that presence dark suit, darker eyes, and the kind of control that made the air shift around him.

He had looked at her like he could see straight through the lie, but chose not to say anything.

"Coffee?" he'd asked.

She'd nodded. "Black?"

He smirked. "Correct. Impressive."

And that was it the beginning of everything.

Six Weeks Ago

He had started noticing her.

Little things, like when she brought him his schedule early, or reminded him to eat between meetings. At first, he was just polite. Cordial. Distant.

But one evening, the office had been unusually quiet. A late investor call, a missed dinner, a power outage on their floor. They were the only two left. Amelia had been searching for a flashlight in the supply closet when she dropped a whole box of pens and files on the floor.

"Need help?" he asked from the doorway.

She spun around, cheeks flushed. No, I I've got it.

He crouched beside her anyway, picking up pens one by one. Their hands brushed. Electricity. The good kind.

"I never asked, how did you come to work here?" he'd said, looking at her curiously.

She froze. Her heart thudded.

"I was filling in. Someone called in sick."

He paused, eyeing her. "But you stayed."

"I guess I just stayed useful," she whispered.

He studied her then, really studied her. "You're more than useful, Amelia."

That was the first time he'd said her name like it meant something.

Five Weeks Ago

It started with the late-night meetings. Then walks down to the car together. Then laughter. He wasn't the cold, unreachable billionaire the tabloids painted. He was thoughtful, sometimes quiet, sometimes intense. He asked about her dreams. Her favorite food. Her first heartbreak.

He remembered things.

"Your favorite color is burnt orange," he once said casually. "You said it reminds you of sunsets over broken places."

She had blinked at him, surprised.

"I listen," he'd added, with a half-smile.

And that's when she started falling. Slowly. Silently. Stupidly.

Four Weeks Ago

The kiss wasn't planned.

They were in his office, another long night. She'd spilled water on a document and started apologizing frantically, flustered. He reached for her hand.

"You don't have to keep proving yourself, Amelia," he murmured.

"I'm not " she started, but the words stuck in her throat.

He stepped closer. "You're enough. You always were."

And then, he kissed her.

Soft. Certain. Like he meant it. Like the world didn't exist outside those four walls.

She kissed him back.

Later that night, it was more than just a kiss. They ended up at his penthouse, two people who had pretended not to need anyone, finally giving in. He was gentle. Honest. She felt safe. Wanted.

It hadn't been about power or lust. It had been something fragile, real. They fell asleep with her head on his chest, his fingers tracing circles into her spine.

Two Weeks Ago

Everything changed.

Amelia walked into the office, coffee in hand, cheeks flushed from the cold, and saw the press release flashing on the lobby screen.

Langdord's Heir to Marry Lady Isabella Wycliffe.

Her heart had dropped. Just like that. No explanation. No goodbye.

Later that day, she'd confronted him, hoping, praying it was a misunderstanding.

"It's complicated," he had said quietly, not meeting her eyes. "You weren't supposed to matter."

The words had cut deeper than anything else.

So she walked out. Not just of the office, but of whatever they had built.

Present Day

The stick still sat on the counter like a verdict.

Amelia stood, legs shaky, and walked into her bedroom, the flat silent and gray with morning. She sat on the edge of her bed, hand to her stomach.

She wasn't just heartbroken. She was pregnant.

With the child of a man who had turned her into a secret, then walked away without hesitation.

The child of a man marrying someone else.

She buried her face in her hands. For a long time, she just sat there, breathing. Trying to steady herself.

And then a strange calm settled over her.

Not peace. Not yet.

But clarity.

She opened her wardrobe and pulled out a suitcase.

She didn't know exactly where she would go maybe out of London, maybe to the seaside where no one knew her name but she knew one thing

She wouldn't go back.

She wouldn't beg.

She wouldn't tell Alexander Langford a thing.

That evening, as the sun dipped below the rooftops, Amelia stood by her window and watched the lights of the city flicker on one by one. Somewhere across town, Alexander was probably sitting in a suit, at a long table, beside Lady Isabella Wycliffe, preparing for a future she'd never be part of.

She placed her hand gently on her belly.

"I don't know what we're doing," she whispered. "But I promise you, I won't let them hurt us."

She turned, zipped up her bag, and took one last look at the room that had held her heartbreak.

Then she walked out into a world that would never be the same again.