Chapter 4

Amelia never once looked at Edmund. As the dog devoured her father's ashes, her nails dug into the floor, tearing it up without seeming to notice.

Edmund caught sight of this, a fleeting worry crossing his eyes.

Rosalyn noticed and shoved his hand away. "Today's the auction for that pink diamond. I have to have it. Are you taking Amelia to the hospital, or coming with me to the auction? Choose carefully. I'm never anyone's second choice."

Edmund's gaze left Amelia. He smiled and pulled Rosalyn into his arms.

"Of course your business comes first. As for Amelia, a little lesson won't kill her," he replied.

Rosalyn's smile grew smug, but she feigned concern. "What if Amelia tries to bid on the diamond? She's the Hopewell heiress now."

Edmund frowned, his scrutinizing eyes falling on Amelia's disheveled form, his tone carrying a warning. "Amelia, don't think you can use your status to take anything from Rosalyn. You don't have an ounce of an heiress's grace. Even if you wore that diamond, it'd only look tacky. Only Rosalyn is worthy of it."

Amelia didn't look at him or respond. Her hollow gaze fixed on the dog that had eaten her father's ashes, lost in thought.

Edmund, irritated, tossed a handkerchief from his pocket in front of her.

"Wrap your wound so it doesn't scare Rosalyn," he said. "Your father's gone. No one's left to indulge your whims or clean up your messes. Rosalyn's been through far worse than you, yet she's never bowed once. You're not even half the woman she is."

Edmund left with his entourage, sealing every exit of the house behind him.

Before leaving, Rosalyn insisted on leaving the dog.

"Amelia, your father's ashes are in that dog's stomach now, so it's practically your father. I'd hate for you to be lonely, so I'll let it keep you company," she sneered.

The dog, a trained hunter bred by Rosalyn's orders, was provoked by the room's bloody scent.

As it stalked closer, the gravely injured Amelia dragged herself backward.

The dog lunged, tearing a chunk of flesh from her shoulder.

As it prepared to strike again, its body stiffened and collapsed.

Amelia, gripping a fruit knife, stabbed it twice more. Only when the dog stopped breathing did she release the blade. She struggled to find the first-aid kit and bandaged her wound.

From start to finish, she showed no panic, her calm almost unnerving.

Such events were routine for Amelia. During her years wandering foreign lands, if she'd been a naive heiress, she wouldn't have survived.

Her time with the Hopewells had been a rare chance to relax, body and soul.

Her father's love had warmed her, letting her feel cared for, so she hid her true self.

She was never the fragile flower Edmund thought her to be.