After the punishment, the villa settled into an eerie, unnatural calm.
Christopher's mood visibly improved.
The predatory gaze—the one that made her feel like prey trapped beneath a beast's claws—was gone. For once, he didn't leave at dawn. He stayed.
Morning sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, outlining his tall figure in a faint wash of gold. He sat on the sofa with composed elegance, a financial morning paper resting across his knees. Around his wrist, the black agarwood prayer beads—recently restrung after being scattered across the floor—rolled lazily beneath his fingers.
Not crushed.
Not counted.
Just turned, one by one, with unhurried ease.
Amelie wore his white dress shirt.
It hung loosely on her slender frame, the sleeves long enough to cover her fingertips, the collar slipping slightly off her shoulder. She sat at the dining table, drinking warm congee in small, careful sips.
She didn't dare make a sound.
Didn't dare move unnecessarily.
Over the past few days, she had learned Christopher's temperament well.
When he was pleased, he could give you the world.
When enraged, he could destroy it just as easily.
Last night's "cleansing" had clearly satisfied him.
He had gone over her right hand—the one Dylan Ross had touched—again and again, until there was nothing left but numbness. When he was finished, he had even offered her an evaluation.
"Still smells like me," he'd said softly. "Very nice."
Amelie's fingers curled unconsciously at the memory.
"Come here."
Christopher's voice broke the silence once more.
She was about to make some coffee, but set the spoon down at once and stood, her steps soundless as she crossed the room. She stopped two steps away from him, not daring to get closer.
Christopher lowered the newspaper and looked up.
His gaze lingered on her bare neck for a few seconds before his brow creased almost imperceptibly.
"Too plain," he remarked. "Although I like you in my things, there is something missing."
Then, reaching into the drawer beneath the coffee table, he took out a velvet box.
It was small—no larger than his palm—but unmistakably expensive.
He opened it.
Inside lay a necklace.
The chain was impossibly fine, crafted from platinum. At its center hung a pink diamond, flawlessly cut, refracting the morning light into soft, dazzling shards that made Amelie's breath catch.
Christopher stood and moved behind her.
That familiar, cool cedarwood scent enveloped her again.
Her body tensed instinctively.
"Don't move," he said quietly.
His fingers—cool against her skin—lifted the necklace and draped it around her neck. The chill of metal brushing warm skin sent a faint tremor through her.
He fastened the clasp with deliberate care, his fingertips brushing the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck. The pads of his fingers were rough with a hint of callus, grazing her slowly, intently.
This was… different.
There was no hunger in his touch.
No force.
No urgency.
Just patience.
A strange, unfamiliar gentleness.
Amelie's heartbeat faltered.
From as far back as she could remember, Christopher Hayden had always kept her at arm's length—either distant in the manner of an elder, or overwhelming in the manner of a lover who took without mercy.
This kind of closeness—quiet, unhurried, without an obvious purpose—was new.
For the first time, a dangerous thought surfaced.
Maybe… maybe he does have feelings for me after all.
Once it appeared, it refused to leave.
Perhaps what he'd done to her after interacting with Dylan Ross wasn't only driven by possessiveness.
Perhaps there had been… jealousy.
The idea startled her—and yet, beneath the shame, something fragile and hopeful stirred.
Christopher wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin lightly in the hollow of her shoulder. Together, they looked into the full-length mirror.
In the reflection, the girl wore an oversized man's shirt, her slender neck exposed. The pink diamond rested delicately against her collarbone, making her already pale skin look even whiter.
"Do you like it?" he asked.
"…I do," Amelie replied softly.
"It's yours," he said calmly, as if stating an unquestionable fact.
She lifted a hand and touched the cool diamond with cautious fingertips.
In the mirror, Christopher was watching her.
She suddenly couldn't meet his eyes.
A dizzying, unreal sense of happiness washed over her, so overwhelming it made her lightheaded.
"Thank you… Uncle."
"Mm."
He released her, returned to the sofa, and picked up the newspaper again.
Everything returned to normal.
As though the man who had stood behind her moments ago had never existed.
Amelie lowered her gaze to the necklace resting against her chest.
The fragile hope in her heart grew clearer—and more dangerous—with every second.
If… if things could stay like this, she thought fleetingly, maybe it wouldn't be so unbearable after all.
The idea had barely taken shape when the phone Christopher had casually tossed onto the coffee table suddenly lit up.
A financial news alert flashed across the screen.
The headline was bold, merciless—each word stabbing straight into Amelie's eyes.
[K City's No.1 Socialite Elaine Nolan Arrives Today—Century Alliance with the Hayden Group Expected]
Elaine Nolan.
Amelie had heard that name before.
Christopher Hayden's official fiancée.
The eldest daughter of the Nolan family—perfectly matched in status, background, and ambition to the Haydens.
The warmth drained from Amelie's blood, inch by inch.
Below the headline was a candid airport photo.
The woman in the picture wore a custom-tailored designer suit, her makeup flawless, her posture elegant and self-assured. She lifted a hand toward the cameras with practiced grace, chin held high, pride woven into every line of her expression.
Amelie's gaze, however, froze—not on the woman's face, but on her neck.
There, resting against Elaine's collarbone, was a necklace.
An impossibly fine platinum chain.
And at its center—
A pink diamond.
Identical.
The world inside Amelie's head seemed to explode.
One second, she had been standing on the edge of a fragile heaven.
The next, she was plunged straight into hell.
Her eyes dropped to the diamond resting against her own chest.
Then lifted again—to the one gleaming in the photograph.
The same cut.
The same color.
The same cold, flawless brilliance.
Every tender illusion she had just allowed herself to believe shattered completely.
So much for gentleness.
So much for a gift.
So much for the foolish hope that maybe—just maybe—he cared.
It was all a joke.
Christopher hadn't been in a good mood because he had punished her.
He'd been in a good mood because his real fiancée was returning.
And so, in a moment of indulgence, he had decided to reward his pet—throwing her a toy that matched the original.
Was this a gift?
No.
It was a reminder.
A reminder that she was nothing more than a counterfeit. A substitute. Even the things she was given were replicas—copied from someone else's life.
Amelie's fingers clenched tightly.
The diamond that had felt warm only moments ago now seemed nothing but cold, its sharp edges biting into her skin, constantly reminding her of her own insignificance.
A crushing wave of humiliation swallowed her whole.
She lifted her head and looked toward the man on the sofa.
Christopher sat there calmly, flipping through his newspaper as though nothing in the world could disturb him.
Did he know?
Of course he did.
Perhaps giving her this necklace had been deliberate all along—an act of quiet cruelty, a private amusement.
Just then, a sharp ringtone shattered the oppressive silence in the living room.
It wasn't Christopher's phone.
It was hers.
The new phone he had installed with tracking software only days ago.
The screen showed an unfamiliar number.
Amelie glanced at Christopher. He didn't react, didn't even look up from the page.
After a brief hesitation, she answered.
"Hello?"
There was silence on the other end for a few seconds.
Then a woman's voice came through—sweet and high-pitched, dripping with arrogance and unmistakable scrutiny.
"Hello," the woman said lightly.
"I hear Christopher's been keeping a little plaything to pass the time."
A pause.
"…That would be you, wouldn't it?"