The door closed behind her.
⸻
Not softly.
Not loudly.
Just—
final.
⸻
Amelia didn't move right away.
⸻
The room—
⸻
wasn't how she had left it.
⸻
Her suitcase sat open on the bed.
Clothes folded inside.
Neatly.
Precisely.
⸻
Not by her.
⸻
Her gaze moved slowly across the space.
⸻
The chair had shifted slightly.
The dresser—
too arranged.
Too exact.
⸻
Someone had been in here.
⸻
Not searching.
Not careless.
⸻
Just—
efficient.
⸻
Her jaw tightened.
⸻
Of course.
⸻
Her chest rose once.
Then again.
⸻
Controlled.
⸻
She stepped forward.
⸻
Her heels sank into the carpet just enough to quiet the sound.
⸻
The mirror caught her.
⸻
Champagne silk.
Perfect.
Untouched.
⸻
Her gaze held for a second—
then dropped.
⸻
To her hand.
⸻
The cut had darkened.
A thin line of red, drying unevenly across her palm.
⸻
She walked to the bathroom.
Turned the tap.
⸻
Cold water hit her skin.
Sharp.
Immediate.
⸻
She didn't flinch.
⸻
Just watched as the red thinned.
Faded.
Ran clear.
⸻
Then reached for a towel.
Pressed it against her palm.
Firm.
⸻
Practical.
⸻
No hesitation.
⸻
She wrapped it.
Neatly.
⸻
Like it was nothing.
⸻
The dress came off next.
⸻
Carefully.
Not because she cared—
but because she wasn't careless.
⸻
It slid from her shoulders.
Soft.
Weightless.
⸻
She folded it.
Once.
Placed it aside.
⸻
Deliberate.
⸻
Everything about this place was deliberate.
⸻
Everything about him was.
⸻
Her jaw tightened again.
⸻
No.
⸻
She wasn't doing that.
⸻
She crossed the room.
Closed the suitcase.
⸻
If it was packed—
it stayed that way.
⸻
Her choice now—
was not to undo anything.
⸻
Only to leave.
⸻
She changed.
⸻
Simple.
Clean.
Her own.
⸻
Fabric that felt like hers.
Not chosen for her.
Not placed for her.
⸻
By the time she stepped back—
there was no trace of the night left on her.
⸻
Except—
⸻
her hand.
⸻
She looked at it once more.
⸻
Then lowered it.
⸻
This ends tomorrow.
⸻
The thought came clean.
Final.
⸻
She didn't question it.
⸻
—
⸻
Morning came without warning.
⸻
Amelia was already awake.
⸻
Dressed.
Composed.
⸻
The kind of composed that didn't leave room for anything else.
⸻
Her hair was pulled back neatly.
Her uniform—
precise.
Untouched.
⸻
The bandage on her palm—
subtle.
Hidden.
⸻
There was nothing out of place.
⸻
Nothing to question.
⸻
She checked the time once.
⸻
Then moved.
⸻
No hesitation.
No delay.
⸻
The car was already waiting.
⸻
Of course it was.
⸻
She didn't look at the driver.
⸻
Didn't acknowledge the door being opened.
⸻
She got in.
⸻
The interior was quiet.
⸻
Controlled.
⸻
The kind of silence that didn't belong to her.
⸻
She didn't fill it.
⸻
Didn't break it.
⸻
She just sat.
⸻
Still.
⸻
—
⸻
The private lounge was quiet.
⸻
Low lighting.
Muted tones.
Soft leather.
⸻
Everything arranged to feel effortless—
and controlled.
⸻
Amelia stepped in.
Paused only long enough to take it in—
⸻
then moved.
⸻
She chose a seat near the window.
⸻
Sat.
⸻
Crossed her legs.
⸻
Still.
⸻
Her hands rested lightly in her lap.
⸻
The bandage barely visible.
⸻
A staff member approached.
Offered water.
⸻
She nodded once.
⸻
Nothing more.
⸻
No smile.
No thanks.
⸻
Just acknowledgment.
⸻
Time passed.
⸻
Measured in stillness.
⸻
Then—
⸻
he walked in.
⸻
Marco didn't announce himself.
⸻
He didn't need to.
⸻
The shift in the room happened anyway.
⸻
Subtle.
Immediate.
⸻
Staff straightened slightly.
Movement adjusted.
⸻
Not obvious.
⸻
But there.
⸻
He moved through the space like it belonged to him.
⸻
Because it did.
⸻
Amelia didn't look up.
⸻
Not once.
⸻
He noticed.
⸻
Of course he did.
⸻
He took a seat across from her.
⸻
Not close.
Not far.
⸻
Deliberate.
⸻
His gaze moved once—
to her hand.
⸻
The bandage.
⸻
Then back to her face.
⸻
"You should have had that cleaned properly."
⸻
His voice was calm.
Level.
⸻
Amelia didn't respond.
⸻
Didn't look at him.
⸻
Didn't move.
⸻
Silence settled.
⸻
Not empty.
⸻
Held.
⸻
He watched her for a moment longer.
⸻
The stillness.
The control.
⸻
Different.
⸻
"You're not working today."
⸻
Nothing.
⸻
Not even a glance.
⸻
Her fingers adjusted slightly in her lap.
⸻
That was all.
⸻
Marco leaned back.
⸻
Slow.
⸻
His gaze didn't leave her.
⸻
Not once.
⸻
She felt it.
⸻
Didn't acknowledge it.
⸻
Didn't give him that.
⸻
Another pause.
⸻
Longer this time.
⸻
Then—
⸻
"We're boarding."
⸻
He stood.
⸻
No emphasis.
No expectation.
⸻
Just—
stated.
⸻
Amelia rose.
⸻
Smooth.
⸻
Composed.
⸻
She walked past him.
⸻
Close enough to feel it—
⸻
but not close enough to touch.
⸻
Not once.
⸻
And still—
⸻
she didn't look at him.
⸻
Not even for a second.
⸻
—
⸻
For the first time—
⸻
he noticed.
⸻
She hadn't looked at him at all.
⸻
Not once.
⸻
And that—
⸻
was new.