Chris's face turned stormy. "Leave us," he commanded, his voice echoing in the vast living room.

Without another word, he headed upstairs. The icy tension that had gripped the space began to dissipate, but Leila remained where she stood, her expression frozen.

"Ms. Ross, it’s time to go," Zola said, her tone professional but unmistakably distant.

Leila watched Chris’s retreating figure, a flicker of cold calculation in her eyes. She couldn't understand how Amelia, a woman she viewed as a mere shadow from Chris’s past, could still occupy any space in his mind.

The next morning, Amelia arrived at the restaurant with a knot of anxiety in her stomach. To her surprise, there was no termination notice waiting for her. Her coworkers treated her with the same casual indifference as always.

During the morning meeting, Gary announced a prestigious assignment: Lucius’s upcoming birthday gala. All performers were required to spend two hours a day rehearsing a piano and violin duet titled "River of Your Heart." Amelia accepted the news quietly; she was used to her schedule being dictated by others.

As the days passed, the one-month cooling-off period for the divorce was nearing its end. This was the final step toward the freedom she had craved for three years.

[Amelia: I’ll meet you at City Hall tomorrow at 8 AM. Please be punctual.]

She sent three messages to Chris. Each went unread. When she finally tried to call, the phone rang until it timed out. She wasn't blocked, but she was being systematically ignored.

"What is he doing?" Amelia whispered, a sense of dread pooling in her chest.

According to the law, if one party failed to appear at the end of the waiting period, the application would be automatically withdrawn. To push it further, she would have to initiate a long, messy litigation—something she desperately wanted to avoid. She assumed Chris would be just as eager to finalize the split so he could move on with Leila, but his silence was unnerving.

The next morning, Amelia arrived at City Hall before the doors even opened.

Hidden in plain sight across the street, Chris sat in the back of a black Maybach. He watched her through the tinted glass, observing her pacing the steps with an intensity that bordered on frantic. She looked more eager to end the marriage than most couples were to start one, and the sight of it sparked a sharp, inexplicable irritation in him.

When Amelia ran down the steps to scan the arriving cars, Chris signaled his driver to reverse, keeping the vehicle just out of her line of sight.

Her message flashed on his screen: [Chris, it’s noon. Are you really going to break your word?]

He could almost see the fire in her eyes as she typed those words. The submissive, quiet woman he had known for three years was gone, replaced by someone who finally dared to challenge him. He turned off the phone and stared out the window as the hours ticked by.

By the time City Hall closed for the day, the staff gently informed Amelia that her application had been dismissed due to the absence of her spouse.

"He must have changed his mind, dear," one clerk said kindly. "A man doesn't miss a divorce appointment unless he’s realized what he’s losing."

Amelia let out a bitter laugh. He hasn't realized what he's losing; he's just realized how much he enjoys the hunt, she thought.

Just as she reached her car, her phone rang. It was Chris.

"I hear you’ve been looking for me," he said. His voice was strangely smooth, lacking its usual jagged edge.

"Chris, you gave me your word," Amelia snapped, her voice shaking with suppressed fury. "We were supposed to end this today. Use your influence, call whoever you need to call, and finalize the paperwork right now."

There was a pause. "I thought the appointment was scheduled for tomorrow," he said, his tone dripping with a feigned innocence that made her skin crawl.

"You know exactly when it was," she countered, gritting her teeth. "Stop playing games. Tell me when you're going to show up, and I'll be there."

Instead of answering, Chris initiated a video call. Amelia answered immediately, her eyes red from a day of waiting in the cold. "What do you want, Chris?"

Seeing her like this—stubborn, exhausted, and finally showing real emotion—felt strangely refreshing to him. The "Amelia" of the past had been a ghost in his house, someone who lived in the shadows and spoke in whispers. This version of her had a spark that he found impossible to look away from.

"You think you can dictate the terms of our separation?" Chris raised an eyebrow, a smug look crossing his face. "You’re forgeting who holds the power in this arrangement."

"You signed the agreement, Chris. You promised."

"An agreement is just a piece of paper until the law recognizes it," he replied coolly. "Wait for my notice. I’ll decide when we’re finished."

He hung up, leaving Amelia staring at a black screen.

She had no choice but to endure. With Lucius’s gala approaching, she poured her frustration into her music, though her rehearsals were often interrupted by her wandering thoughts. Gary, the restaurant manager, noticed her distraction and pulled her aside twice.

"Amelia, this gala is a massive opportunity. Don't let it slip through your fingers," he urged.

"I understand, Gary. I won't fail," she promised.

Gary gave her an enigmatic look before leaving. "I have high expectations for you, Amelia. Don't disappoint me."

Soon, the final rehearsal arrived. That afternoon, the performance attire was delivered. While the other musicians received elegant but understated black and gold gowns, Amelia opened her garment bag to find something entirely different—a dress that seemed designed to ensure she wouldn't stay in the shadows for long.