Chapter 19
Mrs. Cunningham arrived in a wheelchair, thinner than usual, face pale from her fainting spell at the wedding. The nurses wheeled her into the drawing room, and she waved them off like flies.
I rushed to her side, hands trembling just right, voice shaking like I’d rehearsed it in front of a broken vanity.
“Mum…” I knelt by her chair, holding her hand like a scene from a tragic movie. “Mum, I was humiliated. It was all a setup, it wasn’t real–Amelia planted everything. You know how tech is these days, it was all fake. You believe me, don’t you?”
I made my eyes glassy. I’d always been good at crying on cue.
She looked down at me with that same face she used when I once spilled champagne on a five–figure Persian rug–cold, tight, annoyed.
And then she snapped.
“Do not call me ‘Mother.“” Her voice was sharp as glass. “You destroyed a dynasty over vanity and lies. You think I don’t know what you’ve done?”
I blinked, stunned.
“Mum… what-?”
She pulled a folded piece of paper from her lap blanket and threw it at my face. It fluttered to the floor.
DNA test
“Not even his child,” she spat. “You think you’re clever? You’re just cheap. You stole life from my son for a baby that doesn’t even carry his name.”
I started to cry, for real this time.
“I didn’t know… I didn’t–I thought it was his–I was so confused and scared and-” She cut me off, leaning forward with a predator’s smirk.
“Don’t insult me with your crocodile sobs. You weren’t confused when you staged that dying phone call, were you?” Her eyes narrowed into something vicious. “While that girl- Amelia–bled on marble stairs, you were reading poetry into the phone pretending to pass away like some tragic heroine.”
I backed up. My lip trembled.
That wasn’t supposed to get out. That wasn’t supposed to get out.
“You’re not a victim, Caroline,” she hissed. “You’re the reason we lost everything. You burned it all down, just to stand in the smoke and pretend you were the fire.”
I screamed. “I did it for Favio! We all did it. We did it all for him! That girl was poison–she was-”
She laughed. Actually laughed. A bitter, withering sound. “You’re not even the mistress. You’re a footnote in a scandal.”
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She waved to one of the guards.
“Throw her out.”
I went feral,
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“You ungrateful old witch! I’ve stood by him and you! You and me were same evil and I’ve raised your grandchild, I-”
“That is not my grandchild!” she snapped. “That’s your insurance policy. And now it’s expired.”
The guard grabbed my arm. I screamed again, clawing at the rug.
And then the final blow. The news blared from the nurse’s tablet. I heard my name, and froze.
“New revelations emerge about Caroline Rhodes‘ scandal.”
My face on the screen.
Amelia’s voice from the leaked voicemail-“She told me her baby wasn’t even that sick. That she just wanted to see how far Favio would go. And if he’d be willing to kill my child for her.”
The host looked pale.
Then came the footage–the doctor I bribed, on his knees at Amelia’s feet in front of a clinic.
“Please, Miss Rodrigo, please forgive me–I didn’t mean–she paid me, I only needed the money to support myself-” He sobbed into her heels while security pulled him away.
I felt my knees give out.
The last thing I heard was the nurse turning the volume up and Mrs. Cunningham whispering,
“You wanted to be famous, Caroline. Now the world knows exactly who you are.”
I screamed again, but it didn’t sound like power.
It sounded like ruin.
AMELIA’S POV
I didn’t think standing on that stage would feel like flying. But it did.
The international gala was wall–to–wall velvet and old money. Glittering chandeliers. Camera flashes like popping stars. I stood there under the spotlight–calm, steady, bulletproof–wearing a tailored black suit and a sunflower brooch pinned just above my
heart.
My final love letter to pain.
That brooch… he’d once told me I reminded him of sunflowers. “You keep finding light even in dark soil,” he’d said. That was before he became the reason everything around me went black
Chapter 19
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My speech was about innovation and ethics–ironic, really, considering the ethics of the man who taught me exactly what corruption looked like in designer suits and bloody spreadsheets. The audience hung on every word, and when I finished, they rose to their feet like I’d just solved world peace.
But the real fire came later.
Luther stayed close all night, offering me his arm like was already his. There was something about him–steady, slow–burning. Not trying to own me, just standing close enough for the world to know he saw me. Really saw me.
The press swarmed, flashing bulbs and shouted questions.
“Amelia Rodrigo! What does it feel like to rebuild from ashes?”
“Are you and Luther Castren together?”
“How does it feel being the woman who survived a dynasty and built her own?”
I just smiled and sipped champagne, letting them write whatever story they wanted.
Let them guess. I wasn’t confirming anything. Not tonight.
The next morning, my assistant, Alina, buzzed in with a strange tone.
“Miss Rodrigo… Favio is in the lobby.”
I looked up from my espresso, brows raised.
“Is he now?”
“He’s demanding to see you.”
I turned toward the security monitor and watched the screen.
There he was.
In a suit that looked slept in. Eyes red. Jaw clenched. Standing there like a man who finally realized the gates to heaven were closed for good.
“Block him.”
I returned to my desk, opened a file, sipped my coffee. Alina’s voice buzzed in again, a few minutes later. “He’s still here. Still begging.”
I sighed, set down my cup. “Fine. Let him come up.”
I didn’t do it for him. I did it for closure. And maybe a little bit of cruelty.
He walked in like a shadow dragging itself across the marble. A ghost of a man. No swagger. No charm. Just wreckage wearing a face I used to love.
“Amelia…”
His voice cracked on my name. Like it tasted like regret. I didn’t move from my chair. Just tilted my chin up slightly.
“Mr Cunningham ”
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“Mr. Cunningham.”
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That hit him. A flicker of pain. He stepped closer, then stopped. Like even breathing next to me was dangerous now.
“I–I just need to say something. Please. Just once.”
