Chapter 29
29
Amelia
I wake up in Gage’s arms the morning after James ripped my soul apart and try to remember what steady feels like, but everything inside me still feels scrambled. My body is here, safe and warm against his, but the rest of me is somewhere else. My thoughts won’t settle. My heart keeps kicking like it’s waiting for another blow. And no matter how tightly Gage holds me, I can’t seem to shake the feeling that something inside me cracked wide open yesterday and hasn’t closed yet.
I’ve untangled most of the bullshit he tried to spin—the gaslighting, the insults, the way he made me feel small on purpose. I see it for what it was now. But what’s still crawling under my skin is the threat he left behind. The quiet, calculated promise that he’ll take Sarah if I don’t prove I’m a good enough mother. That’s the part I can’t shake. Not because I believe him about being a bad mother, but because I know what a man like James is capable of when he wants control—and because I’ve seen the courts get it wrong before.
The girls aren’t here this morning, which is good. It gives me the space to breathe and think before the meetings I have for work today.
Gage reaches for my hand when I try to leave the bed. He pulls me back to him, into his arms, and takes a moment looking at me.
“If you’re determining damage, I’m okay,” I say.
“Determining damage?” He’s amused. “Where do you get these words from?”
“It’s what you do.”
The amusement fades from his eyes, and he turns serious. “I handle threats, Amelia. Manage situations. Lock shit down when it gets ugly.” His hand slides to my jaw. “But this? This isn’t damage control. This is me checking on my woman.”
I nod, offering him a faint smile I’m not sure quite reaches. I want to sink into this—into him—but there’s too much noise in my head. Too much leftover static from yesterday.
I push gently against his chest. “I’m good. But I’ve got a big day, so I need to get up.” It’s not a lie, but it’s not the whole truth either. I’m not pulling away from Gage. I just need to find myself again before I reach for him.
As I walk into the bathroom, I can feel his gaze follow me—heavy, protective, laced with the kind of quiet intensity that says he won’t rest until I’m steady again. And God, I wish I could give him more. I wish I had it in me this morning. But I don’t.
When I return from my shower, he’s gone from the bedroom. I dress, pull my hair up, apply a little makeup, and make my way to the kitchen.
Gage is at the breakfast bar, coffee and laptop in front of him. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t crowd me. Just gives me the space he knows I need. Because if there’s one thing this man is exceptional at, it’s reading people. And not just seeing what they need, but giving it. Quietly. Consistently. Like it’s instinct.
And even though I can’t soften into that right now, I feel it. I see it. And part of me is already aching for the moment I can meet him there again.
I take my coffee and slide onto the stool next to him instead of retreating to the dining table. It’s not much, but it feels like something. A choice not to pull away entirely. A way to say I’m still here, even if I don’t have much to give right now.
“Did you sleep?” I ask because he’s been fighting insomnia.
“A little,” he says, without looking up from his screen.
I wrap both hands around my mug, focus on it and the warmth seeping into my palms as I ask, “Have you got a busy day today?”
His fingers still on the keyboard, but he doesn’t answer right away.
Then he says, “Princess.”
It’s just one word. But the way he says it cuts through all the noise in my head. His tone is softer, lower, slower, and it feels like he’s speaking to the part of me I’ve been trying to hold together. It reminds me that he sees straight through me.
I glance over, and he’s watching me now, focused but not intense. Calm. Anchoring.
“We don’t have to play the polite game. I’m here. However you need. If that’s space, take it. If it’s quiet, I’ll give it to you. But don’t pretend. Not with me.”
I release a breath.
“Thank you.” I reach across and curve my hand gently over his forearm, leaving it there for a moment while I just watch him.
Then, I let him go, and he turns his attention back to his computer. What he’s really doing though is giving me space without letting me feel alone.
We stay together at the breakfast bar for half an hour. Gage works on his computer, and I do some work admin on my phone, replying to emails. My first meeting isn’t until ten, but I need to run some errands first, so when it’s eight, I stand to go into the bedroom and collect my purse.
Stepping close to Gage, I place my hand on his back, gliding it across a little, suddenly needing that contact. His scent, too. It’s been here all this time, but now, it’s what I need. “I’m sorry I’m not myself this morning,” I murmur.
His arm circles around me. Immediately. And his eyes come to mine. “You never have to say sorry to me. Not for taking what you need.”
I bring a hand to his jaw and rest it there for a moment before nodding and saying, “I’m just gonna grab my purse, and then I have to go.”
“Do you need the car?”
“No. I’m going to brave that humidity you hate so much.” Thinking about just how much Gage complains about it, I smile. “Honestly, how are you into so much outdoor sport when you barely survive walking around Manhattan in summer?”
“You try wearing a fucking suit in the humidity, see how much you like it,” he grumbles.
“Maybe you should ditch the clothes. I don’t think you’d get too many complaints.”
“Fuck,” he growls before reaching out and dragging me in close, one arm tight around me, one hand to my jaw, eyes burning with heat. “I know you need space today, but I need one kiss before you go.”
The second he says that, I feel it.
That pull to him.
It’s not just physical. It’s so much more than that, but god, the need for physical connection we both feel is stronger than anything I’ve ever known.
We haven’t had sex this morning. Haven’t even really touched. It’s the first time in three months that we’ve woken up together and not torn each other apart before breakfast.
And now he’s asking for one kiss.
Not taking.
Not demanding.
Just asking.
My body instinctually presses into him as I bring a hand to his face and kiss him. It’s slow. And I feel Gage trying to keep it that way. It’s in the way his arm tightens just a little bit more around me, the way his fingers tighten a fraction on my jaw, and the way his mouth moves with mine, letting me take the lead. It feels like he’s kissing me soft when his whole body’s begging him not to.
I deepen the kiss without meaning to—just a shift of my mouth, a tilt of my head—but it changes everything. Heat licks at the edges. The kind we never seem to escape.
His hand fists in the back of my shirt, and for a second, I think he’s going to say fuck it to every promise of space and take me right here on the hardwood.
But then he breaks the kiss with a low groan and presses his forehead to mine.
“We’re gonna burn if we keep doing that,” he mutters.
“I know,” I whisper, still catching my breath. “But I needed it.”
His thumb grazes my lip. “Me too.”
Then he lets me go and I head into his bedroom to retrieve my purse. A text comes through from Kristen while I’m in there, so I take a second to reply.
Kristen:
Amelia! I am on my knees begging you to reconsider the gala. The pianist I lined up has pulled out at the last minute. I’m not even asking for a speech anymore. Just play one piece.
Me:
OMG I have someone for you! She’s a pianist looking for more exposure, and she’s brilliant. I’ll send through her details.
Me:
I’m sorry I’m letting you down, but honestly, you’ll thank me for it because performing on stage gives me stress rashes, and no one wants to see that.
Kristen:
No, don’t apologize! I shouldn’t have begged you again. Not when I know how you feel about performing on stage. Thank you for finding me someone else xx
I’m about to send through the details I promised when a text from James arrives, and god help me, I want to ignore it, but I can’t. Not since he’s the father of my daughter and this could actually just be something about her.
James:
Let me guess, you ran to him after I came over yesterday. Probably had to get on your knees and suck his cock before he’d wipe your tears.
I freeze.
James has never sent me something like this. It feels unhinged.
With shaking hands, I tap out a reply.
Me:
Don’t ever send me filth like that again.
James:
Sweetheart, we all know what kind of filth you like now. And it’s the kind that’s going to make you lose custody of Sarah. You should have thought of that before you decided to fuck him.
Ice cold fear slides down my spine, just like it did yesterday when he came to my home uninvited. My fingers go numb around my phone, the screen blurring slightly as my chest squeezes. It’s not just that those words came from him. Something in him has snapped, and I can’t predict what he’ll do next.
I try to calm my breathing, but it turns shallow and uneven. My stomach churns. I haven’t really slept. Barely eaten. I’m running on adrenaline and frayed nerves from yesterday, and these messages send a jolt of fresh panic through my system.
I fight the rising urge to cry, or scream, to throw my phone across the room. But mostly, I fight the spiral. Because I know how fast it comes. How fast fear becomes worst-case scenarios. How fast anxiety becomes certainty.
Dragging in a shaky breath, I force my feet to move. I need fresh air, and I need to ignore these texts.
I press a hand to my stomach as I walk, trying to think about anything but James.
As I near the kitchen, I hear a woman’s voice, and then Gage’s.
Shayla.
And whatever they’re discussing, it doesn’t sound good.
Her voice is sharp. Elevated.
Gage’s is low and clipped. But rising.
When I round the corner into the kitchen, I walk into a standoff.
Gage is facing Shayla, but he’s angled just enough that when I enter, his eyes flick to me. Only for a second. It’s like he registers me, but the fury is louder than everything else.
His posture is locked tight, shoulders coiled, every inch of him readying for impact. The edge in his voice is the same one I heard last week when he fought with her on the phone. Sharp. Controlled. But barely.
Shayla’s gaze catches mine briefly, but she goes right back to Gage.
“I’m just saying I need us to go over our agreement and make some changes.”
“Because you’re going to be in LA more,” he grates. “Have I got that right?”
“Maybe,” Shayla says, and I recognize that look in her eyes. That’s the way a woman looks when she’s trying to speak about something important to her while doubtful it’s going to be heard how she needs it to be.
“Jesus Christ, Shayla. Maybe? You either are or you aren’t. Which one is it?”
Shayla pushes her shoulders back defiantly. “Don’t snap at me, Gage.”
Gage plants his hands on his hips and inhales hard. “I’m trying not to snap, but you’re not actually saying anything. You came in and started on about your work and needing to be in LA for it. Then you said something about needing to be there to support Michael. Then you said you need to be here for Luna.” He takes another centering breath, drops his hands to his sides. “I’m just wondering how the hell you can be in two places at once. Give me something useful to work with here.”
“I know I can’t be in two places at once. I’m not stupid. I just...I just need to figure this all out. How we can make it work with Luna, and how I can make it work with Michael.”
“And packing Luna up and moving her to LA is the answer, right?” he bites out.
Shayla’s chin wobbles for half a second before she swallows it down. “I don’t know, Gage.” Her face twists with confusion. “Maybe.” Then, her voice cracks when she says, “I think so.”
That admission tips Gage over the edge. His entire body goes rigid and the air in the room turns flammable as he says, “Right. So you are moving to LA.” He pauses and it feels like he’s only seconds away from detonation. “And you lied to me about that last week.”
Shayla stands so still I wonder if she’s even drawing breath. And god, I know that posture. I’ve lived it. It’s not fear of harm—it’s the bracing for what he’ll say next, knowing it won’t hit skin, but heart.
A flush crawls up her neck and I watch as she slaps her armor on and goes to battle for herself.
Eyes like polished steel, she tilts her chin at him. “I didn’t lie, but sure, go ahead, twist my words.” Her tone is diamond-sharp.
“You told me I was reading too much into things,” he says, angrily. “A person doesn’t just decide in one week to make a life-changing decision, so yeah, you didn’t give me the truth.”
“Have you ever thought that maybe not everyone’s like you, Gage? That maybe some of us can make a decision in a week?”
“ Fuck .” He rubs the back of his neck. “Can we just have a productive conversation, Shayla? For fucking once.”
“Yes, because you just need facts so you can manage a situation,” she spits. “Like humans are situations, which we aren’t . But you never listened to me whenever I told you that, so I doubt you’ll listen now.” She stares at him with bitterness. “At least Michael doesn’t tally up every flaw like a fucking scorecard.” Her voice breaks slightly when she adds, “He doesn’t treat me like something broken he regrets choosing.”
Her words hang there, heavy and split open.
But Gage doesn’t respond to them. He just steamrolls right past them, like they were noise, not meaning.
He reaches for the back of the chair he’s standing near, gripping it hard. His knuckles go pale, arm locked like he’s holding back from throwing the whole damn thing. “Luna’s not moving to LA.” He slams that down between them like a verdict, each word clipped and final, and I feel it hit my body like a whipcrack.
Shayla jolts. So do I.
“You are not uprooting our daughter on a whim just so you can chase your boyfriend to another city.”
“On a whim ?” she practically screeches. “You are such a fucking asshole. I tried so hard to be everything for you. But I was never good enough.” She stops hurling her hurt for a second to catch her breath. “I’m not chasing my boyfriend . I’m following the man I’m marrying.”
Gage doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink.
“You are not taking Luna with you,” he says, so low, so lethal his words feel like a blade.
I recoil at his tone.
It’s the tone I used to hear in another man’s voice. The one that always meant: this is not a decision you’re having any say in.
Shayla draws her entire body up like it’s a fortress. “I’m her mother, Gage. And in case you forgot, courts like mothers. Especially when the father works too much to spend the kind of time with them that’s in their best interest. I work from home. I’ll have a husband to provide Luna a family. Let’s see who they choose.”
Gage’s jaw grinds so hard it looks like he’s chewing gravel. His eyes don’t darken. They flatline. Cold. Razor-sharp. No mercy. His spine straightens tight. One hand clenches at his side. And his chest expands like he’s about to roar, but what comes out is quieter. And far more dangerous.
“You think a court will choose you over me? Try me. I’ve got lawyers, the money, and the fucking proof that you haven’t honored our agreement.” His voice doesn’t rise, it cuts. “Let’s see how far your new husband’s willing to go when I drag this through the court. Because I promise you, Shayla, I won’t stop until I win.”
My heart slams against my ribs.
My nervous system doesn’t know whether to run or shut down, so it just holds , every cell locked in limbo.
My breath stops like I’ve swallowed glass.
Every hair on my arms stands to attention as my body reacts to a threat I can’t see but can definitely feel.
Because I’ve heard that before, felt this exact pressure.
Not from Gage.
From James.
The weapon that’s wielded beneath the words. The one that says the courtroom’s already his, the system favors him, that he’s got the power and I’m just lucky to speak.
And the voice that didn’t raise to yell but sank to something worse. The one that made decisions for me and told me they were facts. That left no room for argument.
You don’t get a say.
That’s what it always meant.
And standing here now, listening to Gage say I won’t stop until I win , something inside me buckles.
I blink fast. Swallow hard. Try to ground myself in the facts I know.
Gage isn’t James.
He’s not.
He’s never made me feel small.
He’s never used my past against me.
He holds me. He lets me be .
But God, this?
This tone. This moment.
The threat of power. Of money. Of winning at all costs .
It sends panic shooting through my veins.
My hand trembles slightly as I grip my purse. I step back, just half a pace, but it feels like a mile.
Because I don’t know who this man is right now.
And I can’t un-hear what he just said.
Shayla’s storming out when I find my way back to the fallout. Gage doesn’t move. His body’s still locked in the same battle stance, his chest rising and falling hard.
The room holds its breath. Even the shadows seem to shrink back. And while silence blankets us, the air is loaded, thick with static that crackles in your bones.
Then, slowly, Gage turns. Stiffly. Like his body hasn’t registered the fight is over. His eyes land on me and shock flares in them. Because, yeah, his fury burned so hot he forgot I was even here to see it.
Neither of us speak straight away. I think we’re both still reeling from the blast.
Then, I say quietly, “I didn’t think you wanted to fight Shayla in court.”
His whole body tenses again. “Fuck.” He drags his hand through his hair roughly. “I don’t. But she made it pretty fucking clear that’s what she wants.”
I shake my head. “No. I don’t think that’s what she wants.”
He snaps his gaze to mine. Hard. “She just told me to see who the courts choose, Amelia. How the fuck else am I meant to take that?”
“She was fighting for herself, Gage. Because you weren’t listening.”
His jaw flexes. “I heard every goddamn word she just said.” He takes a step closer. Not aggressively. Defensively. Fierce. “And yeah, you’re right. She was fighting for herself. Not Luna. She wants her life in LA, her man, her image. She doesn’t give a fuck what that does to her daughter.”
The heat in his voice isn’t aimed at Shayla anymore.
It’s aimed at me.
And it hits like a slap.
“Yes, you heard, but you didn’t listen,” I say, the sting still blooming under my skin. “There’s a difference between hearing and listening. I saw a woman trying to hold it together in front of a man who stopped listening the second she didn’t say what he wanted to hear.”
“I didn’t stop listening. I stopped trying to translate the bullshit into something that made sense.”
My heart pounds hard against my ribs, too fast and uneven, trying to outrun the tension in a room that feels too small for both our truths.
Everything in me is on edge.
My nervous system screams go , but I don’t.
I’ve been here before.
Trying to reach someone who only hears what they’ve already decided is true. Trying to speak a language a man refuses to learn. And I’m done swallowing the damage just because he doesn’t know the words.
I’m tired of women being the ones who bend, who explain, who shrink their truth to make it easier to digest.
“You heard a woman trying to manipulate you. I saw one trying to protect herself the only way she knew how. And yeah, I don’t think she went about it the right way, but we all act out our wounds in different ways, Gage.” I pause. “She said she was never enough for you. That she felt more like a crisis to manage than a person to love. And maybe you didn’t mean to make her feel that small, but that doesn’t mean she was wrong to feel it.”
I take a step back.
Then another.
And even though this is my choice, I feel the ache of it unfold between us.
Gage registers both steps like a hit to the chest.
“You’re leaving?” he asks, voice lower now. Strained.
“I have a meeting.”
“Fuck.” He drags a hand down his face, regret already chasing his temper away. “I don’t want to leave it like this.”
“I have to go.”
“Amelia.”
He tries to reach for me, but I shift just out of range, my body already closing in on itself.
“No.” My voice is soft. Final. “I need a minute, Gage.”
“What kind of minute?” His eyes are searching now. Less fury, more fear.
I hold his gaze for a beat that hurts more than it should. “I don’t know. I just need some space.”
And then I’m gone.