Amelia collapsed onto her bed, but sleep remained a distant hope. The events of the evening felt like a physical weight on her chest, each breath a struggle against the suffocating atmosphere of the Spencer mansion. She stared at her phone, her eyes tracing over photographs until her resolve hardened. She had a goal, and she wouldn't let Chris Spencer’s volatility derail her.

Suddenly, a frantic knocking shattered the silence.

"Ms. White! Please!" the maid’s voice was thin with panic.

Amelia threw open the door. "What is it?"

"Mr. Victor... it’s a heart attack. The doctors are away, and the house is empty. We need to get him to the hospital now!"

Amelia didn't hesitate. "Get him into the car. I’ll drive."

She had learned to drive under the tutelage of Shawn, a former professional racer. While she hadn't mastered his most dangerous maneuvers, her precision behind the wheel was superior to most. In less than fifteen minutes, the car screeched to a halt at the emergency entrance.

As Victor was rushed inside, Amelia called Chris. He had only just left; he couldn't be far. To her frustration, Leila Ross answered the phone.

"What do you want, Bella? It’s after midnight," Leila snapped, her tone dripping with annoyance.

"Put Chris on. It’s an emergency. If you delay this, the consequences will be on your head."

There was a pause. Leila must have recognized the cold authority in Amelia’s voice. "He’s... occupied. He had a few drinks and passed out."

"Address. Now," Amelia commanded.

The club was nearby. When Amelia burst into the private suite, she found a scene of disarray. Chris was slumped on the leather sofa, a half-empty bottle in his hand, while Leila was hovering over him with a damp cloth.

Amelia didn't waste a second. She grabbed a glass of ice water from the table and threw it directly onto Chris’s face.

"What the—! Are you insane?" Leila shrieked, jumping back.

Chris gasped, the cold shock snapping his eyes open. He wiped the water from his brow, his gaze settling on Amelia with a mixture of fury and confusion.

"Your grandfather is in the ER, and you’re here drowning your sorrows," Amelia said, her words like whipcracks. "Get up. Now."

The alcohol-induced fog in Chris’s eyes cleared instantly. "What happened?"

"A heart attack. I’ve done what I can, but you’re his next of kin. He needs you."

Chris stood up, nearly knocking Leila over in his haste. He reached for Amelia’s arm, his grip firm but no longer the aggressive yank from before. "Let’s go."

The drive back was silent and tense. In the rearview mirror, Amelia saw Chris leaning back, his eyes closed. He looked exhausted, the weight of his recent injuries and his self-destructive behavior finally catching up to him.

"I’ve already checked him in," Amelia said, her voice steady. "But I can’t sign the consent forms. You need to be sober enough to handle the paperwork."

Chris opened his eyes and stared at her profile. "You’re remarkably calm, Amelia. Or should I call you Bella? You seem more worried about him than a stranger should be."

Amelia ignored the bait, keeping her eyes on the road.

At the hospital, the wait was agonizing. Leila arrived shortly after, her face a mask of performative concern. She spotted Amelia sitting on a bench, focused intently on her phone.

"Really, Ms. White? Grandpa is in surgery, and you’re scrolling through your feed?" Leila sneered. "How heartless can you be?"

Amelia didn't look up. She was busy researching post-operative care and cardiac diets, her mind already planning Victor’s recovery.

"I’m talking to you!" Leila reached out and swiped the phone from Amelia’s hand, tossing it onto the floor. "Show some respect."

"Be quiet, Leila," Amelia said, her voice dropping to a dangerous level. "I am doing more for him in this moment than your dramatics ever will."

As Amelia reached for her phone, Chris intercepted it. He glanced at the screen, seeing the search results for 'heart stent recovery' and 'low-sodium recipes.' A complex flash of guilt and recognition crossed his face.

He handed the phone back to her, his fingers brushing hers. "She’s right, Leila. Let her be."

"Both of you are exhausting," Amelia muttered, moving to a different bench, as far away from them as possible.

When the surgeon finally emerged, he confirmed that Victor needed an immediate stent for a blocked artery. Amelia stepped forward, but the doctor looked past her. "Are you family?"

Amelia bit her lip. "I... no."

"I’m his grandson," Chris said, stepping into the light. He took the pen and signed the documents, his hand steady despite the lingering effects of the alcohol.

They stayed through the night. As dawn broke, Amelia called Lucius to update him.

"We have it under control, Lucius," Chris interrupted, leaning over and hanging up the call before Amelia could finish.

"What is wrong with you?" Amelia glared at him. "He deserves to know."

Before Chris could respond, the doors opened and Victor was wheeled out. He was pale but conscious. Amelia rushed to his side, taking his hand. Tears she had held back all night finally spilled over.

"Mr. Victor... thank God," she whispered.

Victor forced a weak smile. "Don't cry, child. I’m not going anywhere yet."

Leila pushed forward, dabbing at her dry eyes. "Grandpa, we were so worried! I’ll stay here and look after you."

Victor waved a hand dismissively. "Go home, both of you. You look like ghosts. Amelia will stay for a while."

Leila’s face twisted in a brief flash of anger, but she forced a nod. "Of course, Grandpa. Whatever you need."

As Chris and Leila turned to leave, Chris looked back at Amelia one last time. She was still holding Victor’s hand, her silhouette framed by the rising sun. For the first time, he didn't see an enemy or a ghost—he saw the woman he had spent three years ignoring, and the realization was more painful than any injury.