Amelia opened the car door, her movements deliberate and calm, ignoring Leila’s piercing gaze. But Leila wasn't finished.

"That boy shares a striking resemblance to you, Ms. White. A bit too much for a coincidence, don’t you think?"

Amelia paused, turning to meet Leila’s eyes with a cool, unbothered stare. "Ms. Ross, if you spent as much time on your rehearsals as you do on these creative fictions, your career might be in a better place."

"Is the boy truly your friend's son?" Chris’s voice cut through the air, low and dangerous. He stepped closer, his shadow falling over Amelia.

Amelia raised an eyebrow, a small, weary smile playing on her lips. "I’ve already introduced him as Sophia’s child. Do I need to provide a notarized family tree for your personal records, Mr. Spencer?"

"Don't test my patience," Chris’s voice turned icy. "His features, his eyes... they remind me of someone."

Amelia’s heart skipped a beat—the fear of exposure was a cold needle in her chest—but she didn't flinch. "He looks like his mother, Sophia. If you’re seeing someone else in a child’s face, perhaps that says more about your own preoccupations than it does about reality."

"His father was from Zephyria," Lucius added, his voice firm and grounding. "Chris, you’re overreaching. Bella has no reason to hide anything from you."

Chris gritted his teeth, his gaze lingering on the car as if he could see through the metal. "I know what I saw," he muttered, though the conviction in his voice wavered under Lucius’s steady presence.

"What exactly is your goal here, Chris?" Amelia asked, her tone softening with a touch of calculated pity. "You have Ms. Ross by your side. Why are you so determined to chase ghosts?"

The question hit Chris harder than a physical blow. He stood silent for a moment, the absurdity of his own fixation momentarily clear to him.

"Let's not delay Ms. White any further, Chris," Leila said, her voice tight with suppressed jealousy. She turned to Amelia. "About the painting for my concert—I’m prepared to pay three times your usual rate. I want the best, and I’m told you’re it."

"If you can meet my fee," Amelia replied, rolling down the window as she settled into the driver’s seat. "Fifteen million dollars. Transfer it by tomorrow, and the piece is yours."

Leila’s expression faltered at the price, but she quickly recovered, clutching Chris’s arm. "If it’s for my art, Chris won’t mind supporting me."

"Whatever it takes," Chris said distractedly, his eyes still tracing the lines of Amelia’s face.

Amelia drove away, the city lights blurring into long streaks of gold. "Are you worried she’ll try something with the painting?" Lucius asked, his expression serious.

"It’s just canvas and oil," Amelia replied, her mind already moving to the scene waiting for her at home.

When she arrived, she found Owen sitting quietly on the sofa. "Owen, come here," she said, her voice stern.

Sophia immediately stood in front of the boy. "Amelia, take a breath. He’s safe."

"Mom, I didn't mean to cause trouble," Owen said, peeking out with a look of genuine remorse. "I just wanted to see him... to see if he was as scary as you said."

Amelia felt the anger drain out of her, replaced by a sharp pang of guilt. "It was dangerous, Owen. You’re in a city where people are looking for any reason to tear us down. You have to be careful."

"I know, Mom. I’m sorry." He walked over and took her hand.

Owen had always been mature for his age, often looking after his younger sister, Olivia, without being asked. It was easy to forget that he was still a child, driven by the same curiosities and needs as any other four-year-old.

"He’s a brave boy, Amelia," Lucius said softly, joining them. "But we’ve taken precautions. His records have been updated; legally, he is Sophia’s son. Not even Chris’s investigators will find a link."

Over the next week, Amelia threw herself into her work. She finished Leila’s commission—a hauntingly lifelike portrait that seemed to capture a depth Leila herself lacked. When Leila came to collect it, she handed Amelia an invitation.

"My concert is next week. Only the inner circle and select media are invited. Chris will be there, of course. I’d love for you to see the painting in its proper setting."

Amelia was prepared to refuse, but the mention of Chris’s attendance changed her mind. It was an opportunity—a chance to observe him in a public setting, to find the cracks in his armor.

"I’ll consider it," Amelia said indifferently.

Leila smirked, crossing her arms. "I still don't know how you’ve managed this act, Bella. To come back after all these years and pretend to be a stranger... it’s impressive."

"I’m not sure what you’re implying, Ms. Ross," Amelia replied, her voice smooth as silk. "But I’ve learned that it’s best not to argue with someone whose reality is so far removed from the truth."

"You’re insufferable!"

"I’m Bella White," Amelia corrected, making a polite gesture toward the door. "And I have work to do."

Leila stormed out, heading straight for the Spencer Group. She waited for hours in Chris’s office until he finally emerged from a meeting.

"Chris, the concert is everything to me," she pleaded, clinging to his arm. "I spent fifteen million on that painting to make sure the buzz is perfect. You have to be there."

Chris looked down at her, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. "I’ll have the funds transferred to your account tonight, Leila. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to finish."