Chris let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. "Using me as a tool? You really think it’s that easy to shake me off?" He sat down, his gaze fixed on her with a persistence that Amelia found increasingly hard to ignore.

"So? What’s your point?" she asked, her voice tight.

"My offer still stands," Chris said, his tone dropping to a serious, resonant level. "The situation with Lucius is escalating. You’ve crossed a line with him, and he isn't a man who overlooks betrayal. Stay with me, and I’ll ensure no one touches you."

"I’m not interested in your protection," Amelia replied, though she sank back into the sofa, looking utterly drained.

Chris stood up and stepped toward her, his presence closing the distance between them until the air felt thin. "Well, I’m interested in you. And right now, that’s what matters."

"You’re relentless," Amelia muttered, her eyes flashing with a mix of exhaustion and a bitter, lingering spark of something she couldn't quite name.

He reached out, his hand resting briefly on her forehead. "Your fever has broken. You’re stronger than you look, but you’re still pushing yourself too hard."

The atmosphere in the room shifted, the lingering resentment between them transforming into a heavy, undeniable tension. Chris leaned in, his shadow enveloping her. Amelia tried to maintain her wall of coldness, but as he closed the gap, her resolve began to waver.

The bedroom was soon swathed in a quiet, amber light as the evening faded. Outside the world continued its frantic pace, but inside, time seemed to slow down. In the silence, the boundaries they had both fought so hard to maintain began to blur, replaced by a deep, wordless connection that had been years in the making.

By the next morning, Amelia felt a renewed strength. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, illuminating the room in a soft, golden glow.

She turned her head to find Chris lying beside her. Even in sleep, his arm was draped over her, a possessive but surprisingly gentle weight. In the quiet of the morning, his features looked less like those of the arrogant CEO she fought with and more like the man she had once known. His breathing was steady, his expression peaceful.

She remembered the intensity of the previous night—the way his usual coldness had melted into something far more vulnerable. A strange, bittersweet feeling took root in her heart. She was playing a dangerous game, weaving her life back into his for the sake of her own goals, yet the lines between her plan and her feelings were becoming increasingly tangled.

As Chris stirred, Amelia tried to quietly slip away, but his grip tightened, pulling her back into the warmth of the sheets.

"Awake already?" Chris’s voice was a low, sleep-roughened murmur that sent a reluctant shiver through her.

Amelia forced her voice to remain steady. "It’s late. You should go. I have a schedule to keep, and you don’t belong here."

Chris’s eyes snapped open, a flash of his usual sharp wit returning. "What, you’re evicting me already? I didn't realize you were so focused on the bottom line, Ms. White."

Amelia didn't argue about her identity. "I just don't like lingering over mistakes. Yesterday was a compromise, nothing more."

Chris propped himself up on one elbow, his eyes narrowing. "A mistake? You certainly didn't seem to think so a few hours ago."

"You were too forceful," Amelia lied, her eyes flickering with a faint, mocking disdain. "It wasn't exactly the masterpiece I expected."

Chris gritted his teeth, his pride clearly stung. For a man who was used to getting whatever he wanted, Amelia’s indifference was the ultimate provocation. "Is that so? Perhaps I need to provide a more convincing demonstration."

He pulled her back down, and the morning air was soon filled with the sounds of their renewed argument—a clash of wills that felt more like an embrace.

Meanwhile, at the international kindergarten, Sophia arrived to pick up Owen. To her unease, Diana Spencer was waiting near the gates again. Diana’s eyes were fixed on Owen, her brow furrowed in deep thought.

"Owen!" Diana called out softly as they approached.

Sophia tightened her grip on Owen’s hand, her instinct to protect him flaring. "Mrs. Spencer, is there something you need?"

Diana ignored Sophia, crouching down to Owen’s level. "Hello, Owen. You look very handsome today. Tell me, do you think I’m a nice person?"

Owen gave her a thoughtful, suspicious look before glancing at Sophia. "Mom, why is this lady asking for my approval? She’s clearly very elegant. Does she not have enough friends?"

Sophia managed a small, polite smile. "She’s just being friendly, Owen. But we shouldn't keep her waiting."

"I wasn't being rude," Owen added, looking back at Diana. "I just think honesty is better than empty compliments."

Diana laughed, a genuine sound of delight. "You really are a remarkable child. Tell me, what do you like to do for fun? Do you like robots? Legos?"

Owen answered her questions with a practiced, charming fluency, his little mind racing. She’s my grandmother, he realized, but she’s also part of the family that hurt Mom. "I like building things with my mom," Owen said firmly. "And I like going home to eat the dinner she’s made. We have to go now, Mrs. Spencer. Goodbye."

Watching them walk away, Diana’s heart felt heavy. The boy was so much like Chris at that age—the same intelligence, the same stubborn streak.

The next morning, Owen arrived at the kindergarten to find the atmosphere changed. Raymond, his classmate, pulled him aside with wide eyes. "Owen, look! There are men in black suits in the principal's office. My dad says they’re from a big company."

Owen looked toward the office, his expression turning cold and focused. He knew those suits. The hunt was getting closer.