Falling For My Dead Husband's Ghost

The next morning, just as Byron predicted, Lachlan Hyde arrived at the manor. He came under the guise of inquiring after his brother's health, but his arrogant posture screamed his true intent: to assess the new power dynamic. As instructed, Amelie met him not in the medical wing, but in an adjacent sitting room. It was a formal, impersonal space, designed for uncomfortable conversations. Byron was in the next room, a tiny, undetectable listening device in Amelie's brooch transmitting everything. Lachlan barely acknowledged her, his eyes sweeping past her as if she were part of the furniture. "How is he?" he asked, his tone dismissive. Amelie's hands, hidden in the folds of her dress, clenched into fists. She kept her voice even and calm, just as they had rehearsed. "Byron is resting. He asked me to discuss a few matters with you in his stead." Lachlan let out a short, derisive laugh. "You? A nursemaid?" The insult stung, but Amelie didn't let it show. She simply slid the file Byron had given her onto the polished mahogany table between them. Lachlan's eyes flickered down to the papers. He saw the columns of figures, the dates, the names of shell corporations registered in the Cayman Islands. The color drained from his face. The smug arrogance vanished, replaced by a stark, primal panic. "What is the meaning of this?" he hissed, his voice suddenly hoarse. "The meaning," Amelie said, her voice a quiet counterpoint to his panic, "is that Byron is... disappointed. In Cal's disrespect. Both to him, and to me. He feels an appropriate punishment is in order. Otherwise, a more... complete version of this file might accidentally find its way to the SEC." Lachlan's face went from white to a pasty gray. He stared at her, his mind reeling. Byron, crippled and confined to a bed, was still holding a knife to his throat. And worse, he was using this girl, this nobody, to wield it. He searched her face for any sign of bluffing, of weakness. He found none. Her eyes were calm, her expression unyielding. In the next room, Byron listened, a slow, satisfied smile touching his lips. She had more steel in her than he'd anticipated. The silence stretched, thick with tension. Finally, Lachlan broke. "What does he want?" he asked, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. "Byron requires that Cal be sent to the family's mining operation in Alaska. For one year. To 'reflect'," Amelie relayed the sentence. "No internet. No parties. Just hard labor." It was exile. A fate worse than death for a creature like Cal. Lachlan's eyes closed in a pained grimace. He was a man trapped. He finally gave a short, sharp nod. "Fine." He stood, his chair scraping harshly against the floor. He looked at Amelie, really looked at her for the first time. His eyes were filled with a venomous, newfound respect. "You're good, Amelie Hyde," he said, the words a threat. "Very good." He turned and left, a defeated man. The moment the door closed, Amelie's composure crumbled. A shudder ran through her, and she sank into a chair, her palms slick with cold sweat. The door to the inner room opened, and Byron wheeled himself out. His eyes held a look of genuine approval. "You did well," he said. It was the first real praise he had ever given her. "I was just reading your lines," she said, her voice still shaky. "You gave the lines their power," he countered, his gaze intense. "You were born to sit in that chair." Her heart skipped a beat. For the first time, she saw something in his eyes beyond calculation and desire. It was respect. He took the file from the table, flicked open a silver lighter, and set a corner of the papers on fire. He dropped the burning file into the cold fireplace, where it quickly turned to black ash. "That was just the warning shot," he said, his eyes on the flames. "The real ledger is safe with me." It was a statement, but it was also an offering. A sliver of trust. Amelie watched the last of the evidence burn. There was no turning back now. She had seen the absolute control he wielded from the shadows, and for a terrifying, exhilarating moment, she had tasted that power for herself.