The rest of the day passed in a daze.
Amelia stayed inside, trying to read, to clean, to do something, anything that would distract her from the growing awareness that a stranger, a man who had witnessed her most fragile moment, was now tending to the roots of her home.
Late afternoon brought no sign of Richard. Not a text. Not a call.
Nothing.
The silence from him had once been a punishment. Now it felt like permission.
By twilight, Amelia wandered back into the garden. The light was soft, casting amber shadows over the hedges.
She found Ethan near the ivy wall, his sleeves rolled up again, dirt smudging his forearms.
He looked like he belonged to the earth itself.
He looked up as she approached. "Couldn't stay away?"
She hesitated, then smiled faintly. "I used to love this place."
Ethan leaned on his rake. "What changed?"
"I stopped being allowed to make it mine."
He was quiet a moment, then said, "That doesn't mean you can't take it back."
Her throat tightened. "That's not how it works here."
"Then maybe it should be."
She looked at him. Noticing the way the wind moved through his hair. The quiet strength in his voice. The gentleness in the way he never pitied her, just saw her.
"You really didn't know me last night?" she asked suddenly.
Ethan's eyes flickered with something, guilt? Amusement? Something else entirely?
"I didn't," he lied smoothly. "But I'm glad I found out."
"Why?"
He met her gaze. "Because you don't belong in a cage, Amelia. Even if it's made of gold."
She froze and excused herself.
Later that night, she stood by her window again, watching the moonlight bathe the garden.
Ethan was gone now. But his presence lingered like the scent of turned soil and cut roses.
She didn't know who he truly was, or why fate had placed him back in her life.
Meanwhile Ethan shut the door to the guest suite they'd assigned him in the east wing, separate from staff quarters, a last minute accommodation made when the estate manager discovered the cottage wasn't ready. He hadn't protested. In fact, he'd welcomed the private space.
He tossed his gloves on the antique writing desk and peeled off his shirt, his muscles taut from a full day of digging, trimming, pretending.
Gardening.
He scoffed quietly.
Three months ago, he hadn't even known the difference between a tulip bulb and a tomato vine.
He had been in Milan, dodging photographers outside the Versace gala, nursing a scotch at a private bar with tech billionaires and bored royalty.
Now, dirt was under his fingernails.
And he didn't regret a second of it.
Not when it brought him here.
Not when it brought him closer to her.
He could still see Amelia's face in the dusk light, soft, guarded, but curious. Like someone who had forgotten what it meant to be seen without being owned. And for the first time in years, Ethan had felt something pull at his chest. A purpose deeper than wealth or legacy.
Amelia Vale.
He wanted her. Not for a fling. Not for conquest.
He wanted to be the man who ruined the one who had broken her.
His phone buzzed sharply on the desk, interrupting his thoughts. He glanced at the screen and cursed under his breath.
James (Butler - Home)
He debated letting it ring out. But it rang again, more insistent this time.
With a sigh, Ethan picked up.
"James."
The butler's voice came through, low and irritated. "It's about time."
"I'm fine."
"You better be. Do you have any idea the chaos you left behind? Your mother's been on the verge of calling INTERPOL."
"I told you not to tell them where I am," Ethan said coolly.
"And I've been covering for you like a damn criminal. You said a week, max. It's been three. Your father's calling in favors. Your face is still on Page Six. Do you think disappearing makes the rumors disappear?"
Ethan dropped into the armchair by the window, staring out at the shadowed rose garden below. "They'll move on to someone else soon. They always do."
"You're hiding in plain sight," James said, his voice dropping. "At the Vale estate, of all places?"
Ethan said nothing.
"You think your father won't find out? Or that Richard Vale won't eventually recognize you?"
"I'm not hiding from Richard," Ethan said, voice sharp. "I'm watching him."
There was silence.
Then: "Ethan…"
"You don't know what he's done to her."
"To her," James repeated, voice tightening. "This isn't about justice. It's personal. It always is with you. You're playing a dangerous game."
"She's not a game."
"And you're not a gardener."
Ethan's jaw clenched. "I'm exactly what I need to be."
A pause.
Then James said, quieter, "You've fallen for her."
Ethan didn't respond. He didn't need to.
"I don't care what you feel, you can't stay hidden forever. Your parents are preparing for the annual foundation gala in two weeks. Your absence will make a headline. And if they find out you've been working incognito in a place like this..."
"I'm not leaving."
"You think she'll just fall into your arms if you trim enough hedges? If you clip enough roses?"
"No," Ethan said darkly. "I think she'll trust me once I prove I see her, not like a possession. Not like Richard."
He stood and walked to the window, staring into the dark where she had stood hours before. A shadow among roses. A ghost in her own home.
"I'm not going to rush this. I'll wait. I'll work," he murmured. "And when she's ready, she'll come to me. Not because I chased her. But because I stood still long enough for her to stop running."
James sighed. "Your father won't wait forever."
"Then he'll learn to."
"You know this ends in fire."
Ethan's smile was slow, dangerous. "Then let it burn."
James exhaled, sharp and disbelieving. "So what's your plan, exactly? Keep clipping hedges until she asks you to carry her off into the sunset?"
Ethan's voice didn't waver. "I'll be back in two weeks."
There was silence on the other end of the line.
Then James asked slowly, "You're serious?"
"Deadly."
"And what, may I ask, will change in two weeks that hasn't changed in years of her marriage to Vale?"
"She'll see me."
James barked a humorless laugh. "See you? She doesn't even know who you are. She thinks you're the help."
"Let her. That's the point."
"She's married."
"Not for long," Ethan said, his voice low and dangerous. "He's already halfway out the door. I just need to make sure it closes behind him."