Amelia faced Claude, her eyes afire with rage, her breathing fast and shallow. The years of silence, of bearing the burden of his disregard, had finally come to their end. The words she had kept hidden for so long finally burst forth, and now there was nothing to hold her back.
"How dare you," her words echoed, hard and angry. "How dare you make me feel like I don't exist, like I'm just a piece of furniture you've conveniently forgotten. And then, to be the final insult, you bring your mistress into this home, into MY home, and parade her around like I'm not present!
Claude's chest constricted at her words, but instead of shame he should have felt, something darker welled up inside him—anger, frustration, and a strong urge to defend himself. His voice was cold and hard, every word tinged with fury.
"Those are lies!" he snarled, his eyes blazing with unspoken fury. "I haven't been spending my days with some mistress, Amelia. And I'll not stand here while you besmirch my name!"
His words pierced the room, cutting and accusatory. His jaw tightened as he stepped forward, the space between them decreasing as his irritation boiled over. "You—" He jabbed his finger at her, his words with a bitter twist. "You talk about her like she is some harlot! Isolde has done nothing but been loyal and helpful since I have come back. How dare you to accuse her of such an abomination?"
Amelia stepped back at the venom in his tone, her fury intensifying. The flame within her burned bright, her body shaking with the control it took to prevent herself from breaking.
"Loyal?" she spat, her tone low and venomous. "Loyal to what, Claude? To you treating me like I don't exist? To your lack of caring about everything we were meant to be? She's the one you've been relying on. She's the one who gets your notice while your wife, the woman you are married to, is pushed aside like nothing."
Claude's anger grew as he beheld her fury, her words slicing him more painfully than any knife. His heart pounded as the realization came to him that this moment—the one he had dreaded for so long—had finally come. Amelia had reached her limit. She was finished. And all he had assumed, all he had taken for granted—the silence, the space, the time he had spent lying to himself that there was still time—had brought them to this moment.
"Stop—" he started, but before he could get it out, Amelia's anger at last broke through its restraints.
With a sharp scream of anger, she hurled her cane at him. It hit him with force, the wooden hilt crashing into his chest. He took a step back in surprise, his eyes wide with shock at her unexpected outburst.
Amelia was on her feet, chest shuddering with rage, fists bunched. "You think you're in charge of me? You think I'm going to stand here and let you continue treating me like dirt? No more, Claude. I won't be your pawn."
Claude was speechless. He glared up at her, torn between disbelief and guilt. His brain was running at top speed, but his mouth was sealed. How did things come to this?
"Amelia," he breathed softly now, as if the true reality of it was only beginning to hit him.
But Amelia's eyes were not filled with grief anymore. Her eyes were now cold, hardened with an icy determination he never saw in her before.
"You're right on one thing," she said steadily, but the anger still remaining sharp. "I'm done with this drama. If you want to dwell in your imaginary world, by all means do so, but don't get me to keep pretending.
Without further ado, she spun on her heel and headed towards the door. Each movement was measured, purposeful, but there was something final in her steps. Her cane thudded on the floor with each step.
Claude stood motionless, observing her, unable to speak, his mind consumed by the mess she had created within him.
As the door hit him behind her, the enormity of his failure suffocated him.
The tempest raging outside battered the walls of Everthorne Manor, but within, Claude alone faced the consequences of his creation.