Ethan guided her to the next patch, helping her line up the bulbs they would plant next.
Amelia leaned over the soil, forgetting herself in the work, in the smell of earth and roses, in the sound of Ethan's voice beside her.
The minutes blurred into sunlight and warmth.
She hadn't thought of Richard once.
Not until that very moment, and when she realized it, it startled her.
She hadn't thought of Richard.
She'd been laughing.
With a man who looked at her like she mattered.
Her chest tightened with the weight of that realization.
Ethan noticed the flicker in her eyes. "You okay?"
She blinked, smiling quickly to cover the sudden shift. "Yeah. I'm just… tired."
"Good tired?"
"The best."
They sat back, admiring the bed of new bulbs.
"They'll bloom in two weeks," he said softly. "Right before summer fully hits."
Amelia smiled. "That's fast."
"Some things don't take long. They just need the right conditions."
She looked at him then, truly looked.
And Ethan didn't hide what was in his eyes.
Want. Admiration. And something deeper.
But he didn't say it.
He didn't need to.
Not yet.
The soft sound of Amelia's laughter still lingered in the air as she walked back across the grass toward the main terrace, gloves in one hand, cheeks flushed from the sun and joy she hadn't tasted in what felt like years.
Ethan remained in the garden behind her, watching her go, his heart heavier and lighter all at once.
Then the engine roared.
A black car pulled up to the front of the estate, sleek, loud, and arrogant.
Amelia froze.
She didn't need to see the license plate.
Richard.
He stepped out, still in that night's tuxedo, though the bow tie was gone, and the shirt hung open at the collar. His eyes were bloodshot. Lips set in a familiar sneer.
She hadn't seen him since the gala, hadn't heard a word.
But he saw her.
And then he saw Ethan.
His gaze traveled from his wife's flushed face to the man kneeling in the rose garden.
Gardener's gloves.
Sweat damp shirt clinging to his back.
And that look in his eyes.
Richard's jaw flexed.
"What the hell is going on here?"
Amelia stiffened, her smile vanishing. "I was learning how to care for the garden."
Richard's voice dropped, sharp and bitter. "From him?"
Ethan stood slowly, dusting off his hands with deliberate calm. "Morning, Mr. Vale."
Richard's glare could've cut glass. "You can drop the act. I didn't hire you to flirt with my wife."
"You hired me to take care of the flowers," Ethan replied, voice even. "She came to learn. I didn't see a ring on the rose bush."
Amelia's eyes widened at the boldness, but before she could speak, Richard stepped forward, towering with false confidence and rage.
"You think this is some quaint little meet cute? You think you're some charming underdog sweeping in to fix what, exactly?"
He turned to Amelia, voice sharp like a whip. "And you, you think a gardener is going to fill the void I leave? You must really be as delusional as they say."
Amelia flinched.
Ethan stepped forward now, eyes darkening. "That's not how you speak to a woman."
Richard looked him up and down, slow and mocking. "And what would you know about women like her?"
Ethan didn't blink. "Enough to know she deserves better than you."
Richard let out a sharp laugh. "Tell me, you going to offer her a future? A flower cart and a shared closet in your attic?"
"If that's what she wants."
"She doesn't want you."
"Let her speak for herself," Ethan said, voice low. "Or are you afraid of what she'll say?"
Richard turned back to Amelia, voice dripping venom. "He's a nobody, Amelia. A gardener. And you? You're a gold digging brat who clawed her way into this house and wrapped herself in pearls like they meant something. I gave you everything. And now you're drooling over a man who trims hedges?"
Amelia's breath caught in her throat.
The slap came before she could stop it.
Hard and swift across Richard's cheek.
It echoed across the stone courtyard.
His face twisted in disbelief, rage flaring behind his eyes.
She turned to walk away.
But his hand shot out.
And pushed her.
Amelia gasped as her heel caught the edge of the stone path, balance tipping, a scream stuck in her throat...
Until Ethan caught her.
He was there in a heartbeat, strong arms wrapping around her waist, steadying her, holding her upright like she was precious.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, trembling with fury.
She nodded shakily, clutching his shirt, her breath shallow.
Then Ethan turned.
And punched Richard straight in the jaw.
The crack was loud. Flesh against bone.
Richard stumbled back, catching himself on the column of the terrace.
Ethan's voice was ice. Controlled. Lethal.
"That's the last time you put your hands on her."
Richard spat blood. "You don't know who you're messing with."
"Oh, I do," Ethan said, stepping forward. "You're a spoiled coward who breaks what he can't control."
Amelia watched, stunned, her hand still trembling against Ethan's chest.
The man she once called husband, sneering, staggering.
The man who now stood between her and him, solid, furious, protective.
Richard stared between them, chest heaving. "She's mine."
Ethan's voice was deadly calm. "Not anymore."