The letter burned a hole in the drawer beside her bed.
For days, it sat untouched - its presence louder than ticking clocks, louder than any whisper in Elias's arms. Amelia had always thought her silence protected her. But now, it felt like something rotting inside her, pressing on her lungs, souring every breath she took.
No more.
She was done being a story written by someone else.
She made the call on a Wednesday. The Prague sky was thick with clouds, the air still, expectant. Elias watched her from the doorway as she pressed the phone to her ear, voice calm but sharp.
"Yes," she said. "This is Amelia Hart. I need to know where Daniel Reeves is living."
Pause.
"I'm not asking for contact. I'm informing you that I intend to speak with him. On my terms."
Another pause. Her fingers curled tighter around the phone.
"Yes. I understand the risk. But I'm not the same girl he tried to break."
She hung up.
Elias crossed to her slowly. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
"No," she said, meeting his eyes. "But I need to. Because if I don't… he still wins."
Three days later, she stood in front of the faded gray door of an apartment building in a quiet suburb of Prague. Elias was waiting in the car. She'd asked him to stay back, and though it clearly killed him, he respected her choice.
The buzzer clicked. The door unlocked.
And Amelia walked into her past.
Daniel Reeves looked exactly the same.
Not older. Not haunted. Just smaller.
Still tall, still handsome in that polished, predatory way - but the arrogance that used to drip off him now looked like armor cracking at the seams. His apartment was neat, sterile. Empty.
When he saw her, he blinked once.
"Amelia?"
She stepped inside without asking. Closed the door behind her.
He opened his mouth. She raised her hand.
"No. You don't get to speak first."
He froze.
She took a breath. "I'm not here to forgive you. I'm not here to hear excuses. I came to tell you what you took - and what you failed to destroy."
Daniel's mouth tightened. "You look good."
She ignored it. "You isolated me. Manipulated me. You stole three years of my life, and you made me believe I was the problem. But here's what you didn't do: you didn't break me."
Silence. Then he scoffed, "So what, you came here to flex? To show me how well you're doing?"
"No," she said calmly. "I came to tell you that I remember everything. And I want you to know you don't scare me anymore."
His mask cracked, just a little. "I paid for what I did."
"You served a sentence. That's not the same thing as paying."
He stepped forward. "You think you're stronger now?"
"No," she said, voice hard. "I know I am."
He looked at her - really looked. And for the first time, maybe ever, he seemed to realize he couldn't reach her anymore. Whatever strings he used to pull were gone.
Amelia turned to leave.
Then stopped.
"Oh - and if you ever try to contact me again," she said, glancing over her shoulder, "you won't be facing me. You'll be facing the man I love. And I promise you, he doesn't come with mercy."
And then she walked out.
Back into the light.
Elias was standing outside the car now, hands shoved in his coat pockets. When he saw her, he moved like gravity stopped mattering.
"You okay?" he asked.
She didn't answer.
Instead, she kissed him.
Hard.
The kind of kiss that rewrites history. That steals years back.
When they pulled apart, breathless, she whispered, "He doesn't own one second of me anymore."
Elias smiled - slow and proud.
"Good," he said. "Because every second from now on is mine."
The golden clock ticked in her memory.
For the first time, it sounded like freedom.