Chapter 3 — The Ultimatum

Callum

The city’s amber streetlights filtered through the rain-streaked windows of Amelia’s apartment, casting fractured patterns across the walls. Callum stood just inside the doorway, his tall frame rigid with tension, rainwater dripping from the hem of his meticulously tailored suit. He hadn’t bothered to shake off the dampness; the discomfort of it was almost fitting. His sharp blue eyes, usually a mask of control, flickered with stormy emotion—anger, confusion, and something raw that he couldn’t fully name.

He hadn’t planned to come here. But the image of Amelia walking out of the Stone Estate, her face a mask of cold defiance and heartbreak, had haunted him relentlessly. He didn’t know what he expected to find here—reconciliation, understanding, maybe even absolution. But as he stood in the small space that was so unmistakably hers, he felt the weight of his uncertainty pressing down on him.

The faint scent of lavender and coffee lingered in the air, a cruel reminder of the mornings they’d shared, back when life had felt simpler. His gaze moved uneasily over the room: the secondhand furniture, the threadbare rug, the delicate vase of wildflowers on the windowsill. It was humble—intimate. It was nothing like the life they had once built together, and yet it felt more like Amelia than that cold, sprawling estate ever had.

She stood across the room, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her auburn hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders. But there was no softness in her posture. Her hazel eyes, which once looked at him with warmth, now burned with defiance. Yet behind the fire, he thought he saw a flicker of pain. It cut straight through him, though he wouldn’t let it show.

“You didn’t have to come here,” she said, her voice calm but edged with frost.

Callum’s jaw clenched. The sound of her voice, so measured yet distant, twisted something deep inside him. He stepped forward, his shoes clicking against the hardwood floor. “Did you really think I wouldn’t?”

“I wasn’t sure what to think anymore,” Amelia replied. Her gaze didn’t waver, even as his eyes bore into her. “You made your choice, Callum. At dinner. I think you made it perfectly clear.”

“You walked out,” he countered, his voice sharp, louder than he intended. His hands clenched at his sides as he took another step toward her. “You chose him over us.”

She flinched, just slightly, but her expression didn’t falter. “I didn’t choose anyone,” she said quietly, her voice steady. “I stood by the truth, which is more than I can say for you.”

The accusation hit him like a slap. Callum’s fists tightened, his nails digging into his palms. He had always hated being cornered, and Amelia had a way of doing it with devastating precision—without anger, without malice. Just the truth, plain and undeniable. It left him with nowhere to turn, nowhere to hide.

“Rose is my sister,” he said, his voice low but unyielding. “I have to trust her.”

“And Harry is my brother,” Amelia shot back, her tone sharp as steel. “Do you think I’d be standing here, risking everything, if I had even a shred of doubt about him? Do you think I would’ve walked away if I believed she was telling the truth?”

Her certainty was a knife twisting in his chest. Amelia wasn’t reckless. She never acted without thinking. And yet here she was, unwavering, ready to burn her life to the ground for her brother. That conviction—it shook him, though he refused to let it show.

“You don’t know what she’s been through,” he said finally, his voice quieter, almost defensive. “You don’t understand.”

Amelia let out a brittle, humorless laugh. “What she’s been through? Rose is a manipulative liar, Callum, and you’re letting her tear us apart.”

“That’s not fair,” he snapped, his voice tight with frustration. He stepped closer, close enough to see the faint tremble in her hands, the way she clenched them into fists to keep steady. “You’re asking me to ignore my sister’s pain, Amelia. To doubt her because you say so.”

“I’m asking you to trust me,” she said, her voice breaking just slightly. “To trust me the way I trusted you.”

Her words struck like a thunderclap, reverberating in the small apartment. Trust. It was a word that twisted in his chest, heavy and unrelenting. He wanted to trust her, wanted to believe her. But the memory of Rose’s tearful face, her trembling hands as she recounted her version of events, was etched into his mind. Believing Amelia meant accepting that he had been wrong—about everything.

“I can’t,” he said finally, the words fractured and raw.

The air shifted. Amelia flinched, her arms falling to her sides as her expression crumbled. For the first time since he stepped through her door, she looked truly defeated. Her shoulders sagged as she gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, her knuckles white.

“I see,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She turned away from him, her back rigid but trembling slightly. “Then why are you here, Callum? What do you want from me?”

He hesitated. He didn’t have an answer. He hadn’t planned this, hadn’t thought beyond the desperate need to see her again. Now, standing here in this small, fragile space, he felt the weight of his own emptiness pressing down on him.

“I want this to end,” he said finally, his voice hardening as if the force of his words could fill the void inside him.

Amelia turned to face him, her hazel eyes wide with disbelief. “What to end?”

“This... division,” he said, gesturing vaguely between them. “This tension. This mess.” He forced himself to meet her gaze, even as his voice faltered. “You need to choose, Amelia. Him or me.”

The words hung in the air like a curse. He saw her eyes widen, her breath hitching in her throat. For a moment, she was silent, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, the disbelief gave way to something else—something colder, sharper.

“Choose?” she repeated, her voice a low, dangerous whisper. “Callum, do you even hear yourself?”

“I’m trying to save us,” he said, his voice trembling with barely contained emotion. “I’m asking you to put us first.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. Her voice rose, raw and unsteady. “You’re trying to control me.”

“That’s not what this is—”

“Isn’t it?” she challenged, stepping forward. There was a fire in her now, a defiance that made him take an involuntary step back. “You’re standing here in my apartment—my apartment, because I had to sell our home just to survive—and you’re giving me an ultimatum. Choose between my brother and the man who promised to love me. Do you even hear how cruel that is?”

Callum’s chest tightened, his throat constricting. “I’m asking you to put me first,” he said, his voice softening, almost pleading.

“Put you first?” Amelia echoed, her laugh bitter and hollow. Her hands rose to clutch her locket, her fingers trembling against the tarnished silver. “Where was that sentiment when Rose made her accusation? When she tore Harry apart at dinner? When I needed you to stand by me?”

Her voice cracked, and for a moment, she faltered. But then, she straightened, her shoulders squaring as she met his gaze. “I’ve made sacrifices for you, Callum. For us. But this—this is too much.”

He stayed silent. There was nothing he could say.

Her fingers tightened around the locket, her gaze distant. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, but there was no hesitation.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she said.

“Amelia—”

“No.” She cut him off, her hazel eyes meeting his with devastating clarity. “I’ve made my choice. And it’s not a choice at all.”

The finality of her words left him hollow. “You’re choosing him,” he said bitterly.

“I’m choosing what’s right,” she replied, her voice soft but unyielding. “I’m choosing loyalty, and trust, and family. If you can’t see that... then we’re already over.”

The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. Callum reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the cool metal of his cufflinks. He hadn’t realized he’d brought them, but now they felt like a weight he could no longer carry. Slowly, he pulled them out, turning them over in his hand. Their polished gold surface gleamed faintly in the dim light, a symbol of the life he had built—and the one he had destroyed. Without a word, he placed them on the counter beside her.

“I guess we are,” he said, his voice hollow.

Amelia didn’t respond. She just watched him, her expression unreadable, as he turned and walked out the door. The rain hit his face as he stepped outside, cold and relentless. The scent of lavender and coffee clung to his clothes like a phantom, a memory he couldn’t escape. And as the door shut behind him, something inside him broke.