Chapter 95: use them back

Chapter 95: Chapter 95: use them back

The car passed through the estate gates and came to a smooth stop in front of the main entrance.

Amelia stepped out the moment the door opened. She didn’t wait for anyone, didn’t glance back, and didn’t say a word. Her posture was closed, shoulders slightly tight, as she walked straight toward the house and disappeared through the front doors.

The three brothers exited the vehicle more slowly.

Dean shut his door and looked at Reid.

"What did you do?"

Reid raised both hands in mild defense, expression caught between confusion and faint offense.

"Don’t blame me. I didn’t do anything. This time, at least."

Enzo remained where he stood for a moment longer, grey eyes fixed on the empty doorway Amelia had just passed through. Whatever had shifted her mood had happened quickly—and completely. He said nothing, but the quiet weight of his attention lingered on the space she had left behind.

Amelia was still walking deeper into the house when she nearly collided with Madame along the hallway.

She stopped short and offered a polite bow of her head.

"Madame, sorry i didnt see u."

Madame’s sharp eyes softened the moment they settled on her.

"How are you feeling, child? I can’t even imagine what you went through because of that cursed object. I heard what happened."

Amelia kept her voice even.

"I was just lucky. The men are the reason that i was able to survive."

Madame gave a small, knowing nod.

"I didn’t expect less. I would have come to check on you sooner, but those three were very serious about you not having any guests afterward. They insisted on handling everything themselves. Can you believe they actually forbade me from visiting that night? Said they wanted to do everything they could to make you feel better."

Amelia understood perfectly well what Madame was doing—stacking quiet points in her sons’ favor, trying to soften the impression they left behind. Under different circumstances, it might have worked. It might even have made her feel a little warmer toward them.

But the thought that had settled over her in the car still sat heavy in her chest, dulling everything else.

Madame’s gaze sharpened slightly as she studied her face.

"What happened? Did those boys cause you trouble at school? I will deal with them myself if they did."

Amelia quickly shook her head, recognizing the genuine steel beneath the older woman’s words.

"It’s not that. Something else."

Madame regarded her for a moment longer, then exhaled softly.

"Alright. You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready. Just know that I am here for any problem you have."

The quiet sincerity in her voice loosened something in Amelia’s chest. Holding the suspicion completely to herself suddenly felt heavier than sharing it. She needed help—someone who wasn’t one of the brothers.

"I do want to tell you," Amelia said. "Just... not here."

Madame understood at once. She inclined her head and turned.

"Follow me."

They walked together down a quieter stretch of hallway. Madame stopped in front of what looked like an ordinary stretch of wall, pressed her fingers against a specific point in the paneling, and a seamless section slid aside to reveal a small private elevator.

"I’m always too lazy to take the stairs," Madame said with a faint, dry smile. "My sons were thoughtful enough to install this for me. I use it most of the time when I need to go to any floor in this house."

They stepped inside. The doors closed softly, and the elevator began its smooth ascend. When the elevator came to a stop, the doors opened onto the quieter upper floors.

Amelia followed Madame down a carpeted hallway until they reached a set of double doors. Madame opened them and stepped inside without hesitation.

Amelia paused on the threshold.

"Are you sure it’s alright for me to come in?"

"Of course it is."

Amelia entered.

Madame’s private rooms were spacious and elegant, filled with soft light and carefully chosen furnishings that somehow managed to feel both formal and lived-in. Madame gestured toward a low sitting area near the windows.

Amelia sat.

For a moment neither of them spoke. Madame studied her quietly, sensing the weight the younger woman was carrying—something heavy that she clearly needed to set down.

Amelia drew in a slow, steadying breath.

"The truth is... I have another self." She hesitated, searching for the right words. "I don’t fully know how to explain it. But whenever I take sleeping pills, that other version of me appears. She claims she’s the part of me that still holds the memories of my past lives."

Madame’s expression shifted. Whatever she had expected, it had not been this.

"That’s something I have never heard before."

She looked at Amelia for a long moment, then gave a small, decisive nod. "I believe you. What happened after?"

"Because of the cursed object, I won’t be able to connect with that other self for a while. And..." Amelia’s voice thinned slightly.

"And?"

"I feel like the men prefer her to me." The words came out more quiet. "Seeing them suddenly act so much sweeter, doing all of this just to make me feel better... it felt like they were only doing it so they could talk to her again. It made me feel..."

"Used," Madame finished gently.

Amelia nodded once.

Madame was silent for a few seconds, then rose from her seat and walked slowly toward the tall windows. She stood there for a moment, looking out over the estate grounds, before turning back to face Amelia.

"I understand why you jumped to that conclusion. You may even be partly right." Her voice remained calm, but there was a firm certainty beneath it. "But I don’t believe that’s the whole truth."

She folded her hands loosely in front of her.

"I have watched those three grow from infants into the arrogant idiots they are today. In all that time, they have never gone this far for any woman. Not once. You are the first." Her gaze held Amelia’s. "I don’t say that to score points for them. I say it because it is true."

Madame’s voice softened. "There are times when you have to believe your head more than your heart. If you truly feel you are being used... then use them back."

Amelia stared at her, caught off guard.

"I don’t understand what you mean by that."

Madame’s mouth curved slightly.

"You have already managed to get those three flustered more than once. I’ve been thoroughly enjoying the show. But beyond that—" her tone almost brisk—"they are rich, powerful, and currently willing to bend further than I have ever seen. So tell me, what is the one thing you really want from them?"

If this question has been asked way before, i would have said freedom. To leave this place. It should have been easy to say.

She lowered her gaze and half-hid her face, fingers tightening slightly in her lap.

Madame understood and lets out a soft laugh.

"My sons don’t deserve someone like you at all."

She stepped closer, gently guided Amelia to her feet, and took her hand. Together they walked to the tall window overlooking the estate grounds. Madame’s grip was warm and steady.

"I will trust whatever decision you make from now on," she said quietly. "And while you decide, I will be praying to the Moon Goddess for something that is probably impossible—for you to be their fated mate."

Amelia managed a shy, slightly awkward smile, trying to keep her expression light.

"That’s... a bit much."

"It’s fine." Madame’s voice carried quiet conviction. "Just as the Moon Goddess once answered my prayers and gave me a son, I believe this one will come true as well."

It already has, Amelia thought. It has always been true.

A sharp knock cut through the moment.

A servant pushed the door open, face pale and visibly shaken. The words came out in a stammer.

"M-Madame... something is happening to Lord Dean."

"What happened?"

The servant hesitated, clearly struggling to find a respectful way to phrase it.

"It’s... his hair, Madame."

Madame swept out of the room with Amelia close behind. They followed the still-flustered servant down the lower floor, until they reached the hallway where Dean’s rooms were.

Dean was already outside his door.

He looked thoroughly disheveled—shirt slightly askew, expression dark with pure irritation—as he yanked at his hair with both hands. The color was wrong. Instead of its usual striking silver-black, it had turned an uneven, muddy shade that somehow managed to look both dull and aggressively unnatural. Worse still was the scent rolling off him in waves: like that of a skunk.

Madame and the others immediately covered their noses.

"What happened to you, Dean?" Madame demanded, voice muffled behind her hand. "Why do you smell like that?"

Dean’s scowl deepened as he gave another frustrated tug at the ruined strands.

"They gave me the wrong hair treatment product. This is what happened. I can’t believe this."

Everyone looked like they couldn’t quite process the sight of the youngest Ellington brother standing in the hallway, smelling like a chemical accident and furiously attacking his own hair.

None of them could decide which was harder to believe—the state of Dean’s hair, or the fact that he was reacting to it with such open, undignified outrage.