My Husband’s Heir Cost Him His Own Daughter Chapter 05

My Husband’s Heir Cost Him His Own Daughter Chapter 05

I went home alone.

The Beauchamp estate was as vast as a hotel, but tonight it felt cold and suffocating.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t waste time staring into space. I went straight to the dressing room and started packing.

When I had nearly finished, I called Jerry, my lawyer in Boston.

“Amelia. You finally came to your senses?” Jerry’s voice was as calm and efficient as ever.

“Yes. Initiate Plan B.”

As I spoke, I tucked several pieces of jewelry into their velvet pouches.

The line was quiet for two seconds. Then he gave a short, surprised laugh.

“Plan B? Funny you should mention it. Carter Beauchamp’s lawyer sent over a draft divorce agreement this morning. Said it was urgent, that you’d both already agreed.”

My hand froze.

“What did you say?”

“He sounded like he was in a hurry. Sent a courier to pick up the revised papers, said he needed to get your signature right away. I assumed you two had talked.”

I leaned back and laughed, a dry, harsh sound.

Just a few hours ago, he’d been holding my hand in that hallway, swearing he wouldn’t divorce me.

Then he’d turned around and had his lawyer draw up the papers.

The irony was staggering.

“Jerry,” I said, taking a deep breath to steady myself. “Scrap his version. Use ours. And make sure that final clause is front and center. Wait for my signal.”

After hanging up, I sank onto the sofa and opened my phone.

A new Instagram Story from Carter’s cousin was at the top of my feed.

I tapped it.

The photo showed Carter, kneeling by the stables, dabbing at the mud on Savannah’s white heels with a silk handkerchief.

Sunlight streamed through the oak leaves, dappling the scene.

It was a beautiful picture.

The caption read: “Some duties are sacred.”

I opened the comments.

One reply jumped out at me.

[Did you block Amelia? She’ll lose her mind if she sees this.]

Carter’s cousin had replied: [I want her to see it. Carter didn’t object. What’s she going to do about it?]

I stared at the picture.

During our first year of marriage, we were vacationing in the Hamptons. I got sand in my shoe, and it was rubbing my heel raw. I asked him to help me get it out, and he just frowned, stepping back with that look of disgust.

“Amelia, don’t make a scene. Just go rinse it off.”

But for Savannah, he would kneel.

I stood abruptly, my gaze sweeping the room before landing on the abstract painting on the wall.

He’d bought it at a New York auction when he proposed, claiming it represented the union of our two lives, North and South.

Now it just looked like a bad joke.

I walked over, tore it from the wall, and ripped the canvas in two.

The sound was sharp and satisfying.

At that exact moment, the bedroom door swung open.

Carter stood in the doorway.

Half of the ruined painting slipped from my hand, landing on the lapel of his perfectly tailored suit.

He looked down at the shredded canvas on the floor, then back at me, his expression unreadable.

“Amelia…”

He took one step into the room.

And then I saw who was behind him.

Savannah.

He had brought her back to our home. Again.

“Carter, talk to Amelia. Don’t fight because of me,” Savannah murmured, holding her son.

With that, she followed the waiting housekeeper toward the east-wing guest room, the same one she had occupied before.

“I was going to let her stay somewhere else,” Carter said, his voice laced with exhaustion as he bent to pick up the broken frame. “But since you already know, I didn’t want her living in fear by herself.”

He walked toward me, his tone softening, as if he were trying to soothe a hysterical child.

“Savannah knows you didn’t mean to hurt her. She’s willing to forgive you. Amelia, just promise me you won’t go near the baby again, all right?”

I stared at him, speechless.

His face was a mask of self-righteousness, convinced he was arranging things for the good of everyone.

Silence stretched between us.

Finally, he pulled a document from his briefcase.

A divorce agreement.

“Amelia,” he began carefully, as if proposing the most reasonable thing in the world. “Savannah wants her son’s name legally entered into the family’s primary trust. It’s her only condition.”

He paused, gauging my reaction. “So, can we just get divorced on paper for now? Once this is all settled, we’ll get married again. A month, two at the most. I promise, the moment our child is born, I will remarry you.”

I took the agreement and flipped straight to the last page.

On the signature line, Carter Beauchamp’s name was already signed.

In that moment, I felt no heartbreak. No desire to fight.

Only relief.

“All right.”

I nodded, as if agreeing to something utterly mundane.

I picked up the Montblanc pen from the desk and signed my name in the space waiting for me.

Amelia Lowell.

This was the second time I had signed divorce papers with Carter.

I swore to myself it would be the last.

Remarry?

In his dreams.

“Amelia, thank you.” Carter clutched the signed agreement, his relief palpable. He reached out to hug me.

I stepped back, dodging his touch.

“Take it to the family elders,” I said softly. “They’ll be thrilled.”

“I knew you’d understand.” He held the document like a trophy, a painfully bright smile on his face. “I’ll go tell them right now.”

He walked out with the agreement he thought was just a temporary fix, his steps light and quick.

I watched him go, and a cold smile finally touched my lips.

Carter.

When I can’t even be bothered to argue with you anymore, that’s when you should know it’s over.