His Final Betrayal Was My First Move Chapter 14

His Final Betrayal Was My First Move Chapter 14

While Griffin and Daphne were locked in a tug-of-war of betrayal and lies in a Boston apartment, Amelia was standing on a cliffside trail in Acadia National Park, letting the Atlantic wind whip through her hair.

She was home.

Back to the place where she grew up, this world of rugged rocks, dark green pines, and relentless waves. The air was filled with the clean scent of saltwater and pine needles. Every breath felt like it was washing away years of accumulated dust.

The moment the divorce papers were sent, she hadn’t hesitated. She’d booked a flight to Bangor, but instead of going to her parents’ house, she checked into a seaside inn near Bar Harbor.

She took off the exquisitely tailored suits and expensive gowns and changed into comfortable cashmere sweaters and jeans. On her feet were no longer high heels that made every step a cautious calculation, but sturdy hiking boots that could grip slick rock and damp earth.

She hiked along the coastline, watching the waves tirelessly crash against jagged reefs, sending up plumes of white spray. In the distance, a few lobster boats moved slowly across the sea, leaving faint wakes. There were no carefully arranged dinners here, no guest lists to memorize, no insincere smiles or small talk. Only the sound of the wind, the waves, and the steady beat of her own heart.

It was a peace she hadn’t felt in so long she had almost forgotten it existed.

Amelia had suggested to Griffin countless times that they spend a summer in Maine. She had wanted to show him the sunrise here, to eat fresh lobster with him on the beach, to let him feel the rugged tenderness of this land.

But he always refused.

“Darling, I can’t get away from the foundation.”

“You know there’s an important board meeting.”

“Next time, Amelia. I promise.”

His reasons always sounded impeccable. Only later did she piece together the truth from gossip columns and Daphne’s careless social media posts. His “can’t get away” had meant flying to the Hamptons with Daphne for a polo match. His “important meetings” were just one summer party after another at Daphne’s side.

Amelia rented a rugged Jeep Wrangler and took the top off, letting the sun pour in. She drove along the winding coastal roads, dense forest on one side and the endless sea on the other. Ancient lighthouses stood alone on rocky headlands as seagulls circled overhead. She turned the music up loud and let the powerful rock anthems scatter into the sea wind.

She stopped thinking about all those rejected requests, all those useless waits and self-delusions. Now, she had all of this for herself.

At dusk, she parked in a small town she didn’t know. The streets were paved with stone, lined with quaint wooden houses holding old bookstores, craft shops, and local galleries. She walked into a bookstore that smelled of paper and ink, her fingertips brushing across yellowed spines, and felt a grounded, simple happiness.

As evening fell, Amelia found a small tavern by the beach and ordered a local craft beer. The setting sun dyed the sky and sea a warm orange-red as the waves gently lapped at the shore.

She took a sip of cold beer, the aroma of malt filling her mouth. She looked toward the horizon, where the clouds were stained a magnificent purple.

For the past few years, she had been like a canary in a gilded cage, with an expensive food dish and a soft perch, but deprived of the sky. She had thought that the title “Mrs. Whitaker” was her whole life, the proof of her value.

Amelia took a deep breath of the salty sea air, and the last shadow in her heart dispersed with it.

She should never have given up years of freedom to watch the sea for the sake of an ornate cage.