Chapter 9: Apologize

Charles halted, then stepped back a little, looking mildly offended. “Not because we can’t sell tickets. It’s because the whole concert’s free.”

The staffer’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Your boss booked the whole venue. Be a shame not to use it,” Charles said, snapping his fingers and walking off.

Once they exited the store, Charles leaned half his body on Amelia’s shoulder as they walked. She turned her head to ask, “You’re actually doing a concert?”

Wearing a cap and sunglasses, Charles tilted his head and brushed some loose strands of hair behind his ear with the brim. “Yeah, but not just me. There’ll be a few rookie groups they just signed. Label wants exposure.”

A few pedestrians walked past and gave them second glances. Charles stiffened slightly, tension tightening his shoulders.

Noticing, Amelia shifted, subtly stepping in front of him. She reached up and pulled the brim of his hat lower. “You’re allowed to bring on new artists?”

“Not officially. I kinda… gave the green light myself,” he muttered.

Those looks from strangers made him uneasy. He wasn’t as relaxed as before. Over the past few years, that hypersensitivity to being watched off-camera had only grown stronger. “There’s still two years left…”

Buzz—

The watch on his wrist vibrated.

A message from Tyson:

> Done soon? Want me to come get you?

Charles scoffed under his breath and didn’t bother replying.

Buzz—

Another vibration. His jaw tightened. Annoyance flared in his eyes.

He unstrapped the watch, tapped the screen a few times, then without a second thought, dropped it straight into the nearest trash bin.

Amelia glanced at the discarded watch, said nothing.

Charles rubbed his now bare wrist and let out a breath. “Much better.”

He slung an arm around Amelia’s shoulder again, and the two of them took the elevator down to the garage.

Outside, the city was alive with glowing neon, a steady hum of traffic, and an endless rhythm of people moving through the night. Everything carried on, ticking forward as always.

Inside the car, Charles stared out at the familiar roads. “Why are we heading back to your place?”

“To pick up Maverick.” Amelia glanced at him. “You okay?”

Charles took off his hat and tossed it onto the backseat, then ran his fingers through his hair. “Of course I’m okay. He’s the one who’s fucked up.”

Amelia didn’t respond out loud, but her face said it all: You think I believe that bullshit?

......

Outside the Langley estate gates, Maverick was chatting with the guard when a familiar jeep pulled up. He cut the conversation short, straightened up, and waited at the curb.

The vehicle came to a stop in front of him. The driver’s window rolled down, and Amelia’s voice drifted out. “Get in.”

“Got it, Captain.” Maverick circled around the back of the jeep to the passenger side.

He opened the door—only to be greeted by the smiling face of the man already sitting there. “Fancy seeing you again!”

Clunk—

The door slammed shut with an aggressive thud.

Charles lowered the window and stared at him, deadpan. “We’ve met. No need for theatrics.”

Maverick ducked his head. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to slam it.”

“All good,” Amelia said evenly. “Just get in. Knox and the others are already waiting.”

“Yes.” Maverick nodded quickly, opened the rear door, and slid into the backseat. The car made a smooth U-turn around the flowerbed and disappeared into the night.

Silence. Too much of it.

Amelia stayed focused on the road, but Maverick in the back was squirming—because the guy up front kept glancing at him through the rearview mirror. Every time their eyes met, Maverick got the sinking feeling that this night might be the end of his good luck.

Thankfully, the ride didn’t last long. They pulled up outside a familiar restaurant. A valet came to collect the keys, and Maverick followed Amelia and Charles inside, one step behind.

They came here every time they returned from the field. It was tradition.

The moment they pushed open the door to the private room, they were greeted by a long table packed with specialty dishes—and a group of people already on their feet.

“Captain—” Several greeted her, but when they saw Charles standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her, the room instantly turned into an impromptu fan meeting. All eyes on him.

Amelia and Maverick sat down across from each other. He looked at her, slightly bewildered. Amelia sighed and gestured at the food.

“Eat. They always do this. You’ll get used to it.”

Maverick quietly repeated the phrase in his head: You’ll get used to it. He lowered his head and focused on his meal, hiding the bitter smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

The lively chatter went on, but after Amelia had eaten most of her food, she slipped out of the room without a word.

The restaurant’s backyard was surprisingly spacious—lined with rock gardens, a koi pond, and neatly trimmed ornamental trees. She walked over to the edge of the pond and stood there in silence.

A moment later, just as she turned to leave and head for the register, she overheard two voices near the smoking area.

“You saw that, right? Even if he managed to crawl into the Langley family, he’s still a cripple who can’t stand on his own two feet.”

A flick of a lighter. A pause. Then the second man exhaled smoke and sneered. “You mean that Langley?”

The contempt in his voice made Amelia stop. She leaned against the edge of the rockery, her pristine white coat picking up streaks of dark dust, but she didn’t care.

They kept talking.

“The Langley kid’s practically a golden goose right now. You think that cripple’s gonna let go of that meal ticket?”

“Please. Isn’t that obvious to everyone?” Their laughter was low and mocking.

Her mood curdled instantly. Straightening up, hands in her coat pockets, Amelia stepped out from behind the rock garden, walking leisurely toward them.

As she passed a patch of greenery, she heard a faint sound.

She paused, glanced toward the direction of the sound, and saw only a retreating figure in the shadows. Something about that back looked very familiar.

Amelia chased after him before she could think it through. When she finally caught up, she froze—realizing she had no idea what to say.

“Uh... I forgot to tell you goodnight earlier.”

She coughed lightly, trying to play it off, to smooth out the awkwardness.

Liam, seated in his wheelchair, tilted his head up at her. “You heard them, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” she admitted, not bothering to lie.

“Embarrassed?”

Her brow furrowed slightly, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she stepped behind him and quietly began pushing his wheelchair forward.

At the exit of the smoking area, the two alphas who’d been talking shit earlier stepped out, still laughing. They stopped when they saw Amelia and Liam standing in their path.

Amelia brought a cigarette to her lips and held it loosely between her fingers. “Got a light?”

The two exchanged a glance. One of them smirked knowingly. “Well, Commander Amelia…”

She raised the cigarette and tapped it against her fingers. “This isn’t a military base, and you’re not my soldiers. Don’t call me that.”

“Right, right. Miss Amelia. My bad,” he said, grin spreading wider.

She’d seen that kind of face before—smug, greasy. But tonight, it just looked uglier.

“I asked you for a light,” she reminded him, her voice flat.

“Sure thing.”

He stepped forward and held the lighter out with both hands. She leaned in. The flame flared up, casting a harsh glow over his face.

When the cigarette caught, Amelia straightened, took a drag, and exhaled a thin stream of smoke—directly at them. The smile in her eyes vanished, replaced by something razor-sharp.

“Apologize.”

Just one word, delivered like a gunshot.

Then she turned slightly to the side, revealing Liam behind her in the wheelchair.

The alpha hesitated, caught off guard. “I don’t understand…”

Amelia’s smile turned venomous. “You don’t understand the word ‘apologize’? What are you, brain-dead?”

“You—” The younger one’s face darkened instantly. He was someone who’d never been talked back to in his life.

“What we said was true,” he snapped, glaring at Liam. “He is a cripple. And he did use that pretty face to get close to you—and to the Langley family.”

Amelia gave a slow, mocking nod. “You’re not wrong.”

She looked at Liam and smirked. “I am pretty happy with his face.”

Liam didn’t react to the insult, not even a flicker of anger. But when she looked at him, something in his expression softened.

Then Amelia turned her attention back to the two alphas. Her tone cooled several degrees. “What? Jealous of his face? That it’s not yours? Is that why you’re out here talking shit—because you’re ugly?”

“What we said was the truth,” the younger one repeated stubbornly, his jaw clenched.

Amelia rolled her eyes, patience thinning. “Who the fuck made you the arbiter of truth? I said apologize.”

Her smile was gone now. Her eyes were like cold steel—and both of them flinched under her gaze.

Behind her, Liam said nothing. But his lips curved upward ever so slightly as he watched her stand in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” the older alpha finally muttered.

“Louder. What, are you a mosquito?”

“I’m sorry!” he said again, voice sharper this time.

Amelia gave a small nod, then tilted her chin toward the other one. “Your turn.”

The younger alpha glared at Liam again. His lips moved—but no sound came out.

“Hurry up. I’m not exactly known for being patient,” Amelia said casually, folding her hands behind her back.

It looked like a relaxed posture. But the younger one stiffened.

The older alpha leaned in and hissed, “She’s got a gun.”

That did the trick.

Reluctantly, the younger alpha muttered, “I’m sorry.”

“To him,” Amelia clarified.

“…I’m sorry.”

Once they finally slunk off, the courtyard fell quiet again. Amelia took another drag of her cigarette, gaze following the retreating figures before flicking down to Liam.

Amelia finished the last of her cigarette in silence, then stubbed it out and wiped her fingers with a wet tissue.

She glanced at the man in front of her—the one who’d claimed uncomfortable earlier. “So,” she asked, “not uncomfortable anymore?”

Liam was still watching her, just like before. He didn’t answer.

The air was quiet, unnaturally so. Even the wind seemed to have paused, holding its breath.

Amelia knew he was looking at her. So she let him. She stood still, let his gaze roam, let him see whatever he wanted to see.

The wet tissue left a cool, damp sensation on her fingertips. In the silence, even that felt amplified, almost intimate.

What the hell? she thought. Since when did a wet tissue make me react like this?

“Uncomfortable,” Liam suddenly murmured.

Amelia blinked. “What?”

“I feel uncomfortable.” His voice was low, almost panting.