Love Me Back (Amelia and Daniel) novel Chapter 11

When the lawyer accepted her friend request, Amelia was already fast asleep.

The next morning, she stared at her phone for a long moment, lost in thought.

Finally, she set it aside and headed to the bathroom to wash up.

That afternoon, Sophia called.

“Babe, did you add the lawyer on WhatsApp?”

Amelia’s hand froze on her mouse. She mumbled a vague confirmation, not sounding too confident.

“And? What happened next?” Sophia pressed.

Amelia changed the subject. “Hey, remember that luxury cruise fireworks show you wanted to see? I managed to snag tickets. Want to go tomorrow night?”

Sophia, single-minded as ever, squealed, “No way! Even my brother—a world-class homebody—couldn’t get those. You’re a ticket-snatching ninja!”

Truth was, Amelia hadn’t gotten them that easily. The moment she hung up, she dove back onto her phone, refreshing the ticket site until her thumb cramped. At last, her persistence paid off—two last-minute cancellations popped up, and she claimed them just in time.

The cruise’s fireworks show was ridiculously popular, with tickets selling out in seconds. Even though Amelia only managed to score first-deck passes, Sophia had no complaints.

Well—almost none.

“Bloody hell, it’s freezing.”

Sophia had dressed to impress, donning her most expensive cashmere coat for the perfect photo op. Now she was shivering violently, nose running and all, the cold wind mocking her fashion choices.

Amelia, far more practical, was bundled from head to toe—hat, scarf, gloves, even thermal socks. She was perfectly warm, though the wind stung her eyes a little.

The fireworks hadn’t even started when a burst of raucous laughter and cheering erupted from above.

Sophia glanced up. The noise was coming from the cruise’s second floor, where she could just make out lavish lighting through floor-to-ceiling windows. No need to guess: up there, people were enjoying hot music and warm drinks, while she and Amelia braved the icy breeze outside.

“Hey—” Sophia flagged down a passing crew member, pointing upstairs. “How do you book the second floor? I never saw any tickets for it.”

“Second floor’s for VIP suites only, not open to the public,” the crew member replied.

“Filthy rich people,” Sophia muttered. Then she turned, a thought striking her. “Wait a sec, Amelia, aren’t you one of those rich people? Why are we out here freezing to death?”

At eight-thirty sharp, the fireworks began.

Colorful explosions lit up the sky in breathtaking patterns.

Sophia blew her nose, reclaimed her beauty, and struck pose after pose against the night, demanding Amelia take endless photos for her—perfect content for her carefully curated Facebook.

A rough life, polished for social media.

After the first round of fireworks, Sophia announced she was heading to the restroom. She was back in a flash, grabbed Amelia’s arm, and hustled her toward the stairs—not running, but moving with urgent purpose, mindful of Amelia’s still-healing ankle.

“What’s going on?” Amelia asked.

Sophia didn’t answer, but Amelia could practically feel the anger radiating off her.

Upstairs, Sophia dragged her to a window. Through the glass, Amelia saw exactly what had Sophia’s blood boiling.

“No Prime Minister in sight. Just the mistress,” Sophia hissed. “He hung up on you to be with her. Cheating jerk. If I could, I’d wring his neck right now.”