Amelia didn't realise she was walking home until she reached. Home! She thought bitterly. When did this cramped, single-bedroom house become her home?

Her anger reached a crescendo. She broke and tore the portrait of her mother she kept safe. But that wasn't enough, she wanted to rage and storm. She threw the contents of her dresser. No, that wasn't enough either.

When she finally left for the terrace the whole house was in complete disarray. She had planted snowdrop and aconite as they were her and her mother's favourite. She threw the pot to the floor making it crack.

Someone let out a long sigh making her look up, it was Antony. He was standing at the entrance to the terrace, looking at her wreaking havoc. He shook his head and headed down. She wanted a fight, his indifference made her see red.

She broke several of Antony's pot plants. When she reached for the next, his hands stopped her.

"Leave me!" she screamed.

"Plants are not worthy opponents," Antony took her hand and slid the boxing gloves.

"Punch me."

Amelia was first shocked, but she recovered quickly and started punching. She kept punching him. Antony neither flinched nor showed any sign of pain. It infuriated her even more, she kept on punching him without any remorse. Finally, she broke.

Antony had received an urgent message from Emma, informing him Amelia was not in the right state of mind. Antony came home to find it in complete disarray. He was not angry, he understood the frustration behind it.

He carried her in and made her lie down, she was still clinging to him crying. He let her cry, lending his shoulders.

"Do you want to talk?" Antony asked when Amelia finally subsided into hiccups.

Amelia stayed silent, just when he thought she wasn't going to answer she told, "I no longer know who or what I am anymore. All my life I lived just to spite my father. I lost myself."

He cupped her face and made her look at his eyes. "I know who you are. You are the bravest person with an ironclad will. You care in your own way. You are sharp tongued-"

"Is this supposed to be a compliment or spite?" Amelia interrupted, her voice didn't shake as much, and she looked slightly amused.

Antony continued as though she had never interrupted, "you see through what you started. A lesser person than you could never have done that. You are Amelia, the girl who hid a grown man in her skirts and scared away the thugs with your wits. You never lost you, you were just wearing a mask," he finished.

Amelia looked at Antony's eyes for a long time before saying, "I now know why half the ladies in town are in love with you. You are an excellent smooth-talker."

"Is this supposed to be a compliment or spite?"

Amelia chuckled, "Neither. I want to sleep now. Can you move back to your couch or better leave me alone as you always do?"

"Since I was beaten up today, don't you think I should be the one to get the bed?"

"Just because you let me punch you doesn't mean you can sleep in the bed. It doesn't speak well of a gentleman to let a lady sleep on the couch."

Antony chuckled and left the room. But before he could close the door Amelia called, "Thanks."