When Contracts Turn to Forbidden Kisses Chapter 104

Amelia

The buzzing of my doorbell shattered the peaceful morning silence. I glanced at the clock—7:15 AM. Who could be here this early? Mrs. Wilson hurried from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron before opening the door.

"Good morning," she greeted politely. "May I help you?"

A man in a crisp building management uniform stood in the doorway. I stepped closer to hear the conversation.

"Ms. Thompson? There's a situation in the lobby," he explained with obvious discomfort. "A man is causing a disturbance. He claims to be your father and is demanding to see you immediately."

I let out a long sigh. Of course. Robert couldn't even give me one peaceful morning.

"I'll handle it," I said, already reaching for my coat. "Tell him I'll be down in five minutes."

Mrs. Wilson gave me a worried look. "Dr. Thompson, maybe you should call Frank? He’d be better at handling this," she suggested.

"It's fine," I assured her, though I wasn't entirely convinced myself. "It's okay. He can't do anything to me in a lobby full of witnesses."

The elevator ride down felt longer than usual. I used those moments to center myself, taking deep breaths and mentally preparing for whatever scene Robert had created. The last time we spoke, he'd demanded a million. I had no illusions about what this visit was really about.

When the elevator doors opened, I could hear him before I saw him—his voice echoing through the marble lobby, bouncing off the high ceilings.

"Do you have any idea who I am?" Robert was shouting at the security guard, who looked both annoyed and professional. "I'm Robert Thompson! My daughter lives in this building, and I demand to see her now!"

Several of my neighbors had gathered at a safe distance, watching the spectacle with poorly disguised interest. Mrs. Harrington from 9B caught my eye and gave me a sympathetic smile.

I straightened my spine and walked directly toward the commotion.

"Robert," I said, keeping my voice deliberately calm. "What's going on?"

He spun around, his expensive but slightly rumpled suit making him look disheveled despite the designer label. His eyes lit up when he saw me—not with fatherly affection, but with the gleam of someone spotting their meal ticket.

"Amelia! Finally!" He stepped toward me, lowering his voice but not enough to prevent others from hearing. "I need money for an emergency surgery. I'm very sick."

I slipped automatically into doctor mode. "What's the diagnosis? As a physician, I'd need to see your medical records before transferring any funds."

Robert's face flickered with panic. "I left the diagnosis report at home. But it's serious—life-threatening. You have to help me. I'm your father."

From the corner of my eye, I could see my neighbors exchanging glances. Mrs. Caldwell, the retired judge from the penthouse, nodded slightly at my reasonable request.

"That's unfortunate," I replied evenly. "Perhaps we should reschedule this conversation after you've collected your medical documentation."

Robert's facade cracked. His face reddened as he lost patience. "Just transfer the money you promised me last night! That's all you need to do!"

"Promise you?" I raised an eyebrow. "You mean when you called to threaten me? When you asked for a million dollars?"

A collective gasp rippled through the onlookers. Robert hadn't realized how his voice had carried, or how the well-heeled residents of my building would react to such naked extortion.

"A million?" someone whispered loudly.

"Did he say *threaten*?" came another voice.

Robert's face twisted with rage. "You ungrateful daughter!" he shouted, abandoning all pretense. "Living in this luxury apartment while your father struggles! Is it so difficult to help your own father?"

I felt heat rising to my cheeks—not from shame, but from anger. After everything he'd done, after abandoning me, after treating my mother so terribly, he had the audacity to invoke fatherhood?

"Mr. Thompson," a cold, authoritative voice cut through the tension like a blade.

Every head in the lobby turned. Standing near the entrance, impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent, was Ethan.

My heart skipped a beat. What was he doing here?

"This early in the morning, your behavior is seriously disturbing the other residents," Ethan continued, his voice carrying effortlessly across the space.

The lobby fell completely silent. Even Robert seemed momentarily stunned, his mouth slightly open as he registered who was addressing him.

"Mr. Black," Robert stammered, his demeanor instantly changing. A nervous smile spread across his face. "I couldn't possibly be disturbing you—"

"You're not just disturbing me, you're disturbing everyone here," Ethan interrupted smoothly.

Robert's expression became a complicated mixture of embarrassment, fear, and calculation. I could practically see the gears turning in his head as he tried to figure out how to salvage the situation.

Ethan's gaze shifted to me, and our eyes met briefly. I couldn't read his expression, but something in his eyes made my breath catch. I quickly looked away, unwilling to acknowledge whatever silent message he was trying to convey.

The tension in the lobby was thick enough to cut with a scalpel. Robert stood frozen, caught between his anger at me and his obvious fear of offending someone with Ethan's power and influence.

The security guard, sensing an opportunity, stepped forward. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave the premises now."

Robert looked around, realizing he'd lost whatever advantage he thought he had. With a final glare in my direction—one that promised this wasn't over—he turned and stormed toward the exit, brushing past Ethan without meeting his eyes.

I stood rooted to the spot, embarrassment and relief washing over me in equal measure. The other residents began to disperse, whispering among themselves. I knew I'd be the subject of building gossip for at least a week.

And then there was Ethan, still standing there, watching me with those intense blue eyes of his.

What the hell was he doing at my building at seven in the morning?