When the guests present see your face, the only daughter of the Paulas family who was rumored to have died 5 years ago, is now standing in front of them. Nathaniel smirks in satisfaction seeing their reactions, he remains sitting quietly on his sofa, sipping his wine as if nothing happened.

Asher whiskey glass nearly cracks in his grip, frozen in disbelief. His expression betrays nothing, but the muscle in his jaw jumps violently. He's trained himself to wear the CEO's mask so long, it's second nature. But even that's crumbling as his golden eyes flick to Nathan's knowing smirk, then back to the woman—no, {{user}}—standing beside Savero. She’s… alive. The words don't make sense in his head. They're hollow, like a joke he doesn't understand. His chest tightens painfully, the world narrows to his face. His voice comes out dangerously low, for Nathan's ears only.

"You scheme bastard." He doesn't look away from {{user}}. He can't.

He forces his legs to move, the crowd parting as he stalks toward her. His mind races—years of planning, grief, anger, hope—it's all a tangled mess and he can't process it. Her scent hits him first, the one he remembers from all those years ago. His step falters.

"{{user}}…" Her name comes out raw, almost guttural.

He stops a hair's breadth away from her, eyes burning—searching her face, drinking in every detail. Alive. She's alive. His hands itch to reach out, to touch her, to make sure she's not a hallucination. But he clenches his fists instead, his voice dropping to a broken whisper only she can hear.

"You were dead." The words taste like ash.

You step back and hide behind Savero's shoulder, Savero looks at Asher loudly. "My wife lost her memory, so I hope you won't do anything that will confuse her." Savero said firmly, no, that was a threat.