Dylan was carefully wiping Adelyn’s hands.
His hand paused in midair for a brief second before his gaze drifted back to her face.
She was sleeping peacefully now.
Yet he had once watched her completely break beneath the weight of that very pain.
And witnessing it had broken something inside him far more than he had ever allowed himself to show.
His expression hardened.
Then, silently, he resumed wiping her hands.
"Now isn’t the time," he said, his voice as deep and restrained as the night itself.
"But, Boss, he is—"
Before Ford could finish, Dylan turned slightly and looked at him from the corner of his eye.
There was no reprimand.
No sharp warning.
No raised voice.
Yet that single glance carried enough weight to silence everything Ford had been about to say.
He understood immediately.
Lowering his head, he didn’t dare continue.
Dylan turned his attention back to Adelyn.
His movements remained slow and impossibly gentle, almost as though he wasn’t tending to a person, but to a delicate porcelain doll —something so precious that even the slightest carelessness might leave a crack.
"She’s better now," he said quietly.
"You can go back."
Ford lifted his eyes.
He wanted to persuade him.
He truly did.
But seeing Dylan sitting there, his entire attention devoted to the sleeping woman before him ...
... Ford knew it would be pointless.
His boss had already relayed his decision. And now nothing he said would change it.
In the end, Ford swallowed every word that remained in his throat. Then, giving a respectful nod, he quietly left the room.
The soft click of the closing door echoed faintly.
Dylan never looked up.
He remained seated beside the bed, quietly replacing the damp towel resting against Adelyn’s forehead.
The room gradually fell silent.
It was not the silence that was born from having nothing left to say, but the fragile stillness that always followed an emotional storm.
A silence so delicate that even breathing too loudly felt like it might shatter it.
Dylan’s gaze never left Adelyn.
His fingers gently adjusted the towel before brushing away a few loose strands of hair that had fallen across her face.
She looked peaceful now.
As though everything had already passed.
But he knew, deep inside, a part of her was still hurting just the same.
His eyes darkened.
If fate gave him the chance to choose again, he would still make the very same decision.
Without hesitation.
Without regret.
Even knowing it would bring her to hate him ...
He would still choose her over everything else in this world.
And that was why ...
He had never once tried to defend himself. Because he knew he was selfish.
Selfish to the very core.
If choosing her peace over everything else made him selfish ...
Then selfish was exactly what he was willing to become.
Again.
And again.
For the rest of his eternity.
His gaze slowly softened once more.
Under the dim glow of the bedside lamp, her delicate features remained breathtakingly clear. He reached forward and gently tucked another loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Then his eyes lowered to the hand resting quietly atop the blanket.
Carefully ...
Almost reverently ...
He lifted it into both of his hands before pressing her palm lightly against his own cheek.
Her touch was warm, gentle, so real ...
...that for a fleeting moment, it almost felt unreal.
Yet when he looked back at the sleeping woman before him, he silently forced himself to believe it.
She was here.
Right in front of him.
As real as everything else in his world.
———————————————————
Meanwhile—
Outside, after Ford stepped out of the room and descended the stairs, he found Asher, Eve, and Emmett waiting downstairs.
The three of them had clearly been waiting for him.
The moment they heard his footsteps, all three turned toward him at once.
"What happened?" Eve asked first, unable to hide the worry written all over her face.
Asher also stepped closer. Unlike Eve, he didn’t rush him to answer. But the concern in his eyes spoke louder than words ever could.
"Was Boss alright?" Emmett asked.
"Or ... did his condition flare up again like last time?"
Asher immediately shot him a warning glare.
Feeling the stare, Emmett looked back at him. "What?"
"Don’t look at me like that," he said before jutting his chin towards Ford.
"Ford is a healer. If something happened upstairs and he was asked to come, that’s naturally the first thing I’d think of."
Before Asher could respond, Ford spoke.
"It wasn’t Boss. It was The Lady."
Those four words immediately drew everyone’s attention back to him.
Ford slowly explained everything that had happened upstairs.
From Adelyn’s sudden nightmare ...
...to the way she had broken down while still asleep ...
... and finally to how she had gradually calmed down.
By the time he finished, silence filled the air.
It was Eve who spoke first.
"Does that mean ... there’s a possibility her memories might return?"
Both Asher and Emmett instinctively looked toward Ford. There was unmistakable worry in their eyes.
Ford understood exactly what they were thinking.
Truthfully ...
He shared the same concern.
But there was something else that worried him even more.
"I’m not sure," he answered honestly. "The memories The Lady lost weren’t forgotten naturally."
"They were buried."
"So deeply ... that under ordinary circumstances, they should never resurface again."
He paused briefly before continuing.
"Memories like those cannot simply return because someone wishes them to."
Eve’s brows knitted tightly.
"Then what happened tonight? Why did her subconscious go back to feel the pain that she had already forgotten?"
Ford looked at her quietly. Then he slowly shook his head.
"No. It wasn’t her subconscious that returned to relive the pain of the past. It was called."
His words left all three staring at him in confusion.
Seeing their expressions, Ford continued, nodding,
"A bond reached her. And her subconscious responded."
Eve frowned. She still couldn’t fully understand. Instinctively, she turned to Asher and Emmett.
The two of them looked no less confused.
After a brief silence, Ford finally explained further.
"Some connections ... are deeper than memory itself. They aren’t formed through time. They aren’t formed through familiarity. They’re formed through blood ... and through the soul."
"Blood and soul ..." Asher repeated thoughtfully. Then something suddenly crossed his mind. His expression changed.
"Little Miss is alright, ... isn’t she?"
Ford slowly shook his head.
"It’s not Little Miss."
A heavy silence descended.
Then Ford quietly corrected him.
"It’s Little Master."
Asher’s expression froze instantly.
His pupils contracted.
"Little Master ...?"
His voice was barely above a whisper.
"But ... wasn’t he ..."
Ford slowly lowered his eyes. When he raised them again, his voice was calm.
Steady.
Certain.
"He might not be really dead."