After a few more questions, the investigators reached their conclusion that Ashley really had an amnesia.
With nothing more to gain from pressing her further, they called in the doctors for a full evaluation. The dical team reviewed her condition and soon arrived at a plausible explanation that during her cardiac arrest, her heart had stopped for several seconds, cutting off oxygen to her brain. That brief deprivation of oxygen to the brain was enough to affect her mory.
It wasn’t uncommon.
Recovery, however, was uncertain.
They could only continue monitoring her condition, hoping her mories would return over ti. It might take days, months... or never happen at all.
When the doctors confird it, the investigators accepted it without further doubt.
To them... Ashley had truly lost her mory.
In the end, the doctors considered it a fortunate outco as losing her mory was far preferable to other outcos. Given the cardiac arrest and the risk of severe complications, Ashley could have easily ended up brain-dead.
Instead, there were signs of recovery, enough that the attending physician regarded her condition with cautious optimism. The investigators, however, offered no such reassurance.
The case had stalled, every lead dissolving into nothing, and for now, they chose to keep that uncertainty to themselves. After confirming the necessary details, they left the hospital to compile their reports and relay what little they had uncovered.
Not long after, the room shifted again. The door opened, and Ace stepped in, an eco bag of boxed als swinging lightly from his hand, the faint scent of food trailing in with him. But he wasn’t alone.
A group followed close behind, who are strangers to Ashley, unmistakably out of place in a hospital setting. They weren’t dical staff, though; that much was obvious.
Their clothes were too refined, tailored to perfection, the kind of high-end fashion that spoke of wealth and power rather than care or duty. There was sothing else, too, an unspoken presence about them, a quiet intensity that set them apart.
Yet despite their differences, they shared a striking similarity: each of them was undeniably attractive, their features sharp, their stature commanding, whether man or woman, their ages ranging, but their composure equally controlled.
Ashley watched them in silence, unease curling in her chest. She had no idea who they were, why they had co, or what place they had in her new life.
Ashley turned to Ace, her brows knitting together, a silent question written plainly across her face. He only gave a helpless shrug in response, setting the food boxes down on the bedside table as if nothing was out of the ordinary, then quietly busied himself with arranging her al.
One by one, the others filed in behind him, filling the room with a presence that felt too heavy for such a small space. No one spoke. They simply stood there, watching her.
The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, their gazes fixed on her as if afraid to look away. Ashley shifted under the weight of it, her unease deepening when she noticed the small detail of the way so of them blinked too quickly, their eyes rimd red, as though they were holding sothing back, sothing dangerously close to spilling over. It made no sense, and that only made it worse.
Her fingers tightened around the blanket, twisting the fabric as a nervous habit she didn’t even rember forming. "What... what’s going on?" she finally asked, her voice hesitant, betraying the growing anxiety she couldn’t quite explain.
"Eat first," Ace said gently, his tone leaving little room for argunt. "You’ve been out for three days. Your body’s still weak, you need sothing to warm your stomach." He slid the overbed table into place in front of her, movents careful and unhurried as he began unpacking the food one container at a ti.
"I got you porridge," he continued, glancing briefly at her before focusing back on his task. "You’ve got a lot of injuries, so I skipped the chicken soup; it might make the wounds itch. For now, you’ll have to stick to sothing bland."
As he spoke, the table slowly filled. A bowl of steaming porridge settled at the center, its warmth curling faintly into the air. Beside it, he arranged a neatly prepared platter of cut fruits, containing apples, waterlon, green grapes, lon, banana, strawberries, and slices of dragon fruit, each piece carefully placed as if presentation mattered just as much as nourishnt.
Finally, he set down a glass of orange juice, the bright color standing out against the otherwise muted spread, before stepping back slightly, giving her space while still hovering close enough to catch her if sothing happened.
Without waiting for her response, Ace took the seat the investigator had vacated and pulled the porridge closer, stirring it slowly to let the steam fade and the heat settle to sothing she could handle.
His movents were steady, almost practiced, as if this quiet act of care ca naturally to him. From the look of it alone, Ashley could tell the food hadn’t co from just anywhere.
The porridge was served in a sealed porcelain container, still pristine, while the fruit sat in a polished wooden bento box, its lid carved with delicate animal figures that felt oddly out of place in a hospital room. It was the kind of detail that spoke of expense, of effort... of intention.
And that only made it harder to understand.
Her gaze drifted past Ace, back to the group that had followed him in. They still hadn’t moved. Hadn’t spoken. They just stood there, watching her in that sa heavy, unblinking silence.
The longer it stretched, the more it pressed in on her, tightening around her chest until even breathing felt strange. A knot twisted deep in her stomach, unease mixing with sothing she couldn’t quite na, sothing heavier, until all she could do was sit there, caught between confusion and a growing, inexplicable dread.
She couldn’t keep asking who they were, not when she was supposed to be soone who rembered nothing. The act had to hold. So she forced herself to stay quiet, to play along, opening her mouth when Ace brought the spoon to her lips, swallowing slowly, chanically, as if that alone could anchor her.
But her composure kept slipping. Her eyes betrayed her, flicking toward them again and again, unable to ignore the weight of their presence. It made her restless, like sothing trapped under heat, her body tense and unsettled, her stomach tightening until she wondered if the anxiety alone might make her sick.
"Stop looking. Just eat."
Ace’s voice was low, gentle, but firm enough to cut through her spiraling thoughts. He had noticed, of course, he had. And though he couldn’t stop the others from staring, no matter how much he might want to, he could at least try to steady her, to draw her focus back to eating.
"Um..." Ashley murmured, her voice small as she kept her gaze lowered, avoiding the weight of every pair of eyes in the room. Her thoughts tangled over one another, questions piling up faster than she could sort them, each one pressing harder against her chest.
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