Chapter 7 7: Changes

ASHER

"Sir, this is the complete medical record of Mrs. Bennett."

My assistant, Troy, carefully placed the thick folder on top of my desk. The sound it made as it hit the glass surface was heavy, solid, final-as if it were warning me that what lay inside was far more than mere paperwork. I picked it up immediately, opened it, and began scanning every page while Troy continued speaking in front of me, his tone straight, controlled, and professional as always.

"She sustained a mild concussion, Sir. As of now, it's confirmed that she's experiencing temporary memory loss. There's still no definite timeline for recovery, but based on the doctor's assessment, she won't remember anything that happened before her hospitalization."

I paused mid-sentence.

Something in my chest tightened.

"The last time she was hospitalized," Troy added, "was due to an allergic reaction. Apparently, everything she ordered that day consisted entirely of seafood."

I nodded slowly, pretending to absorb the information with ease. But in truth, the questions in my head were multiplying faster than the answers. I knew Emily-or at least, I thought I did. She knew she was allergic to seafood. She wouldn't be that careless. Not without reason. Not without thinking.

Something didn't add up.

"How did Emily even know about that place?" I asked suddenly, stopping my reading. "Has she been there before?"

Troy looked at me, clearly weighing his response before finally speaking.

"That restaurant, Sir, is known to be an exclusive establishment," he said. "It's frequented by the wealthy-people with influence, not just in business but also in politics, not to mention those in the underground. It's not a place anyone can simply walk into. Reservations are usually made weeks in advance."

A faint, humorless smile tugged at my lips-not out of amusement, but irritation.

"As for Mrs. Bennett," he continued, "I still don't have confirmed information on how many times she's been there... or if she's ever been there before at all."

I leaned back slightly, my mind racing. The place was famous, yes. I'd heard of it long ago. But even I, with my resources, connections, and money, had never casually set foot inside that restaurant.

So how did she manage to get in?

"And the man?" I asked, my voice turning cold. "The one who supposedly brought her to the hospital."

"I still haven't gathered solid information about him, Sir," Troy replied. "Aside from his name-Devon. But one thing is certain: he was at the restaurant at the time of the incident."

Devon.

I repeated the name over and over in my head, trying to attach a face to it, a history, a connection-anything. But there was nothing. Just emptiness. A blank space where information should have been.

I said nothing more.

The office fell into silence, broken only by the low hum of the air conditioner. I tried to piece everything together-the restaurant, the allergy, the memory loss, the man I didn't know. No matter how hard I tried, the picture refused to come into focus.

"What do you think?"

I lifted my gaze to Troy. There were moments when I asked for his opinion-when my thoughts became too tangled, when I was confronting things I didn't want to admit to myself. This was one of those moments.

He paused briefly before answering.

"I feel," he said carefully, "that Mrs. Bennett has changed."

My brow furrowed.

"I can't say exactly what it is," he went on, "but after following her movements... her behavior... it feels like I no longer recognize her. She's no longer the Emily we used to know."

Something sharp twisted inside me, but I chose to remain silent.

"As for Devon," he added, "there's really not much I can say since all we have is a name. Given that, he may be hiding something-or worse, planning something dangerous."

I nodded slowly, the weight in my chest growing heavier. I had the same gut feeling. For Emily. And for that man.

"Sir," Troy called again.

I looked at him, waiting.

"The changes in Mrs. Bennett," he said, choosing his words with extreme care, "may be caused by what happened... and by what didn't happen."

"What do you mean?" I asked, even though a part of me already knew the answer.

Troy took a deep breath.

"You've been neglecting Mrs. Bennett, Sir," Troy said bluntly. "And you're always siding with Miss Corrine-without a doubt. I'm sorry to say it, but it's possible that Mrs. Bennett no longer feels the same way about you as she once did."

Something inside me shattered.

I clenched my hands over the desk, feeling tension shoot through every finger. Troy bowed slightly, clearly aware he had hit a nerve. I tried to suppress the emotion bubbling inside me, but it was too late.

I couldn't accept that her feelings-Emily's feelings-could be lost or diminished so easily. Not like this. Not to me.

And yet, the hardest truth to admit... was that there was merit in what Troy had said.

For the first time, I realized that perhaps my greatest enemy in this whole situation wasn't Devon, or the people circling Emily-it was my own failures. My inability to notice, to act, to be present when it mattered most.

"Continue monitoring Emily," I ordered sharply, keeping my eyes glued to the folder in front of me. "I want to know everything she does. Every movement, every choice-no matter how small or insignificant it seems."

"Yes, Sir," Troy responded, posture straight and unwavering, clearly accustomed to carrying the weight of my commands.

"You may leave," I said, returning my full attention to the folder, forcing myself to absorb each line, though my mind kept spinning, twisting the words in front of me until they blurred.

He left quietly. The faint click of the door closing behind him amplified the silence in the office, making it almost suffocating. Only the low hum of the air conditioner and my controlled breathing filled the space-slow, deliberate, but tense to the point of aching.

I leaned back in my chair, still gripping the folder that contained Emily's medical records. Cold facts. Data that could never explain why the woman I had once been certain was mine seemed to be slipping further away, fragment by fragment.

Before I could sink fully into the spiral of my thoughts, the door opened-abruptly, without a knock, without warning.

Corrine.

My hand froze mid-page. I didn't even need to look to know who it was; her presence alone was enough to shift the atmosphere in the room. Too familiar. Too invasive.

"Hi, Ash," she greeted, a trace of a smile on her lips-an expression I had once ignored, but now hit differently. Uncomfortably. Wrongly.

I couldn't stop the irritation that rose within me. A raw, inexplicable kind of annoyance-not because of what she had done, but because she existed in that moment. Her timing felt wrong. Always wrong.

"Do you need something?" I asked coldly, refusing to meet her eyes.

"Just passing by," she said, moving closer to my desk. "I heard you were in your office, so I thought-"

"So you decided to barge in?" I cut her off, finally looking up at her.

She faltered for a moment, then quickly recovered. "I didn't think I'd be intruding."

I allowed a tight smile to form, devoid of any real humor.

"This is the worst possible timing," I said flatly. "If you have nothing important to say, I suggest you leave."

A flicker of something-annoyance, maybe surprise crossed her face, but she masked it quickly. She nodded slightly, yet before fully retreating, she spoke again.

"About Emily..." she began cautiously.

The moment she uttered my wife's name, a deeper surge of irritation washed over me.

"Stop," I said firmly. "This isn't a conversation you should involve yourself in."

She paused, eyes fixed on me, as though she had something more to say. In the end, though, she could only turn and walk out of the office.

When the door clicked shut behind her, I let out a long, deep sigh.

For the first time, I realized that no matter how tightly I tried to control everything, there were some things already slipping beyond my grasp.

And one of them... was Emily.