Just then, Ken glanced towards the door. "Boss, you're here." Emily heard a hoarse voice from behind her. "Yeah, I heard Miranda was here, so I came to see her." At that moment, time seemed to stand still. Everything around her faded into silence. Emily could hear her own breathing, and the slow, deliberate footsteps of the man approaching. Each second seemed to stretch into eternity, the sound of his polished shoes on the floor echoing crisply, each step pounding like a heavy hammer on her heart. Suddenly, she felt a sharp cramp in her lower abdomen. Emily's face turned pale instantly, and she crouched down, clutching her belly. Ken, who was closest to her, rushed to support her. "Miranda, are you okay?" Cold sweat broke out on Emily's forehead. "I'm just feeling a bit unwell. I need to use the restroom." She quickly turned around, pushing past him and bursting out of the room. Ken called after her, "Just go straight to the end and turn right, the ladies' room is there—" Satan watched her retreating figure, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "She knows." Ken was confused. "Miranda just arrived at our company for the first time today. Did Dylan already show her around?" "She just knows," Satan said. He then announced, "Meeting adjourned, everyone can leave." Ken was stunned. "But Miranda just proposed several great ideas. I was planning to discuss them with the team..." "I said, end the meeting," Satan repeated. "This project... We can take our time, there's no rush." Ken was even more bewildered. "But you're the one who insisted we rush to bring her back from Europe, and now you're saying there's no hurry..." Was it contradictory? No, it wasn't.He understood perfectly. As long as she was back, the project already held all the meaning it needed. Whether to proceed or not—it was up to her. ... Emily splashed her face with cold water in the restroom, feeling chilled to the bone. It was winter in New York, and the cold water was biting, each drop making her fingers ache. Her abdomen throbbed, a deep, dull pain. "Turn the knob to the right for warm water." A pair of large hands, slender and strong, turned the knob for her. Soon, the water warmed, and her hands began to regain their warmth. His gaze dropped to her flat abdomen, as if there was still a sliver of hope. "Is it just your period?" he asked. Emily shook her head. "No, but thank you for your concern, Mr. Norman." "I remember your cycle isn’t around these days. It should be another week or so. But it's been three years, maybe it's changed." He used to remember her cycle for her, always getting her sanitary supplies ahead of time. He'd cared for her so well that she'd forgotten to keep track of her own period. In her first year in England, she was often caught off guard by it. But her cycle had changed a long time ago. "My period just ended last week," she said. "Did it?" He sighed lightly. "Then I suppose I’ll have to start keeping track again." Emily tried to push past him, to leave. "That won't be necessary." Suddenly, a strong hand gripped her wrist, pulling her back with force. She collided with his solid chest, and a second later, he had her cornered against the wall, arms on either side, trapping her in the narrow space between him. "Why did it change?" His voice was still raspy, but the tone remained the same—gentle, warm, as if he were trying to coax her. "Miranda, tell me, why did it change?" What was he asking about?What had changed? Was it her, or was it her cycle? From the moment she lay on that cold surgical table, fighting for her life and losing their child, her cycle had been destined to change.