Amanda couldn't shake the doubts in her mind as she listened to Ken explain. "As far as I know, Miranda is British," Ken said, leaning back in his chair. "Her parents live in the UK, and she's lived there for most of her life. I think I know where you're going with this, Amanda. You suspect the woman who did Lucas’ makeup might be our boss’s wife, don't you?" Amanda wasn’t fully convinced herself. "It’s just a feeling I have… I saw the makeup work she did on Lucas, and the style was unmistakable. It was so distinct that I immediately recognized it. Even Lucas said it was exactly like what Emily used to do. But if Miranda is really from the UK..." "Oh, I probably didn’t explain that clearly," Ken interrupted. "Miranda might have British citizenship, but she’s originally from New York." "Is she an immigrant?" Amanda inquired, narrowing her eyes. Ken shrugged. "I’m not sure. That’s personal information, and I didn’t want to pry." Amanda nodded, taking a deep breath, feeling both disappointed and unsure. "Maybe... maybe it’s just my obsession. Emily was such an incredible person. I still can’t understand why someone like Sophia, who was so toxic, gets to live, and Emily... well, she’s gone." Ken sighed deeply. "Life isn’t fair, is it? Good people die young, while the rest... they linger." Realizing that her visit might not yield any new answers, Amanda stood up, giving Ken a grateful nod. "Thank you for your time, Ken. I won’t take up any more of your day." Ken rose from his seat as well. "No problem at all. I’ll walk you out." "Oh, that’s not necessary," Amanda said quickly. "But could you tell me where the restroom is?" Ken pointed down the hall. "Just go straight down to the end. You’ll find it there. Be safe on your way out." "Thank you, I appreciate it," Amanda replied, then made her way out of Ken’s office, her heels clicking softly as she walked down the hallway. As she neared the restroom, her phone rang. "Lucas? What’s wrong?" she answered. "Amanda, did you find anything out?" Lucas’ voice was tense, bordering on desperation. Amanda checked her watch, her brow furrowing. "Aren’t you supposed to be doing a TV interview right now? Why are you calling me?" "I can’t stop thinking about it," Lucas admitted, his voice full of frustration. "That makeup last night—I know for a fact it was Emily’s work. She always used her fingers to fill in my eyebrows. No other makeup artist does that, only her! And the pressure, the touch—it was exactly like hers. It couldn’t be anyone else." "But Ken said the woman you’re talking about is British. She grew up in the UK and has lived there her whole life. How could it possibly be Emily?" Amanda asked, though she herself was feeling increasingly uncertain. There was silence on the other end of the line, punctuated only by Lucas’s ragged breathing. Amanda softened her tone. "Look, don’t worry about it right now. You have to focus on your interview. I’ll look into it more, okay?" Lucas reluctantly agreed, and the call ended. Amanda sighed, feeling the weight of confusion and doubt settle over her. Something didn’t feel right, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. As she pushed open the restroom door, she nearly collided with a young woman rushing out. "Sorry!" Amanda apologized quickly, stepping back. The woman, clearly startled, waved her off and mumbled something before hurrying away, practically running out of the restroom. ... Emily returned to the office a few minutes later, still slightly out of breath. She closed the door behind her with a loud thud. Ken glanced at her, startled. "Miranda, are you okay? You look a bit... rattled." Emily took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "I’m fine. I just... ran into someone unexpected in the bathroom." "Was it Cathy?" Ken immediately guessed, looking ready to charge into battle on her behalf. "If she’s messing with you again, I swear I’ll go straight to Dylan." Emily stopped him before he could storm out of the office. "No, it wasn’t Cathy. I’ve already talked to Steven, and he’s going to handle it. Plus, I already gave Cathy a piece of my mind." Ken’s eyes widened. "Seriously? You actually stood up to her?" Emily nodded, her breathing finally returning to normal. "Yeah. Cathy said I could get my employee ID, but only if I paid $88,000 for it." "What? That’s highway robbery!" Ken exclaimed. "Exactly," Emily said, her voice tinged with annoyance. "So, I told her I didn’t need the ID card and that I wouldn’t be coming in tomorrow."Ken looked horrified. "No! You can’t do that! You can’t just stop coming in." Emily let out a small laugh. "Relax, Ken. I was just angry and venting. I’m not actually going to stop coming to work." Ken breathed a sigh of relief. "You had me worried for a second there. But don’t worry, I’ll talk to security and make sure they let you in." The rest of the day passed uneventfully, and by the time the workday was over, Ken offered to drive Emily home. She politely declined. There was still a part of her that resisted any reminders of her past life. Running into Amanda in the restroom had only heightened her wariness. But life seemed determined to test her resolve. The more she wanted to avoid her past, the more it seemed to creep into her present. As she stood on the sidewalk, trying to hail a cab during rush hour, she noticed that most were already occupied. She stepped back to wait for the next available one. A sleek, black SUV pulled up in front of her. The window rolled down, revealing someone who shouldn’t have been out of the hospital—Vincent Norman. He gestured to his throat and shook his head. He still couldn’t speak. Then, he pointed to the passenger seat next to him. He wanted her to get in the car. Traffic was heavy, and impatient drivers behind him were already honking their horns, clearly annoyed that he had stopped. Emily hesitated, waving him off. "I’ll just take a cab." Vincent frowned slightly, his gaze fixed on her, silently urging her to get in. In the brief span of a minute or two, the cars behind them had piled up, and more drivers were honking angrily. Emily sighed, exasperated. "You should head back to the hospital. Everyone’s waiting." He didn’t move, only tapped the seat next to him again, more insistently this time. It was a silent threat. He wasn’t going to budge until she got in the car. One of the drivers behind them stepped out, clearly frustrated and about to cause a scene.Emily, not wanting to cause a commotion, relented. She opened the door and slipped into the passenger seat. The car finally pulled away, blending into the stream of traffic. As she buckled her seatbelt, Emily glanced over at Vincent. His complexion was still pale, and a strip of white medical tape was visible on the back of his hand where an IV had been placed. "Did the doctor say you could leave the hospital?" she asked, her voice edged with concern. Vincent shook his head. "Then why did you leave?" Vincent tried to speak but winced in pain, unable to get the words out. Emily frowned. "Does Dylan know you left the hospital?"