Three days slipped by in the blink of an eye, and the long-awaited day of the press conference finally dawned.

That morning, Ashlyn remained reclined in her hospital bed, much as she had for days, idly scrolling through the latest news on the phone.

She was already fully aware of Carl's machinations. How he had skillfully swayed the shareholders into placing their trust in him, and how, at the press conference scheduled for that very morning, he intended to formally supplant her as the next CEO of Hughes Group.

If Carl coveted the position so desperately, she resolved silently, then she would grant him precisely what he desired.

As she gazed at the bold headlines blazing across the screen, a glint of something cold and perilous flashed through Ashlyn's eyes.

At that moment, a gentle knock echoed from the door.

"Ashie, it's me." Carl's voice sounded from the corridor, laced with practiced warmth.

"Come in," Ashlyn replied evenly.

With flawless composure, she slid the phone beneath the covers, concealing it from view.

The door swung open, and Carl entered bearing a steaming cup of broth, his demeanor solicitously calm.

"Ashie, these past three years must have taken such a toll on you. A few days of recovery simply isn't enough," Carl murmured, his tone measured and considerate as he extended the cup toward Ashlyn. "I prepared this myself—it should help restore your strength."

"It does smell wonderful. Thank you," Ashlyn answered, accepting the cup with a serene smile that never quite warmed her eyes.

The press conference was mere hours away; she harbored no illusions that Carl's sudden attentiveness sprang from genuine concern—especially not when he had found the time and patience to deliver this cup of soup personally.

She did not need even a moment's reflection to know the truth. The broth was heavily laced with sedatives—enough in a single cup to plunge an ordinary person into unconsciousness for days.

"After all we've shared, caring for you is the very least I can do. Go on, drink it. It will make you feel so much better," Carl continued smoothly.

Right before his watchful gaze, Ashlyn raised the cup to her lips and drained its contents without the slightest hesitation.

"Mmm… Carl," she said softly a few moments later, pressing a hand to her temple, "perhaps I'm still not fully recovered. I'm already beginning to feel drowsy."

Carl recognized the cue instantly; the sedative was taking hold. Rising promptly, he adopted an expression of tender concern. "Then rest, darling. You truly need it. I'll return to check on you later."

Before departing, he paused at the threshold for a prolonged moment, listening intently until Ashlyn's breathing slowed and deepened into the steady rhythm of sleep. Only when he was utterly convinced of her unconsciousness did he hurry away toward the press conference venue.

...

At ten o'clock that morning, the Hughes Group press conference commenced amid great pomp and grandeur.

The venue brimmed with formality and spectacle, drawing nearly every prominent figure in Giphis's commercial circles.

By the end of the day, Hughes Group would welcome a new leader.

Reporters and media representatives streamed into the hall in waves, cameras flashing and microphones at the ready.

"Congratulations, Mr. Hughes! After today, you'll be the youngest chief executive in all of Giphis!"

"Indeed—a CEO at such a young age. Truly remarkable. One can't help but admire the achievement."

"If truth be told, Mr. Hughes has earned it. While Ms. Marsh lay in a coma, he remained at her side yet still managed to keep the company steady."

"In my view, having a husband like Mr. Hughes is Ms. Marsh's greatest blessing. Even if she were to awaken this very instant, she would surely rejoice for him."

Impeccably dressed in a bespoke suit, Carl stood at the epicenter of adulation, Paulina radiant beside him in an exquisite gown, as influential business leaders encircled them with effusive praise.

Never before had Carl experienced such intoxicating pride.

In years past, these same luminaries had orbited solely around Ashlyn. He had trailed quietly in her shadow, overlooked and insignificant.

Having basked in the adulation long enough, Carl at last turned toward Oliver. "Mr. Hall," he said with a confident smile, "the moment has come. Shall we proceed with signing the agreement?"

Oliver nodded solemnly and leaned toward the microphone. "With the media fully assembled and the most prominent leaders of Giphis's business community bearing witness, I wish to make an official announcement. Owing to ongoing health concerns, Ms. Ashlyn Marsh is regrettably unable to continue fulfilling her responsibilities. By unanimous decision of the board, Mr. Hughes has been appointed to succeed her as the new Chief Executive Officer of Hughes Group."

Thunderous applause swept through the grand hall, a wave of approval that seemed to lift Carl even higher.

"Mr. Hughes, please join me on stage to sign the equity transfer agreement," Oliver added, extending a courteous gesture.

To the accompaniment of enthusiastic cheers and sustained clapping, Carl ascended the steps with barely contained exhilaration. His pulse raced as he grasped the pen, the weight of imminent triumph thrumming in his veins.

The company was mere seconds from becoming his irrevocably.

He poised the pen above the signature line, ready to commit his name to the document… almost there…

Just as the tip of the pen hovered over the paper, a woman's voice—cool, composed, and laced with a subtle, chilling amusement—cut through the hall from the main entrance.

"An equity transfer agreement? How curious. Why was I not informed of this press conference concerning Hughes Group?"

Every head in the venue swiveled toward the source of the interruption.

Carl, halted at the very cusp of victory, felt a flare of sharp irritation.

Who would dare disrupt such a pivotal moment? And since when did the Hughes Group owe anyone outside the inner circle advance notice of its proceedings?

His anger began to rise—until a sudden, profound hush descended over the entire assembly.

Following the collective gaze, Carl turned toward the entrance. The instant he recognized the woman framed in the doorway, his body went rigid, as though struck by lightning.

A cold sheen of sweat prickled across his back.

"Ashie?" he whispered, voice cracking with disbelief. "How… how could you possibly be here?"

"Ms. Marsh?"

"Is Ms. Marsh really here?"

The words rippled through the room like a shockwave. Led by Oliver, the shareholders of Hughes Group turned almost as one, eyes wide with disbelief.

No one had dreamed Ashlyn would walk through those doors—least of all Carl and Paulina.

Carl's mind reeled. He had given Ashlyn a dose strong enough to keep her under for days. He had checked on her himself, over and over, making sure she stayed deep in sleep.

She shouldn't be conscious, let alone standing in this room.

The reporters snapped awake in an instant, cameras whipping around to focus on Ashlyn.

"Ms. Marsh, how are you feeling right now? You look remarkably well—have you been recovering for a while?"

"The company just announced a major leadership shift. Were you aware of it? With you here now, does that announcement still stand?"

"There are rumors online that this change was planned years ago. Care to comment?"

Microphones surged forward, jostling for position in front of Ashlyn.

"Back up, please—give her some room," Carl called out, pushing through the crowd.

He no longer cared how Ashlyn had woken up.

What mattered now was taking back the story before it slipped away.

"Ashie," he said softly, leaning in close, "I only did it because I was worried about you. You always drive yourself too hard. I didn't want you waking up and jumping straight back to work. I stepped in to keep everything steady until you were truly strong enough."

The words sounded caring, almost noble—explaining the secrecy while painting him as the thoughtful, protective husband the cameras loved.

And in Carl's mind, Ashlyn would swallow it, just as she always had.

Out of old habit, he reached to draw her gently toward him.

This time, though, his hand never landed.

Ashlyn brushed it away without a second thought.

She stepped past his stunned expression, walked straight to the podium, and faced the room herself.

"I built this company," she said calmly. "And I'm not going anywhere."

Silence crashed over the crowd.

Carl's face drained of color. Paulina went pale beside him.

But Ashlyn wasn't finished.

"That also means." She went on, her eyes locking onto Carl's, "I'll be taking back every share I ever transferred."

She held Carl's gaze, steady and unflinching. "You told me once that if I ever wanted them returned, you would hand them over without a fight. My assistant will contact you tomorrow to handle the paperwork."

"What?" Carl blurted, rooted to the spot, shock plain on his face. For a second, he thought he had misheard.

Paulina and the rest of the Hughes family stood frozen behind him, mouths open.

Losing the CEO title was bad enough. Losing the shares meant being wiped out completely—stripped of power, status, everything.

For a family that had lived comfortably at the top for years, it was a nightmare the Hughes family couldn't imagine.

"Ashlyn, you can't do this!"

"You didn't build that company by yourself!"

"The Hughes Group's success has our contribution in it too—you don't get to call the shots alone!"

The sharpest protests erupted from the Hughes family.

"Contribution?" Ashlyn gave a quick, biting laugh. "Everything you've lived on—your houses, your shopping sprees, your vacations—came straight out of company money. So tell me, what did any of you actually put in? Did you bring in a single client? Seal one deal?"

Her voice turned razor-sharp. "Your worth to this company doesn't even match that of the cleaning crew."

The company only carried the Hughes name because Ashlyn had once been head-over-heels for Carl. In reality, every dollar, every plan, every bit of hard work had been hers and hers alone.

Every share they clutched had been sliced off her own portion and handed over like gifts.

And in return?

She got nothing but scorn, sneers, and endless put-downs.

"Ashlyn!"

The shout burst from Thalia Hughes, Carl's mother. She stormed forward, face twisted with rage. "You ungrateful little brat. You open your eyes and suddenly act like you own the world. It was Carl who looked after you all those years! Doctors, treatments, calling in favors... do you have any clue how much we spent on you? You're shameless."

Thalia had never seen Ashlyn as anything more than an outsider with no family, no power, no real standing. In her eyes, without the Hughes family propping her up, Ashlyn would have ended up with nothing.

Ashlyn let out a cold, mocking laugh. "Really? Then whose money kept your whole family afloat all this time? You used my own funds to pay for my care, and now you expect me to thank you? Or is it that everything you've taken still hasn't satisfied you?"

"You—you..." Thalia trembled with fury, words sticking in her throat.

She had never imagined Ashlyn would come back this fierce.

In the old days, just because she was Carl's mother, Thalia could say or do whatever she wanted, and Ashlyn would take it quietly—meek, obedient, never pushing back.

The moment Ashlyn stood her ground, Thalia couldn't stand it.

She lunged forward on pure instinct, hand raised to strike just like old times. "How dare you talk to me like that? I'll teach you some respect."

But before the blow could land, Ashlyn moved first—a clean, sharp slap that sent Thalia stumbling to the floor.

"Stay out of my sight."

The resounding slap that Ashlyn unleashed struck with merciless precision, sending Thalia reeling backward until she collapsed onto the polished floor in an undignified heap.

"Mom!" Carl cried out, his voice sharp with alarm.

Carl, Paulina, and the rest of the Hughes family stood rooted in stunned silence.

Not one of them had truly believed Ashlyn capable of raising her hand against Thalia.

Carl's features hardened into a mask of barely contained fury, composure utterly abandoned.

The woman before him bore no resemblance to the Ashlyn etched in his memory—the one who had always yielded first, trusted him without reservation, and paid dearly before daring to question him.

"Ashlyn, what in God's name do you think you're doing?" Carl roared. "Apologize to my mother right this instant. If you refuse, I swear I will never forgive you. I'll divorce you—do you understand me?"

In years past, that single threat had sufficed to crush any resistance. Whenever conflict flared between Ashlyn and Thalia, the mere mention of divorce had forced Ashlyn to swallow her pride and endure in silence.

Carl was certain the old pattern would hold.

What he could never have foreseen was Ashlyn's calm, unflinching response. "Divorce? Perfect. When my assistant arrives tomorrow to reclaim the shares, we can finalize the paperwork then and there."

For a moment, Carl stood speechless, Ashlyn's words refusing to settle in his mind.

An unwelcome suspicion clawed its way to the surface. Had every display of Ashlyn's been calculated? Had she, in fact, heard everything—his betrayal with Paulina, every vile confession uttered beside her seemingly lifeless form?

There was no time to pursue the thought.

"Ashie," Carl said quickly, forcing warmth and regret into his tone, "surely you didn't mean that. Are you angry because I proceeded with today's press conference without consulting you?"

Swallowing his rage, Carl preserved the facade of a concerned husband for the flashing cameras as he approached Ashlyn slowly.

When he stood close enough, he dropped his voice to a venomous whisper meant only for Ashlyn's ears.

"Don't push this any further," he warned. "You were unconscious for three years. Do you honestly believe the company still bends to your every whim? Many of your former loyalists answer to me now. If it comes to open war, I won't necessarily be the one who loses. Don't force my hand."

At last, the mask had slipped entirely.

He had abandoned pretense and moved straight to intimidation.

Ashlyn responded with a soft, scornful laugh that cut deeper than any shout.

She had truly lost her senses all those years ago, entrusting her heart to a man so utterly shameless and two-faced.

On the international stage she had once commanded, even the least distinguished of her admirers wielded far greater power and prestige than Carl could ever dream of.

The thought of past suitors inevitably summoned one name above all. Isaac Willis.

Isaac hailed from the Willis family—the preeminent arms conglomerate on the planet, an entity that operated on the same stratum as the Deity Syndicate.

He and Ashlyn had grown up side by side. He had once laid his heart bare to her, only to be rejected without a second thought—all for Carl.

In retrospect, Ashlyn could only regard her former self with a profound sense of incredulity and regret—an almost unbearable foolishness that now seemed incomprehensible.

Ashlyn met Carl's glare with serene indifference. "Hughes Group scarcely registers as a line item on my personal balance sheet. I maintain substantial stakes in numerous companies ranked among the global top hundred. Do you truly imagine this little advantage is sufficient leverage against me?"

Her declaration landed like a thunderclap, rippling through the assembled crowd.

A peal of incredulous laughter erupted from one of the Hughes family members. "Did everyone hear that? She claims ownership in multiple global top-hundred corporations—not just one, mind you! Three years in a coma must have unhinged Ashlyn completely. That sort of delusion is beyond absurd. Shareholders, you heard her yourselves. In her current state, are you truly prepared to return control of Hughes Group to her?"

In that instant, uncertainty flickered across the faces of even the most senior shareholders.

Ashlyn had undeniably been a formidable leader once. Yet asserting ownership in several of the world's elite corporations strained credulity to the breaking point.

It rang more of mockery than genuine assurance.

If she commanded wealth and influence on that scale, why would she ever have lingered in a modest city like Giphis?

Had three years of unconsciousness irreparably clouded her judgment?

Could a woman in such a state still be trusted to lead Hughes Group?

"Enough, Ashie," Carl interjected sharply. At first, he had feared Ashlyn might have overheard his infidelity while trapped in her coma.

Now, the notion that the accident and prolonged coma had impaired her faculties seemed far more plausible.

Once Carl embraced that convenient rationale, the puzzle pieces aligned neatly in his mind.

Ashlyn's uncharacteristic defiance that day at last possessed a logical explanation.

For the moment, his priority was to contain the spectacle and prevent outright chaos. Later, in private, he could maneuver Ashlyn—clearly not in her right mind—exactly where he needed her.

Placating someone whose judgment had been compromised would prove straightforward enough.

Carl exhaled slowly, the knot of tension in his chest loosening.

Just as derisive laughter and murmurs of disbelief began to ripple through the assembly, a resonant male voice boomed from the entrance.

"Who dares claim she is lying?"

The words were followed by the crisp, synchronized cadence of boots echoing across the marble floor.

Dozens of men clad in black poured into the hall from both aisles, moving with lethal precision. Each carried a Smith & Wesson M76 submachine gun slung at the ready.

Emblazoned on every chest was the unmistakable golden lion—the heraldic symbol of the Willis family.

In an instant, the atmosphere transformed from triumphant festivity to charged silence.

Conversations halted abruptly, as though severed by a blade.

Framed by this formidable escort strode a tall, commanding figure whose impeccably tailored suit did little to disguise the raw power of his physique or the innate authority that radiated from him.

Isaac surveyed the room with unhurried composure, his gaze sweeping across the stunned crowd.

When his eyes finally settled on the woman he had sought relentlessly for more than seven years, a subtle warmth softened their steel.

He spoke deliberately, every syllable weighted with unshakable conviction.

"Every word she uttered is the absolute truth. Registered under Ashlyn's name are one corporation ranked among the global top twenty, three within the top fifty, and five inside the top hundred. Should anyone here dispute that fact, then consider it a dispute with me personally."