Alice stared at the lifeless line crawling across the monitor, her brow knitting as her mind refused to accept what her eyes were seeing.

Impossible. The tumor had been cleanly excised. Every vessel had been preserved. There was no medical reason for cardiac arrest.

A sharp, grief-stricken cry tore through the silence. "Father is dead—she killed him!" Josie screamed, her voice cracking.

She pointed a trembling finger at Alice, her eyes blazing with hatred. "He could have lived a little longer! Long enough for us to say goodbye! But you… you stole even that! You murderer!"

Michael felt the world tilt beneath his feet.

This was his fault. If he hadn't let this strange woman into the estate… if he hadn't believed her impossible claims… his father would still be breathing. He had trusted her—and in doing so, had handed her the knife that destroyed everything.

His grief hardened into something dark and venomous. "Security," he said slowly, each word soaked in fury. "I want her to suffer so much that she'll beg for death."

Immediately, armed guards flooded the corridor, rifles raised, black muzzles locking onto Alice from every direction.

Michael stared at her with bloodshot eyes. "Kneel. If you beg properly, I might grant you a quick death."

Alice didn't react. She didn't even look at him. Her gaze remained fixed on the monitor, her thoughts racing.

"My operation was flawless," she said calmly, her voice carrying an unmistakable authority. "Your father is not dead. I need to examine him again."

She stepped toward the bed. Before she could reach it, Bruce—consumed by wrath—raised his pistol.

"Examine my backside!" he spat. "Michael, what are you waiting for? Are you too enchanted by her face to pull the trigger? If you won't kill her, I will."

He fired—three times in rapid succession. The bullets sliced through the air, aimed straight at Alice's head.

Every eye in the room followed their trajectory, certain she would collapse lifelessly at any moment.

Yet, Alice didn't flinch. Instead, she reached out, her hand extending toward the very bullets.

Josie scoffed bitterly. "Catching bullets barehanded? Does she think she's some kind of—"

Her words died in her throat.

In the next heartbeat—

Alice opened her palm. Three mangled bullets lay there, crushed into twisted scrap metal. She squeezed her fist, and silver dust spilled between her fingers, scattering across the floor with a faint, mocking chime.

The Wright family stood frozen, disbelief hollowing their faces.

"I told you," Alice said, stepping in front of the bed, her presence radiating terrifying authority. "Dami is not dead. Interfere again—and I will no longer show restraint."

Michael's face twisted with terror and madness.

"Fire!" he roared. "I don't care what she is—burn this place down if you must! I want her dead!"

Alice's expression hardened.

In an instant, the room erupted into chaos. Machine guns roared to life, a tempest of bullets surging forward.

She lunged ahead, covering Damien's frail body with her own, her back absorbing the storm.

The scorching rounds struck her, ricocheting off her impossibly dense muscle and bone.

Yet there were too many.

A relentless barrage of bullets rained down upon her, the cumulative force finally overwhelming her defenses.

A sharp, tearing sound echoed as three rounds grazed her cheek. Pain flared, hot and sudden.

Crimson droplets splattered from her face, landing precisely on Damien's parched, slightly parted lips.

Smoke filled the room like a ghostly shroud. As the gunfire ceased, a sight that defied reality unfolded: the bullets that had burrowed into Alice's flesh were being expelled, one by one, clattering to the ground like worthless pebbles.

Every gaze remained fixed on her in horror.

Then, right before their astonished eyes, the gruesome gunshot wounds began to mend.

Skin knitted itself together, muscle reformed, and blood vanished. Within seconds, only faint pink traces remained, as though the injuries had never existed.

"What… what kind of monster are you?" Michael stumbled backward, his voice trembling.

Alice paid him no heed. She bent down, her fingers swiftly checking Damien's vitals.

Then— Like a spark igniting in the depths of darkness, the old man's withered fingers twitched.

Under the family's incredulous stares, Damien slowly opened his eyes.

The cloudiness faded, inch by inch, until his gaze settled on Alice's face.

Summoning strength no one believed he still possessed, the legendary tycoon—the man whose name had once made the world tremble—struggled upright. He ignored his children, his empire, his wealth. He slid from the bed and fell to his knees before the young woman.

His cracked lips trembled.

And in a voice thin with age yet heavy enough to shake the room, he whispered a single word—"Mom."

A suffocating silence fell over the room. Every gaze was locked on Damien, disbelief flickering in widened eyes.

"Father… what—what did you just say?" Michael's voice trembled despite his effort to remain composed. "She… this young woman may have indeed saved your life with her remarkable medical expertise—but how could she possibly be your mother?"

Bruce and Josie stood rigid, their expressions stiff with confusion. Their eyes lingered on Alice, searching her face for some clue, some explanation—yet finding none.

They could far more easily accept that she was their father's illegitimate daughter… even a granddaughter born in secret. But a grandmother? It was absurd.

Michael, the eldest, was already fifty-seven. Even Josie, the youngest, had turned fifty this year.

Their own children were roughly the same age as this woman standing before them.

"Father," Bruce said cautiously, stepping forward, "you've been gravely ill for too long. Perhaps… perhaps you miss Grandma so deeply that your mind is clouded. You may have mistaken this young lady for her." He reached out, intending to help the old man up. "Please, get up. We'll make sure this woman is handsomely rewarded for saving your life, but—"

"Shut your mouth!" Damien slapped his son's hand away with surprising force.

He then turned back to Alice. Tears streamed freely down his aged face as he clutched Alice, holding her as though she might vanish if he loosened his grip.

"Mom… I missed you so much," he sobbed, his voice cracking like that of a lost child. "Where have you been all these years? Every night in my dreams, you said you would take me to the pier for fries. I waited every day. A whole century… a hundred years, Mom… I always wondered if one day you would suddenly come home. Now that I've seen you again, I could die this very moment without regret."

Bruce stood there, stunned and awkward, at a loss for words.

What shook them even more was Alice herself. She wrapped her arms around Damien, her expression gentle, overflowing with unmistakable maternal warmth—as if she were truly embracing her long-lost child.

"There, there, Dami… don't be afraid." Her voice softened like warm water. "Isn't Mom here now? I promise—I won't leave you again." She brushed his white hair gently. "Don't cry, my little sniffler. You're already a great-grandfather. Your children would laugh if they saw you like this."

To everyone's disbelief, the legendary Damien Wright—once stern, unyielding, feared across industries—pouted like a child. "What's wrong with crying in front of my mother? Even if I'm a great-grandfather, I'll always be your child when I'm with you!"

Alice could not help smiling faintly through her tears. "Alright, alright," she said softly. "Dami is Mom's good boy. Now let's get up from the floor, hmm? You've just undergone surgery and need proper rest. You promise to listen to me, won't you?"

Only then did Damien reluctantly rise. Turning, he fixed his stunned children with a sharp glare.

"What are you standing there for?" he barked. "Show some respect and greet your grandmother! Have you all forgotten your manners? Is this how I raised you?"

Michael, Bruce, and Josie stood frozen, exchanging uneasy glances.

To call a woman the same age as their own children "Grandma" was simply beyond comprehension.

Seeing their silence, Damien's chest heaved violently with rising fury.

"Are you all deaf?!" he thundered. "I told you to greet her! If you won't even acknowledge your own grandmother, then perhaps you no longer wish to be Wrights! Or should I revoke your inheritance rights altogether?"

Alice, however, remained perfectly calm.

She understood them. To these children, their grandmother had died long ago—buried in memories and grief.

No amount of shouting could force belief upon them.

She gently patted Damien's head, her tone soothing. "There, there. You've only just regained consciousness. You must keep your emotions steady. Let your children go and rest. You and I will talk properly later. You can tell Mom everything that happened while I was gone."

Damien finally waved irritably at his children. "All of you—get out."

Michael hesitated, a torrent of words bubbling within him, but ultimately he led his younger siblings out.

As they walked away, they glanced back—watching their father gaze at Alice with the longing, unguarded eyes of a child reunited with his mother. The scene felt unreal. Disturbing. Almost sacrilegious.

Outside, Josie clenched her fists. "Michael, this is impossible. How could that woman be our real grandmother? Father must be delirious after being sick for so long! Or else… she used some kind of dark sorcery to control him!"

Bruce nodded grimly. "I agree. She's terrifying. No normal human can stop bullets with bare hands. What if she's some kind of demon… sent to destroy our family?"

Michael remained silent, fists clenched at his sides.

For reasons he couldn't explain, a troubling thought refused to leave his mind. What if… she really was their grandmother?

Their father had told him countless stories—of a woman who was a genius scientist, whose medical skill bordered on the miraculous; a woman who had saved countless lives, whose inventions had once earned her a nomination for the Nobel Prize in Medicine.

When doctors had declared his father beyond saving, Michael himself had once thought—If Grandma were still alive… maybe she could save him.

Coming back from memories, he spoke with a resolute calm. "Father believes she is Grandma. We should refrain from openly challenging or distressing him."

He inhaled slowly. "But if they truly are mother and son… a DNA test would surely provide clarity. We need to obtain a DNA sample from that woman. Only genetic comparison can confirm the truth. And if she is not who she claims to be, we can use this evidence to persuade Father!"

Bruce and Josie pondered this proposal, finding it both logical and necessary.

"I will arrange for it to be done at once!" Josie declared, her determination palpable.