Meanwhile, in the master bedroom.

Delia had already asked Edith to help move her stuff back in.

She lay sprawled out on the big, soft bed, hugging his usual pillow, breathing in deeply.

The scent of Curtis lingered faintly at the tip of her nose - cool and familiar.

Her head was full of thoughts about him.

It was only then that her whole body finally relaxed.

Only a day had passed since she'd been reborn, yet it felt like forever.

She knew now - all she needed to do was love him.

That was enough.

But the path to revenge was still long.

Even so, now that she had Curtis back within reach, she wouldn't let go again.

"Curtis... such a hard nut to crack," she mumbled with a wry smile.

But deep down, she knew it never took much to win his heart.

Even after all the hurt between them.

All it took was one glance back, and he'd still be there waiting.

She didn't think she had done much, yet Curtis forgave her anyway.

And not just forgave-he was starting to trust her again.

Delia couldn't believe a man this good was actually her husband.

The thought filled her with a quiet joy.

Before she realized it, fatigue began to creep in, and she gradually drifted into a light nap.

She didn't know how much time had passed when a soft sound stirred her.

The door opening quietly.

The slight friction of wheelchair wheels drew nearer.

Curtis had just wrapped up some work and rolled into the bedroom.

Suddenly, he paused at the doorway, frowning.

There was a faint, unfamiliar sweetness in the air.

His eyes darkened as he looked toward the bed.

In the dim light, he could make out the shape of someone lying there.

"Who's there?" His voice was low, with a hint of irritation.

The cold tone startled Delia awake.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes in confusion, her voice still soft from sleep.

"Honey? You're back... it's me."

The moment he realized it was her, the tension in Curtis eased.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, pausing before softening his voice.

As he looked at her dazed face, something flickered in his expression.

This wasn't like her at all. In the past, she wouldn't even agree to share a bed with him, let alone do it on her own.

He flipped the light on and wheeled himself over slowly. "Thought you'd head to the guest room," he said.

"You haven't slept here in a while."

There was a trace of... something in his voice. Maybe sadness. Maybe frustration.

"Well, don't you want me here?" Delia got out of bed, barefoot, stepping in front of him.

She gave him a gentle smile and looked up at his tense profile.

"We're married. We should sleep in the same bed."

"That was the past. Now, I just want to be close to you."

She reached out and gently tugged his sleeve, her tone soft and coaxing.

Curtis looked into her expectant eyes - bright and nervous.

Part of him wanted to keep his guard up, but he couldn't ignore the voice inside him getting louder.

He still wanted her. More than just a physical closeness.

The kind of love he thought he'd already buried.

But her presence was stirring it all up again.

"You might not be used to sleeping here," he said finally.

Then added as an afterthought, "You've never come here on your own before."

Ever since their reluctant marriage, Delia had done everything to stay away from him, even in the same house.That, of course, included the master bedroom that newlyweds were supposed to share.

Curtis hesitated for a moment before speaking again. "If you really want to go back..."

He figured Delia might've just had a sudden change of heart.

"Don't say that. As long as you're with me, anywhere feels like home," Delia cut him off without missing a beat, her voice firm and clear.

"Honey, if I insist on sleeping here, would you actually kick me out?"

Curtis fell silent, his lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

Truthfully, part of him had always hoped for this.

But given how sarcastic Delia had been with him before, he never dared to wish she'd change her mind.

She didn't seem bothered by his silence. Instead, she leaned in eagerly.

"Come on, I've already napped on the bed. Don't act all shy," she teased.

Then she reached out and started helping him from the wheelchair to the bed, a bit clumsy but surprisingly earnest.

Curtis watched her struggling with it-awkward, but so serious-and the words to turn her away just wouldn't come.

Eventually, he let her help him, settling uneasily on the other side of the bed.

He purposely kept some space between them.

But Delia's soft scent lingered in the air, making muscle memory tense up on instinct.

Right as he got comfortable, Delia scooted closer like a little cat, curling around him without warning.

She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his back, snuggling in close.

It was an unguarded kind of embrace, warm and natural.

She squinted her eyes, murmuring, "Yup, this... this feels right."

"Your hugs are my melatonin, babe."

Curtis froze, his breath catching for a second.

A rush of heat shot straight to his face, ears practically burning.

He was so nervous, he didn't dare move a muscle.

Delia could feel how stiff he was, which made her want to laugh-but also warmed her heart.

He was adorably flustered. So innocent, this man.

"Delia," he finally sighed, "you... this is making me really nervous."

His awkwardness was written all over his face-impossible to miss. So Curtis just gave up and spoke his mind.

She tightened her arms around him, rubbing her nose gently on his back.

In a lazy, sweet voice right by his ear, she whispered, "Don't be so tense, hubby."

"I'll hug you like this every night 'til you get used to it."

"We're a couple-being close is normal."

"I love you so much, you know?"

Her words, light as air, brushed right over his raw nerves.

The warmth and reliance in her touch were almost too real to believe.

It was a far cry from the sharp, distant version of Delia he remembered.

In her arms, Curtis' body gradually relaxed.

He shut his eyes, listening to her steady breathing behind him.

A rare sense of peace filled him from the inside out.

Maybe this was just a dream after all.

But if it was-he'd rather not wake up, ever.

In the stillness, wrapped in darkness and warmth-

For the first time, Curtis could feel her love so clearly.

"Delia... what are you really after?" he muttered to himself.

How was it possible that the woman who once hurt him had now come back to him, like this?

He turned his head slightly, leaning in to catch the faint scent from her hair.

She didn't seem like the same person-and yet, she was unmistakably her.

His breath trembled a little as he hugged her back, like holding something too precious to let go.

Whatever this was... even if it was fake, he just wanted it to last a bit longer.

Delia shifted her head slightly, but her whole body felt limp, like all strength had drained out of her.

She blinked hard and forced her eyes open. What she saw was a dusty, cobweb-covered room shrouded in dim light.

Wasn't she just tucked under the covers? Where the hell was she now?

For a moment, her mind went blank, but then the fog started to clear.

She tried to move, instinctively-but realized she was tied up tight with scratchy rope, unable to budge.

Pain spread through her body, sharp and familiar. She glanced down.

Under the faint light, she saw old burn scars winding across her bare skin-scars from that fire.

But... hadn't she been reborn? Wasn't she just peacefully asleep in Curtis's arms?

How was she suddenly back in her past life again?

Panic, icy and overwhelming, slammed into her like a wave.

"You're up?" A soft, girlish voice floated over.

Delia's head whipped up. The moment she saw the person standing before her, all warmth drained from her face.

Isabelle.

She looked completely out of place here-face flawless, makeup perfect, standing straight and smug in this filthy attic.

She wore that mocking smile, eyes glinting with disdain, a dagger Delia recognized instantly resting casually in her hand.

Just like before-except now, the roles had flipped.

Nathan was here too, looking as polished and fake as ever.

His eyes practically screamed sarcasm, not even trying to hide it.

"This can't be real," Delia whispered, her throat raw and dry. "It's just a nightmare... Curtis, where are you!"

She screamed, desperately clutching onto that last sliver of hope-that maybe, just maybe, the man who'd once held her silently in his arms would show up like some miracle.

But the only response was Isabelle's cold, cruel laughter.

"Haha, still dreaming your silly little fairy tale?"

"That useless cripple? You threw him away with your own hands!"

"You really think anyone's coming to save you now? Who even cares about you?"

Each word hit her like a poisoned needle, straight to the heart.

Yeah... it was her.

She'd hurled cruel words at Curtis, pushed him away again and again, burning every bridge until there was no turning back.

"Delia," Nathan's voice cut in-still soft, still gentle.

But every word out of his mouth dug into her like glass.

"Honestly, you're still this naive? Still this dumb?"

"You actually thought I loved you?"

He knelt so they were eye to eye, his expression full of fake pity and a twisted sort of amusement.

"Thanks to you, things went smoother than we ever imagined. All that Fleming family money, and the stuff from Curtis? We couldn't have done it without you. You're basically the MVP here."

"You'll all rot in hell!" Delia broke down in tears, fighting against the ropes, only to feel them biting deeper into her skin.

"'Rot in hell'?" Isabelle sneered.

She dragged the dagger slowly across Delia's cheek. "Look at you now. Who'd want someone like this?"

Before Delia could react, the blade slashed down hard.

"AH!!" Blood burst out instantly, trailing down her face.

"Can't handle a little scratch?" Isabelle leaned in, looking thrilled to see her in agony. "Don't worry, this is just the warm-up. This face of yours-it wasn't much to start with, but it still pisses me off."

"No... don't..." Delia shook her head in terror.

But Isabelle didn't even flinch.

"Ruining it is perfect. That way, there's no coming back for you. You'll rot away here-just like you deserve."

The dagger sliced across her skin again and again, leaving raw, bloody marks behind.

"Alright, Isabelle, that's enough," Nathan said in mock concern.

But in his hand was a syringe.

And he didn't hesitate in plunging it straight into Delia's arm.

Agonizing pain surged like wildfire through her veins.

"CURTIS!!" she screamed. She let out one final scream of pure despair as her vision went blurry.

The twisted, satisfied faces of those two faded away behind mocking laughter...

The sharp sting of antiseptic took the place of blood.

Delia lay on the hospital bed, wrapped head to toe in bandages, looking more like a mummy than a person.

She tried to move-but even lifting a finger felt impossible.

A woman in a nurse uniform and mask walked in. "Time to change your dressing."

Without another word, the nurse yanked at the gauze on Delia's body with zero hesitation.

Every pull sent pain shooting through her like an electric shock. Her eyes welled with tears instantly.

"Don't cry. Suck it up. Changing dressings always hurts," the nurse said flatly, her hands moving just as rough.

"You're in bad shape, huh? Well, guess that's what happens when you piss off the wrong people."

"Curtis... please... help me..." Delia sobbed quietly.

The nurse snorted. "Waiting for Mr. Stockton to save you? Get real. He dumped you ages ago."

"You'd better just stay here and wait to rot."

No. Curtis would never abandon her.

This was her fault-she was blind to what real love looked like.

"Curtis!" Delia sat up abruptly, gasping.

Her nightclothes were drenched in cold sweat, hair clinging messily to her forehead.

She panted, heart pounding, her eyes wide with terror.

But the air around her was cool, steadying, like someone had opened a window after a storm.

Her nerves, stretched to the point of snapping, slowly began to relax.

It was just a nightmare.

Still, everything she saw felt hauntingly real.

She turned her head and saw the man beside her sitting up, clearly startled by her sudden movement.

Curtis had already woken the moment she bolted upright.

He hadn't even said anything yet when he noticed her tear-streaked face.

Without thinking, he reached for her. "Delia, what's wrong?"

Delia stared at him like she needed that moment to believe he was really there, then threw herself into his arms, her grip tight.

"Babe! Ugh..." Her voice cracked as she buried her face in his chest.

Curtis stiffened for a second, caught off guard by her sudden breakdown.

Then he wrapped his arms around her protectively.

"Bad dream?" he asked gently, his voice softer than usual. He awkwardly patted her back, trying to ease her fear.

"It's okay. I'm here now. You're safe. Don't cry."

Delia clung to his shirt like her life depended on it, like letting go meant he'd vanish.

"You... you're not gonna leave me, right?"

Curtis held her tighter. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

Delia nestled deeper into his hug. "Okay... just don't leave me..."

Her voice faded, her breathing steadying as her exhaustion pulled her back under.

Tears still clinging to her lashes, she drifted back to sleep in his arms.

Curtis looked down at her, his brows furrowed, emotions swirling behind his eyes.

What kind of memory could've shaken her so badly?

They say nightmares come from real stress, and seeing her like this... Curtis felt a pang of guilt.

Maybe he hadn't been paying enough attention.

Lately, she had been acting kind of off.

Realizing it only now made him kick himself a bit.

With one arm still around her, he reached for his phone on the nightstand.

He quickly dialed a number.

The call was picked up after barely one ring-Noah's voice came through. "Mr. Stockton?"

"Look into the people Delia's been seeing lately."

"Uh... yes, sir. On it." Noah sounded surprised but didn't ask further questions.

Curtis hung up and placed the phone back.

Whatever secrets she was hiding, he needed to find out the truth.

Delia woke up with her heart pounding fast, a tightness in her chest like something had just scared the hell out of her.

The moment she came to, her first instinct was to check if someone was beside her. She reached out automatically.

Nothing.

Curtis wasn't there.

Panic rushed back in like a tidal wave, fueled by the remnants of that awful nightmare. She bolted upright, breathing heavy, chest heaving. Her eyes darted around until she finally caught the sound of running water coming from the bathroom.

He was still here. He hadn't left her.

Her whole body loosened up instantly. She hugged her knees in bed, buried her face in them, taking slow, deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart.

Even after coming back to life, she couldn't shake off those haunting memories. If anything, every fear, every ounce of pain from before had become even sharper.

She was terrified all this would vanish-like just another cruel dream.

The bathroom door eased open. Curtis came out in his wheelchair, dressed in a fresh shirt, his hair still damp, a light scent of soap clinging to him.

As soon as he looked up, his gaze met Delia's wide, panic-filled eyes staring straight at him.

The second she saw him, she tossed the covers aside, jumped out of bed barefoot, and rushed over without thinking.

And before he could react, she threw her arms around him, pressing her face into the crook of his neck.

She needed to feel him-to know this was real. The warmth from his skin, the scent of him, it all grounded her.

Her hug was so tight, like letting go would mean losing him forever.

Curtis froze for a moment, then slowly relaxed, letting her cling to him. He could tell how shaken she was just through that embrace.

He said nothing, only lifted a hand and gently patted her back. Comforting her, wordlessly.

A long silence passed before he finally spoke. "Couldn't sleep?"

Delia shook her head slightly, still holding on to him, her voice muffled, almost whispering.

"Yeah... had a really bad dream."

"I dreamt you didn't want me anymore. I looked everywhere, but I couldn't find you..."

She wasn't exactly lying, but she wasn't saying everything either.

Curtis's eyes flickered, but he didn't call her out. He still needed more time to get clarity from Noah's investigation.

Until then, he wasn't going to push her.

"I won't," he said simply, his arms tightening around her just a bit.

He'd made that decision last night-no matter what lay ahead, he'd stay by her side.

After a few minutes, they slowly pulled apart. Delia's face was flushed as she headed to the bathroom to wash up. Curtis had already gone downstairs, giving her a breather from the awkwardness.

When she came out, her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

One glance at the caller ID and her expression darkened.

Isabelle.

Speak of the devil.

Last time around, this was when Isabelle started getting in her head-pretending to care, but constantly urging her to divorce Curtis.

Now that she thought about it, every one of those "caring" words had been laced with manipulation.

Delia took a steady breath, shoving her anger back down before answering.

"Hello?" Her voice was calm.

Isabelle's bright, overly concerned voice came through instantly.

"Hey sis, how are you feeling? Did the talk with Curtis go okay yesterday?"

Sounding like she genuinely wanted Delia to be happy and "free."

Delia gave a tiny, cold smile that didn't reach her eyes but kept her voice neutral. "You seem more eager for my divorce than I am."

Isabelle clearly didn't see that coming. There was a short pause before she gave a couple of awkward laughs and covered with, "Of course not, I just care about you."

"You kept saying how miserable you were with him and how badly you wanted out, didn't you?"

"Really?" Delia let out a light scoff.

Thinking about what Isabelle was probably plotting, she lost all patience for pretending. "He didn't sign it."

"What? Why not?" Isabelle's pitch shot up, but she quickly caught herself and lowered her voice again. "I mean, didn't he already agree before? What happened? Did he do something again? Did he threaten you? You can tell me. Nathan and I've got your back!"

Delia could almost picture her sister's fake concerned face-it was laughable.

She responded calmly, her tone flat, "He said he doesn't want to divorce anymore. Nothing I can do about it."

"What? That's not okay!" Isabelle's voice had that anxious edge again. "Listen, you can't waver now. You've got to be firm about this. How about you come back today? We can talk it through properly. Nathan's really worried too..."

Nathan again.

Delia's eyes flickered with irritation. She'd had enough of this nonsense and cut her off mid-sentence, "I'm busy. Let's talk another time."

Without waiting for a reply, she hung up right away.

She set the phone down, took a breath to compose herself, then turned and headed downstairs.

Curtis was already seated at the dining table, right at the head. He hadn't started eating yet-just quietly sitting there.

When he saw Delia coming down, his eyes naturally drifted to her.

That look alone cleared up the lingering annoyance in her heart.

She walked over with a bright, sweet smile, "Waiting for me to have breakfast together?"

Curtis looked slightly flustered. He quickly averted his gaze, grabbed his glass of milk as if nothing had happened, and said, "It just got ready."

That clearly forced calm of his made Delia want to laugh.

She plopped down beside him with a playful grin, blinking up at him. "Oh yeah?"

Curtis's grip on the glass tightened a bit. He pressed his lips together but didn't confirm or deny it. The slight redness creeping up his ears gave him away.

Watching him like this warmed Delia's heart.

"Come on, let's eat. From now on, we should always have breakfast together, okay?"

She paused, her eyes twinkling as she added, "And if you're worried about me or anything... just say it. That'd actually make me happier."

Curtis looked up, meeting her eyes-and something in her gaze caught him off guard. His heart gave a weird little lurch.

"...Okay." He mumbled the word so softly, it barely registered.

Delia nodded contentedly.

That's more like it. Couples should be bold with each other.

She ate slowly, every now and then sneaking a look at Curtis as he quietly ate across from her.

He had such a clean, graceful way of eating-calm, quiet, with almost no sound. But that faint tiredness always lingered in his brows. The coldness, the long years of being looked down on... all of it gave him a fragile air.

Delia bit her lip.

She hadn't done enough yet.

Even if she was making the effort to get close, trying to show her love-how could that ever erase the hurt she'd once caused?

She found herself wondering: after all this... had Curtis changed the way he saw her?

Setting down her fork, she cupped her face in her hands.

A beat passed. Then she looked at Curtis and asked softly, "Hey... how do you feel about me now?"

Curtis froze for just a second. Then he went back to normal-but his chewing noticeably slowed down.