Lynette's husband watched in silence as her mother led her away. He gaze lingered before he closed his eyes briefly, then raised an eyebrow as he reopened them, his gaze shifting to Daniella—who was still staring at him.
He held her gaze with quiet intensity, his expression unreadable. Daniella chuckled slightly, glancing away before looking back at him.
"Guess I'm caught," she mused.
She stepped forward, tilting her head slightly. "Did you notice my staring the whole time and just pretend I was invisible?"
Lynette's husband didn't respond. Instead, he cast a glance at the door.
With calm precision, he walked toward it and closed it gently.
Then—without warning—he turned sharply, striding straight to Daniella. His hand closed around her throat,, his grip tightening as he pushed her backward.
She couldn't react early because it was sudden.The impact sent her staggering, her breath hitching as her back hit the wall.
Shock flooded her senses, her hands instinctively flying up, grasping at his wrist, desperately trying to loosen his grip.
How had this man suddenly switch?
His expression remained serious—unwavering—as he tilted his head, observing her from head to toe, then back again.
"Memory loss? All of a sudden?" His voice was calm, yet carried an edge of suspicion. "Do I look like a fool, Miss Juan?"
Daniella tried to speak, but the words refused to form.
She couldn't—his grip was still tight around her throat.
Lynette's husband watched her struggle, a flicker of realization crossing his face.
His lips curled slightly into a grin.
"No attention," he murmured.
"Just answer my questions once I free you."
He lifted his index finger of his other hand to his lips—a signal for silence—before slowly releasing his hold.
Daniella gasped sharply, coughing as she clutched her throat, pulling in deep breaths.
She barely had time to recover before she yelled, "What is w—"
His hand shot up again, this time covering her mouth.
"You're not obedient… as always," he mused.
Daniella coughed, rubbing her sore neck as she glared at Lynette's husband.
Damn this memory loss idea, she thought bitterly. It worked out for Lynette, but it's definitely not good for me.
Still, she had to play along.
"I don't know what I did in the past, but I can't remember anything," she muttered, her voice low but edged with frustration. "Why is everyone treating me like I'm a roach?"
Lynette's husband observed her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, in a measured voice, he spoke.
"My lovely wife has been missing for fifteen days," he said slowly.
"And the last person she was seen with was you. Now, suddenly, you're both back—in her room, no less—and conveniently, both of you have memory loss."
His gaze sharpened, skepticism lacing his words. "Given your past behaviors, I suspected you had something to do with this. So… clarify this matter for me." His hands casually sank into the pockets of his off-white trousers.
Daniella inhaled sharply, forcing herself to remain composed. "As I said, I don't remember anything. Neither does Lynette."
She met his gaze, unflinching. "Your wife was missing, and you suspect me? Are you even sure that you and her family actually searched for her?"
Lynette's husband scoffed. "Searched?"
His voice darkened, amusement replaced by quiet intensity.
"Why wouldn't I have searched for her? The love of my life?"
He took a step closer. "And I wasn't the only one searching."
A shadow crossed his features, something between frustration and sorrow.
"If you really lost your memory, Daniella, then you've forgotten the most obvious truth—Lynette is the country's princess. She's loved, admired, pampered by everyone."
His voice grew heavier with each word, like the weight of a painful history pressing against him.
"The moment she was declared missing, her parents made an announcement. Every night, crowds gathered at the mansion gates, holding candles, singing, praying for her return."
"For those who couldn't come, they held their candles from their homes, sending their wishes from wherever they were."
"She was even given an award—'The Goddess of Kindness'—by the president."
His gaze flickered, locked onto Daniella's.
"But I suppose you can't remember that either."
" So his wife is some kind of Mother Teresa now?" Daniella thought.
Daniella clenched her jaw, frustration simmering beneath the surface. Shit, I need to find a way to stop this ridiculous transfer of hatred.*
She inhaled sharply, forcing herself to stay composed. "I can't remember the past, but isn't it possible that I've been misunderstood? What if your hatred for me comes from suspicion rather than truth?"
Her voice softened slightly, though the edge of frustration remained. "Did you ever truly know me?"
Lynette's husband fell silent, his gaze lowered as if deep in thought.
Then, finally, he exhaled and looked at her. "I'm sorry. Forgive me," he said, his tone weary. "I'm just… stressed and frustrated."
He rubbed his temples before continuing, voice laced with exhaustion. "Those fifteen days were a nightmare for me. Lynette isn't just my wife—she means more to me than words can express."
His gaze held hers for a fleeting moment before shifting away. "I don't really know much about you, apart from the fact that you spent time with Lynette… and that Azaela disliked you."
He sighed. "I don't know if the Daelan family will let you stay here until you recover your memories, but for now, take care."
His eyes flickered to her neck briefly. "Once again, I'm sorry about that."
With that, he turned and walked toward the door.
Just as his hand reached for the handle, Daniella's voice stopped him.
"What's your name?"
He stilled, taking a deep breath before replying, "Miss Juan, I know you haven't recovered your memories yet. You and my wife's lost memories…" He paused briefly, then smirked. "But don't you think it's more appropriate for her to learn my name first?"
Without waiting for a response, he opened the door and stepped out.
As he made his way toward the elevator, he suddenly stopped in his tracks, his expression darkening.
"If Azaela has already been called about Lynette's presence… then that thorn might already know," he muttered to himself.
He resumed walking, his stride steady but tense.
"That so-called guy friend, Carlos Leonardo."
*******
Phone rings.
"Sir, you have a call," a man said.