?Chapter 1195:


    “Leave.”


    Puzzled by the intensity in his tone, Ste didn’t pull away. Instead, she stayed close, whispering reassurance after reassurance, promising she would never abandon him.


    But where she couldn’t see, Marc’s eyes shimmered with turmoil.


    Sharon’s words wed at the edges of his mind like an unshakable echo. His worst nightmare was simple: one morning, Ste would open her eyes, remember everything, and walk away from him forever.


    He couldn’t bear the thought. So he held her tighter, desperate to freeze this fleeting moment in time. Even if the happiness he clung to was borrowed, even if it rested on lies, he wouldn’t let it slip through his fingers.


    Meanwhile, nestled in his embrace, a faint unease stirred in Ste’s chest. As she murmuredfort, a quiet question began to take shape in her mind.


    What was Marc so afraid of losing?


    Why did it seem that ever since she woke up, everyone had been acting oddly—as though they were keeping something from her? Yet every time she asked, they insisted nothing was wrong.


    Was it just her imagination, or were they truly hiding something from her?


    With a heavy sigh, Ste realized that apart from what she could recall, she had no better answers. All she could do was pray that fate would show mercy and spare her from deceit.


    Meanwhile, Sharon began asking Ste out with all sorts of excuses.


    Each outing was part of a n—one formed under Dr. Charles Robinson’s guidance—to stir Ste’s memories gently, not with force, but with persistence.


    That morning, she brought Ste to a small café tucked near their old campus, a ce heavy with the scent of roasted beans and oldughter.


    “Stel, you’ve got to try their sea salt cheesette,” Sharon said. “It’s amazing.”


    With a gentle push, she slid the hottte toward Ste, keeping her gaze fixed on her.


    The faint aroma of coffee lingered in the air as Ste lifted the cup and took a cautious sip. Her brows drew together.


    “It’s good,” she murmured after a pause, “but a bit too sweet.”


    Sharon’s heart sank.


    She remembered perfectly—Ste hadn’t touched atte in years. Back when she’d first started working, she had switched entirely to Americanos, iming she needed something strong enough to “kick her brain awake.”


    Even William had known that. He never ordered herttes.


    This small cup in Ste’s hands—warm, creamy, nostalgic—should have meant something.


    But it didn’t.


    Noticing Sharon’s expression, Ste misunderstood. Thinking Sharon was disappointed in her, she quickly took another sip and forced a cheerful smile. “But it’s really not bad. Very rich, actually!”


    Sharon forced a smile in return, hiding her frustration behind it.


    Fine. The coffee hadn’t worked. But she wasn’t done yet.


    .


    .


    .