The moment the group of men stepped out and the door clicked shut behind them, the tension snapped.

Amelia let out a long, unsteady breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Her shoulders sagged, the strength she had been forcing into her posture dissolving all at once.

Lara didn’t say anything—she simply guided her away, a steady hand at her arm, leading her toward the lounge inside the Isla Pavilion.

The space was modest compared to the grandeur of restaurants in the city—muted lighting, polished wood, and a single plush sofa that seemed to promise rest.

The moment Amelia reached it, she sank down helplessly, as if her body had finally claimed what it had been denied for hours.

"You did well, Amelia."

Lara’s voice was light—warm and gentle, like a breeze that lingered after a passing storm.

Amelia let out a soft, humorless laugh, her head sinking back against the cushion as if even holding it up had become a burden.

"I don’t think so..."

The words came out quiet, weighed down by everything she had held back in that room—every hesitation, every missed cue, every answer she wished she had given differently.

A dull heaviness settled in her chest.

She felt defeated.

If she had truly done well... then why did she feel so drained? So utterly spent, as if she had been slowly unraveled with every passing minute of that conversation?

Before her thoughts could spiral further, Lara moved.

She sat beside her without hesitation and gently guided Amelia upright, as though refusing to let her retreat into herself. A steady hand came to her back, patting her lightly—rhythmic, reassuring.

It was a simple gesture.

But grounding.

Familiar.

Almost... protective.

Like someone who had long grown used to steadying others before they could fall.

"Compared to the woman I found slumped on a bathroom floor," Lara said, a hint of teasing threading through her calm tone, "the one I saw today carried herself with confidence."

For a moment, Amelia blinked.

Then—she laughed.

A real one this time.

"That pathetic version of me..." she muttered, shaking her head. But when she turned to Lara, her eyes were brighter—clearer. "You’re right. I did well."

A genuine smile bloomed across her face, soft at first, then certain.

"That’s the spirit, girl," Lara replied, smiling back.

Silence settled between them—not heavy, but comfortable.

Then Amelia leaned forward slightly, curiosity sparking again.

"If it were up to you, Lara... who do you think should play the role of Lara Norse?"

Lara paused, her gaze drifting for a fraction of a second—as if searching through something just out of reach.

"I don’t know," she admitted. "I don’t follow the entertainment industry. I don’t even know who the famous actresses are."

And that was the truth.

There were still gaps in her memory—places untouched, unopened.

"Then what about you?" Lara asked.

Amelia didn’t hesitate.

"If you were an actress," she said, her tone suddenly firm, almost certain, "you would be perfect for the role."

Lara raised a brow.

"You have this presence," Amelia continued, studying her. "An aura that just... fits. I can’t explain it any other way. But when I think of Empress Lara—"

She pointed lightly at her.

"I see you."

Lara let out a soft laugh, shaking her head.

"If you keep saying things like that, people might start questioning your judgment as an author," she said lightly. "I grew up in the countryside. Most would say I lack the refinement and elegance expected of someone raised in the capital."

"That’s complete nonsense! Those idiots!"

The words burst out of Amelia before she could stop herself.

The room went still.

Lara blinked—caught off guard.

For a fleeting second, something crossed her mind.

Did she pick that up from me?

Amelia froze, her eyes widening as realization hit.

"I—I’m sorry, Larissa," she said quickly, flustered. "I didn’t mean—I just—"

She stopped, then straightened, her expression turning unexpectedly serious.

"I don’t understand that kind of thinking," she said firmly. "If people could see you the way you truly are, they’d realize you carry yourself like an empress."

Her gaze swept over Lara—measured, thoughtful.

"Especially now," she added, a small, teasing smile returning, "that you’ve gained a bit of weight."

Then suddenly, Amelia stood up.

Abruptly.

As if a thought had struck her like lightning.

"Wait..."

Her eyes widened, her expression shifting from amusement to dawning realization.

"You were taken in as the goddaughter of General Leonard Norse... and your siblings call you Lara..."

She turned—slowly, dramatically—to face her.

"Lara... Norse."

A beat.

Amelia pointed at her, eyes shining with excitement.

"Doesn’t that make you her namesake?"

She stepped closer to her that Lara involuntarily stepped back.

Amelia suddenly leaned in—too close.

So close that Lara instinctively leaned back, her body reacting before her mind could catch up.

"What—are you out of your mind?" Lara asked, her tone light, teasing, masking the flicker of unease that had risen in her chest.

"Of course not."

Before Lara could retreat further, Amelia reached out and cupped her face with both hands.

Firm.

Unyielding.

She studied her—intently, unblinking, as if trying to peel back layers no one else could see.

Lara stilled.

For a brief, disorienting moment, the face in front of her blurred—

And another overlapped it.

A younger face. Softer. Familiar.

Althea.

Her daughter... from a life she had buried deep within memory.

Lara’s breath caught as her heart suddenly ached from longing.

The past surged forward without warning—warmth, loss, something painfully tender—

Then, she blinked and it was gone.

Only Amelia remained.

Crystal clear and her current reality.

What... am I thinking?

"I just realized something," Amelia said, her voice shifting—no longer playful, but thoughtful... almost reverent. "You bear a slight resemblance to the sculptures and paintings of Empress Lara."

The words struck harder than they should have.

Lara’s knees weakened.

Before she could stop herself, she dropped back onto the sofa, the soft cushions catching her as her composure faltered for the first time.

"Hey... Amelia," she said, forcing a steadier tone, though it came out tighter than intended. "Enough with the nonsense."

But this time, there was no teasing in her voice.

Only restraint.

God knows how much she fought to keep her cool.

Because deep inside—

In a place she rarely allowed herself to look—

She knew.

There was a resemblance.