The text from Lydia came through at 2:47 PM, just as I was wrapping up a conference call with the Tokyo office.
"Mrs. Humphries asked about her daily routine this morning. She asked as if she didn't remember, sir. Thought you should know."
I stared at the message. My thumb hovered over the reply button before I set the phone down without responding.
As if she didn't remember.
Something about it felt wrong.
Off.
Like trying to force a puzzle piece into a space where it almost fits but not quite.
The intercom buzzed. "Mr. Humphries? Your 3 PM with the Singapore investors is ready."
"Give me five minutes."
I pulled up the tracking app I'd had installed on all household vehicles.
The car's route history is loaded.
I traced the path with my finger—Humphries Tower to...
My hand stilled.
Coastfields Children's General Hospital. CCGH.
The hospital where Yuna had worked.
Why would Elodie go there?
Unless...
Unless she's still researching Yuna. Trying to become her. Collecting more information to perfect the imitation.
But that theory didn't quite fit either.
If Elodie was consciously trying to imitate Yuna, why would she need to ask Lydia about her own daily routines?
Why the memory gaps about her own life?
The intercom buzzed again.
"Mr. Humphries, the investors are asking—"
"Cancel it."
I stood abruptly, grabbing my jacket.
"Reschedule for tomorrow. Something urgent came up."
"Sir?"
But I was already heading for the elevator, checking my watch.
3:15 PM.
Elodie's appointment would be wrapping up soon at CMC. I could be there in twenty minutes if traffic cooperated.
I needed to hear what the neurologist said. Needed to see the test results myself.
I arrived at Manila Medical Center just as Elodie was leaving the neurologist's office.
She looked small in the vast medical building corridor, dressed in one of her usual understated outfits. Navy dress, pearls, everything perfectly proper.
From a distance, she looked exactly like the Elodie I'd married.
"Knox?"
She spotted me and stopped, surprise flickering across her face.
"What are you doing here?"
"Checking on you." I kept my voice neutral, professional. "How did the appointment go?"
"Fine. The neurologist said everything looks normal."
"Define normal," I said, gesturing toward the exit. My car was waiting. "What exactly did Dr. Reyes say?"
"He said the MRI showed no structural abnormalities. No tumors, no lesions, no signs of stroke or traumatic brain injury."
Her voice was steady. It was like she was reciting medical facts rather than discussing her own health.
"Blood work came back clean. Cognitive tests were all within normal ranges."
I held the car door open for her, studying her profile as she slid inside.
"And the personality changes? The memory issues?"
"He suggested they might be psychosomatic. Stress-induced. A response to trauma that manifests behaviorally rather than through measurable neurological damage."
She settled into the seat. "He prescribed anti-anxiety medication and recommended therapy."
Psychosomatic.
Another perfectly reasonable medical explanation that somehow felt insufficient.
I climbed in beside her, maintaining a careful distance between us.
"Did you take the prescription?"
"Not yet."
She stared out the window as the car pulled into traffic.
"I wanted to think about it first."
"Think about whether you want to take medication that might help stabilize your condition?" I couldn't keep the edge from my voice. "That seems unwise."
Her jaw tightened. "I just want to understand what's happening before I start altering my brain chemistry."
I want to understand what's happening.
The words struck me as odd.
"Lydia mentioned you went to CCGH before your appointment," I said, watching her reaction carefully. "Why?"
Elodie's hands tightened in her lap. "I wanted to see the hospital. Just it."
She didn't budge anymore and just looked outside the window.
Dinner was waiting when we arrived back at the suite.
Elodie sat across from me, and I noticed that she looked like the Elodie I'd married again.
Composed.
Quiet.
Properly deferential.
We ate in silence for several minutes. The only sounds were silverware on china.
Then Elodie set down her fork, took a sip of water, and asked a question that made my heart stutter.
"Can I come with you to work?"
I looked up sharply. "What?"
"Tomorrow. Can I accompany you to your office?"
What?
In two years of marriage, Elodie had never expressed even a passing interest in Humphries Hotels.
Her complete disinterest had been one of the cornerstones of our arrangement.
I provided security and social status; she provided the appearance of normalcy and stability.
We didn't interfere in each other's spheres.
But now she was asking to invade mine.
"Why?"
"Because I want to understand what you do. Want to be part of your life in a more meaningful way. Want to…"
She paused, seeming to choose her words carefully.
"Be a better partner to you."
A better partner.
Was this another manifestation of whatever psychological break she was experiencing?
Either way, I realized, this is an opportunity.
If she came to the office, I could observe her more closely.
See how she interacted with my business, my staff, my world.
Maybe finally figure out what the hell was happening to her.
And if she was genuinely trying to change, to become more engaged in our marriage... well. That wasn't the worst thing that could happen.
"Yes," I said, the word surprising both of us.
Elodie's eyes widened. Like she'd expected me to refuse.
Like she'd steeled herself for rejection.
Then the mask slipped back into place. Prim. Proper. Perfectly controlled.
"Thank you for your generosity," she said formally.
Fine, I thought. Let's see what happens when you enter my world.
Let's see if you can maintain this perfect Elodie act, or if more cracks will show.