When Quinn regained consciousness, she didn't open her eyes immediately. Instead, she lay there quietly, listening.
She could sense presences in the room, their voices filling her ears.
"She will wake up soon. Be sure not to stress her or anything—she's still fragile," a voice she recognized as the doctor's informed.
"Alright, doctor."
That familiar, distinct masculine voice made her eyelashes tremble violently. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open.
At first, her vision was blurry, but soon it zeroed in on the middle-aged man she had expected—tall and fit. That was her father.
He looked exactly as he did in her last memory: stern, with a hint of tiredness always lurking between his brows.
Behind him was… Quinn's eyes widened at the sight of Olenna, her stepmother.
"Quinn… you're awake!" Olenna's stunned voice filled the room, quivering with a mix of emotions as she stepped forward to stand beside her eldest stepdaughter.
Quinn stiffened slightly at her touch, her expression turning icy.
Her biological mother had died in a plane crash when she was around three. A month later, her father brought another woman—her mother's closest friend—into their home. Olenna Stewart, a powerful socialite, had abandoned her public life to become a full-time housewife for Miller Wright, raising his two mischievous twins as her own.
Olenna's eyes grew misty as she gently hugged Quinn. "I'm so glad you're awake. You have no idea how much everyone missed you."
She had raised both children like her own. How could she not feel hurt when one was in a coma after being hit by the other?
Quinn, on the other hand, couldn't describe the torrent of emotions flooding her.
What's happening?
What's going on?
She remembered very clearly—after her marriage to Dylan, Miller and Olenna had lost their lives in a car crash, leaving the company in Amy's hands.
How are they alive?
And more importantly… how am I alive?
She couldn't process any of it. It all felt so strange… so surreal.
Miller stepped forward, his gaze growing emotional as he took in his daughter, who now resembled her mother more than her twin sister.
"We are happy to have you back, daughter."
Olenna, understanding the moment, stepped aside to let the father and daughter share a hug.
The whole time, Quinn said nothing. She remained rigid, struggling to comprehend what was happening.
This situation was oddly familiar—too familiar. It gnawed at her mind, like a memory just out of reach.
Just as she was about to give up trying to piece it together, Olenna, gently dabbing her tears with a tissue, called out toward the door.
"Come in, Amy."
Silence filled the room as the couple turned toward the entrance.
After a few seconds, Amy walked in.
She avoided Quinn's gaze and stood beside their father.
"You're awake."
Quinn's body trembled violently. Her teeth clenched, and in an instant, she glared at Amy with such venom that Amy instinctively stepped back, heart pounding in shock.
"What are you going to do now?" Quinn spat, her voice dripping with fury. "Kill me again? Or kill my baby again? You wretched wench! Bitch! If you want me dead again, go ahead! Tell your man to do it! Do as you see fit! But as long as I am alive, you will never be happy!"
Silence.
Pin-drop silence.
Miller and Olenna exchanged looks of pure confusion and shock as they watched the usually calm Quinn erupt into unbridled rage.
"Wha–what's going on?" Amy stammered, taking another step back, her heart hammering against her ribs. Fear flickered in her eyes, but so did something else—hurt.
Her eyelashes trembled as she clung onto Miller's arm, her voice soft and laced with grievance.
"Why is Quinn cursing at me? Why is she calling me names?"
Miller, a man with a military background who valued discipline and morality, had never allowed foul language in his home. His expression darkened as he patted Amy's head reassuringly.
"Your sister just woke up. She's not in her right mind."
Amy pouted slightly, her lower lip trembling.
Olenna, on the other hand, remained stunned, her mind blank.
She had raised all her children to be well-mannered. This—Quinn cursing at her sister—was unforgivable. What if a nurse or someone else had overheard? It could spread like wildfire. The headlines would read: Olenna Stewart's stepdaughter loves to curse at people.
Her eyes darted around, scanning the locked ward for any hidden cameras or eavesdroppers.
Relief washed over her when she found none.
Forcing a gentle smile, she turned back to Quinn and adjusted the bedsheet over her.
"Why don't you rest for a while, baby? Your father and I will come visit you later in the evening."
Quinn said nothing. Her gaze, burning with rage, remained locked onto the little sister she had once adored.
And then—suddenly—memories began to rush through her mind, flashing before her eyes like a violent storm.
Her head pounded. Her vision blurred.
The pressure was unbearable.
And then—everything went black.
Olenna exchanged frantic looks with the others before immediately bolting out to call the doctor.