The father's expression was clearer now at Lydia's outburst.
His eyes narrowed with the kind of cold irritation that spoke of a man accustomed to absolute obedience, and deeply annoyed by anything that disrupted his carefully controlled world.
He folded his newspaper carefully, each crease a testament to his need for order.
And when he stood, his presence filled the room with an intimidating authority that could be felt in the air.
"Amanda..." He began, looking away from his supposed daughter as if he couldn't waste his precious words on her.
Amanda? Surely there were a lot of Amandas in the world. This wouldn't be the one she knew. Lydia thought desperately.
With the man's attention completely on his wife:
"Deal with your daughter. Make her come back to her senses before she does something that will force me to get angry again."
His tone was measured, but there was an underlying threat that made Rose instinctively step closer to Lydia. This was a man who expected his word to be law, who saw resistance as a personal affront that required immediate correction.
"Ensure she doesn't misbehave again. I have more important matters to attend to than hormonal dramatics." He added firmly.
With that dismissal, he walked toward the inner house.
But his voice...
Lydia's hands trembled as recognition dawned on her.
That authoritative tone, that specific cadence, she had heard it whispered in her ear for months. Sweet lies delivered in that same measured rhythm through phone calls that had made her believe she was loved.
This was definitely the man who had called her "darling" and "my heart" while systematically draining every penny from her bank account.
Amanda heaved an exasperated sigh that seemed to come from her very soul, shaking her head at her supposed daughter with the practiced patience of someone dealing with a recurring problem.
She opened her mouth to speak, but then her gaze swept over Lydia's disheveled appearance: the torn clothes, the dirt-streaked skin, the wild hair, and her expression shifted from annoyance to disgust.
"I can't even stand to look at you like this." She said, waving her elegantly manicured hand dismissively.
"Rose, take her upstairs immediately. Get her cleaned up first. I refuse to waste my breath talking to her when she looks like she crawled out of a gutter."
The contempt in the woman's voice was so familiar it made Lydia's chest ache. This was the same tone Amanda had used in her previous life when discussing "pathetic people" who "didn't know their place."
"Come on, Lolo. Let's get you settled." Rose gently took Lydia's arm.
With her mind spinning in desperate circles, Lydia absentmindedly allowed herself to be led through the mansion's corridors.
Could those really be the same people?
Was this actually happening, or had death finally driven her completely insane?
She barely registered the grandeur surrounding her. Her thoughts were consumed by one horrifying possibility:
If those really were Amanda and Lucien, then she had been reborn as the daughter of her own murderers.
Rose led her into a room that got Lydia's attention despite her emotional turmoil.
It was enormous, larger than any apartment she had ever lived in, decorated in shades of cream and gold and the furniture in it spoke of unlimited wealth.
"This is your room in the family house, Lolo." Rose said softly, misinterpreting Lydia's amazement as confusion. She believed her boss was suffering from memory loss and was confused.
"You have your own townhouse across the city. I'm certain your parents will insist you recover here where they can keep an eye on you." She added.
The word 'parents' snapped Lydia back into thinking.
So she didn't have time to process what was happening around her even as Rose led her into the huge bathroom until suddenly she felt hands on her body: multiple pairs of hands, and she wasn't prepared for the shock.
"What the hell!" She jolted back to full awareness, her voice cracking with panic as she spun around to find two maids reaching for her clothes with practiced efficiency.
The maids jumped back in fright, their heads immediately dropping in submission, but they didn't retreat entirely. They hovered nearby, clearly confused by her reaction but unwilling to abandon their task.
"Lolo, what's wrong?" Rose rushed to her side, concerned eyes searching her face for signs of injury.
"Are you hurting somewhere?"
"What is going on? Why are they undressing me?" Lydia demanded, wrapping her arms around herself protectively.
The maids had managed to remove the torn dress, leaving her in her undergarments.
Rose's eyebrows shot up, puzzled.
"This is how you've always bathed, Lolo. The maids serve you..."
"They serve me like I'm some kind of princess?" Lydia couldn't keep the disbelief out of her voice as she interrupted the other woman.
Rose's expression shifted to something between amazement and concern.
"Lolo... you ARE a princess. You're the princess of the Lowell Empire, and you're the sweetheart of movie lovers across the country."
She moved closer, speaking with the patience of someone explaining something obvious to a confused child.
"I'm sure anybody would love to serve Allison Lowell... Lolo, up close like this."
Allison Lowell. A movie star. A princess of an empire.
Lydia furrowed her eyebrows as she processed those words but one particular word stung her ears.
"Lowell Empire?" Her voice came out in a whisper.
Rose nodded, still confused by the question.
"Yes, your father's business empire. Lolo, you're starting to worry me. I think we should address this issue of memory loss immediately."
Lydia's heart pounded as she managed to ask, stuttering:
"Are...my parents' names... Amanda Dante and Lucien Lowell?"
"Yes." Rose replied sharply, as if that would somehow make her boss remember everything else just like how she seemed to remember her parents' names now.
Lydia gasped.
Those weren't just similar names. Those were the exact names. The same people who had whispered lies in her ear and poison in her food.
Her legs wobbled and she barely caught herself against the dresser, her vision swimming as the impossible truth crashed over her.
"What's today's date?" The words came out strangled.
Rose was at her side in an instant, genuine fear creeping into her voice.
"August 8th, 2025." She replied reluctantly.
"Lolo, I'm calling a doctor. We need to do something about your memory..." She was saying but Lydia was no longer listening.
"That means it's been twenty-four years since I died?" Lydia whispered to herself.
"And they weren't caught?"
The cruel irony was breathtaking. They had stolen her life savings to build their empire, gone scotfree and now she was living as their precious princess in the mansion built on her blood money.
Then something clicked in her mind:
"God has definitely given me the perfect avenue to get my revenge..."
Rose was saying something, her voice urgent and concerned, but Lydia couldn't process the words. The maids hovered nervously nearby, clearly unsure whether to continue with their duties or flee.
Then, in the space between one heartbeat and the next, everything changed.
The maids collapsed first: not violently, but with the sudden limpness of dolls whose strings had been cut. They crumpled to the carpet without a sound.
Rose followed a split second later, her concerned expression freezing mid-sentence before she folded gracefully to the floor.
Lydia's eyes caught the movements and her thoughts paused, her heart pounding.
"What's happening?" She spun around and found herself staring at a man who definitely hadn't been there a moment before.
He was unbelievably handsome in a way that seemed almost out of the world. Pale skin, dark hair, and red eyes so intensely focused on her that everything else in the room seemed to fade into background noise.
"Hello, love." The man whispered, his voice so smooth, like silk, that seemed to caress Lydia's troubled mind.