Divorce Unleashed Her: The Mafia Empress Awakens

That one quiet sentence landed like a thunderbolt, sending an icy shiver racing down Carl's and Paulina's spines.

Could it be that Ashlyn had never truly slipped into oblivion during her coma—that she had been aware the entire time?

And if that were true, did she know every treacherous word they had whispered at her bedside just hours ago?

The flicker of raw panic on their faces only made the subtle smile playing at Ashlyn's lips grow a fraction wider.

"I can't quite tell if it was a dream or something real," she murmured, her voice soft and uncertain. "After everything faded to darkness, my mind just… went empty."

She let the words hang, deliberately tossing them a lifeline to ease their terror.

She wasn't ready to unmask them—not yet. Finishing this too soon would be letting them off the hook far too lightly.

She had built Carl up to this point herself; tearing it all down again would be child's play.

Only then did Carl and Paulina finally exhale, tension draining from their shoulders. They had been paranoid, reading too much into it.

"It's okay, Ashie," Carl said quickly, relief thick in his voice. "None of that matters now. Don't strain yourself trying to remember. The important thing is you're awake, and you're safe."

"Maybe we shouldn't press Ashie too hard right now," Paulina added with a gentle smile. "She has been through so much already. There'll be plenty of time to catch up later."

Terrified that more talk might jog unwanted memories, the pair scrambled for a flimsy excuse and hurried out of the room.

As they practically fled in a flurry of nerves, a cool, knowing smile curved Ashlyn's lips.

They actually believed confiscating one phone had trapped her in isolation. How laughably naive.

If Paulina had lingered a moment longer, she would have instantly recognized the sleek device now resting in Ashlyn's palm—it was hers.

Ashlyn unlocked it without hesitation and dialed a number she hadn't touched in years.

The last time she had made this call was seven years ago—right before she vanished from the Deity Syndicate.

The line connected almost instantly.

"Hello?"

Hearing that familiar voice, a faint, genuine smile tugged at Ashlyn's lips. She spoke softly, yet with unmistakable weight. "Michael."

"Miss Marsh!"

On the other end, Michael Gibson froze, the phone nearly slipping from his fingers.

That single word was all it took. No one else carried that quiet command, the kind that once made the entire underworld snap to attention.

Only the woman who had single-handedly ruled the global shadows deserved such instinctive reverence.

"Miss Marsh—it's really you! Seven years. Seven long years. Ever since you disappeared, we've searched everywhere. Things fell apart without you. Even petty outfits like Pale Blur have been walking all over us…"

Ashlyn lowered her gaze, her tone calm but edged with steel. "Spread the word. I'm back."

...

That very day, word ripped across the globe like wildfire that the long-lost heiress of the Deity Syndicate—the woman who had vanished without a trace for seven whole years—was finally coming back.

Night settled over Prexfield like a heavy velvet curtain.

The Willis family stood as one of the oldest, most shadowy arms dynasties in the continent, the unchallenged kings of the worldwide weapons trade.

On the global stage, their influence rivaled the Deity Syndicate's blow-for-blow.

Nothing of real importance slipped past their notice—not a single whisper on the international wind.

In the private study of the sprawling Willis estate, a tall, broad-shouldered man in crisp military uniform lounged at the wide worktable, his posture easy yet radiating quiet authority. This was Isaac Willis, the iron-fisted force steering the family's worldwide arms empire.

His features were sharp and arresting—clean-cut lines framing a gaze that burned with controlled intensity.

As always, he was sifting through the day's reports on family operations.

A sharp knock at the door snapped him out of his focus.

"Mr. Willis," came an urgent voice from the hallway. "We have news."

"Speak," Isaac said, his tone clipped and direct.

His subordinate stepped inside and wasted no time. "Mr. Willis, we've got a solid lead. We've found Ashlyn."

Isaac's fingers clenched around the pen until his knuckles blanched.

He wrestled his surging emotions back under control, but the edges of his eyes still betrayed him, turning a telltale red as he asked, "Where is she?"

"She is in Giphis—the biggest city in Arcridge."

Isaac slipped a hand into his pocket and drew out the photograph he always kept close.

He stared at the girl in the picture, her smile radiant and carefree, and something raw and fiercely possessive flared in his eyes—no longer leashed.

"Seven years," he murmured, voice low and rough. "Ashie, I've finally found you. This time, I'm never letting you out of my sight again."