Jessica's brow furrowed, her voice low and edged with unease. "What do you mean easier?" She asked, praying it wasn't what she feared.

"Exactly what you're thinking. He had every report about that incident blocked by himself."

Richard exhaled slowly, his tone carrying both reluctance and finality. "I guess you still have to go back to him."

"To Davis? Impossible." Jessica muttered under her breath, her hands tightening in her lap.

Richard shook his head, resigned. "Any attempt to dig into it now, he'll know. And for me… you understand what that means."

Jessica's eyes hardened with quiet resolve. "Then I'll get it myself."

Amongst all she had expected to hear, never once had she imagined Davis would go so far as to block every trace of the accident.

Her thoughts spiraled, tumbling one after another.

Did that mean no one knew about her being in an accident?

Was it only the closest family members who had been told?

Could the live footage of the crash still exist somewhere, hidden away?

Or had Davis bought even that, silencing every source?

She couldn't decide whether to feel grateful for his protection, betrayed by his secrecy, or simply exhausted by the weight of it all.

Drawing in a deep breath, she whispered, "Try and get your hands on the little you can."

She tried to sound convincing, but her voice faltered, her determination already slipping away.

Richard glanced at her through the side mirror, seeing her close her eyes again, his shoulders sagged with relief.

The doctor's words still echoed in his mind "Let her be closely monitored, especially during such moments when there's a trigger possibility."

And with strict warning that had been loud and clear, he concluded "Be careful that it doesn't turn severe."

And now, he isn't ready to take such risk. Maybe it's time to take a long trip out of the country.

By the time Jessica returned home, it was close to midnight and with Davis not yet back, she washed and retired to bed.

She felt exhausted and weary not because of the auction but from the heavy weight of her memory loss pressing down on her.

Meanwhile, after he dropped her at home, he left Davis' apartment.

Now settling in the back seat, his gaze was locked on the night scenery… its glowing neon lights and untold quietness unlike the bustling hours of the day.

His thoughts were anything but calm. The Jessica he knew would definitely not give up, but then the chances of forcing her memory to surface…he shook his head, exhausted.

With a decisive breath, he dialed Davis' number through a secured contact.

The call was picked at the first ring. "Hello," Davis's voice rumbled through the speaker.

"Can we meet?" Richard asked quietly. "Alright, I will send the location right away."

He ended the call, his hand flew across the phone screen as he typed out an address for Davis.

Meanwhile, in a sleek black car speeding towards the estate, Davis sat in the back seat, the duchess necklace seated beside him, his arms draped over it.

His brow furrowed as he stared at his phone, thinking of the reason why Richard might want to see him so urgently and at this hour.

Immediately his phone buzzed with a new notification. "Drive to the Amiable club," he instructed the driver.

Ethan glanced back, surprised.

"Richard wants to see me," Davis said flatly. Whether it was an explanation or a notice, he didn't want to bother.

The driver swiftly turned the car around as they headed back to the club.

~Amiable club~

The club was brimming with life, patrons enjoying themselves. Seated in groups, the air was filled with the aroma of wine, brandies, whiskies, and Scotch.

The loud music pulsed through the large hall, the clinking of glasses mingling with the smoke curling lazily from glowing cigarette butts.

Davis stepped into the main hall with Ethan in tow; he bypassed it and made his way straight to a private box.

With a push, he entered the dimly lit room. "What happened?" he clipped as he settled down on the couch.

Richard twirled the wine glass contemplatively. "Jessica."

Davis' brow tightened, eyes narrowing at Richard through the half-light, his heart drumming with trepidation "What about her?"

"She asked me for the documents and videos of the accident."

Davis' hand trembled lightly. "Why?" He asked though suspicious.

"To trigger her memory."

Davis' fist clenched briefly. After a few moments, he took a deep breath. "Thank you," he muttered.

Richard's brow furrowed at his words, and the next minute he smiled lightly. "You are not giving it to her?"

"It was already a near-death experience seeing her in a coma, and forcing the memory when it wasn't yet time to be recalled is a risk I wouldn't want to take."

"Don't you think she might still access it through other means?" Richard asked.

Davis' gaze darkened, he gave it brief thought. "You've been with her for years, and I doubt you don't know what she is capable of."

"I know, and that's why I called you over. Maybe if she finds out, she might ask for my head."

Davis chuckled. "Definitely, she would. But then, I guess for the sake of her health, I will help you plead with her."

"I see, you are indeed her good husband." Richard smirked and downed a glass of his wine.

Davis thought briefly. "I think there's another way to handle it."

Richard's serious face met his gaze. "How?"

"Maybe I will have to contact her doctor and schedule a visit…probably a psychologist, a neurologist, or possibly a therapist included," Davis explained.

After discussion, he left the club. In the car, he rubbed his temple, frustrated.

Just like Richard had said, "he couldn't really stop Jessica if she wanted."

Decisively, he called the Dean. "Help me to schedule an appointment with your best psychologist, neurologist, and possibly a therapist for tomorrow."

"Why?"

Davis was low and careful. "She's forcing her memory back."

The Dean took a deep breath. "Davis, I advised you to calm down… it's dangerous. It can't be forced," he tried to dissuade him.

Davis rubbed his throbbing temple. "I know. I just want to prove it to my wife… she has her plans, so…" he let his voice trail off.

"Alright, I will make plans," the Dean accepted in defeat.

"Thanks a lot, I will be grateful."

"But for her safety, listen to me. She must only be guided toward recall, never forced. Otherwise, the risks multiply," the Dean warned.

He wasn't unaware of the method Davis wanted to adopt; the clinical approach might really not give the result they wanted, but then, it was worth giving it a try.

"Fine," Davis clipped, and the call ended.

"Ethan," he ordered "compile the videos from the dash cam, the cameras, and possibly the rescue process in batches."

"Do I need to edit?"

"No, you don't edit. At least to be on the safer side, I guess it might be useful."

"I will get it done."