Chapter 158 Resurrection

Chapter 158 Resurrection
Amelia POV

I leaned forward. My lips brushed against his.

"Recovery first," I said firmly, pulling back before he could deepen the kiss. "Then we can consider these things."

"You're right," he said quietly. "People need to know you're alive."

"I know," I replied, standing and smoothing my jacket. "I'll start with Sean, then make it public. You stay right here."

I knew Sean had been torturing himself these past few days, believing I was dead. The guilt of letting him suffer while I played ghost wasn't something I could carry much longer.

I had Maria drive me to the company since my new car was destroyed.

We pulled into the Starlight Entertainment parking garage. The familiar concrete walls and fluorescent lighting felt oddly comforting after days of playing corpse at Jason's estate.

The elevator ride to the executive floor felt eternal. When we stepped into Maria's office, her secretary was already making calls.

"Send them in," Maria instructed.

Within minutes, Sean burst through the door, followed by Frank and Mike. My brother's face was a portrait of exhaustion—dark circles under bloodshot eyes, stubble he'd obviously forgotten to shave, clothes that looked slept in.

"Amelia?" Sean's voice cracked like a teenager's.

Before I could respond, he crossed the room in three strides and swept me into a crushing embrace. I felt his shoulders shake as he buried his face against my neck.

"I knew it," he whispered fiercely. "I knew you'd be okay. You're too stubborn to die."

"Good to see you too," I managed, patting his back awkwardly. Public displays of emotion had never been my forte.

Sean finally released me, holding me at arm's length to study my face. His expression shifted from relief to confusion.

"Wait," he said, frowning. "Are you... Did you gain weight?"

The room went dead silent. Maria snorted, quickly covering it with a cough. Frank looked mortified. Mike suddenly found his phone extremely interesting.

"Gain weight?" I repeated, my voice dropping to dangerous levels.

"No! No, that's not what I meant!" Sean backpedaled frantically. "You just... when I picked you up, you felt heavier than expected. But you look exactly the same—skinnier, even!"

I crossed my arms. "For your information, I'm five feet six inches, ninety-six pounds, with approximately twelve percent body fat. I haven't gained a single ounce in three years."

"That's what I mean!" Sean exclaimed. "You look like you weigh a hundred, but you feel like you weigh one-forty. It's weird!"

"It's called muscle density, genius," I said dryly. "Years of ballet training creates muscle mass that's denser than normal tissue. Plus, the protein-heavy diet I maintain keeps my muscle-to-fat ratio optimized."

What I didn't mention was that the "protein-heavy diet" had less to do with ballet and more to do with maintaining peak killing efficiency.

"So you're not hurt?" Sean pressed, apparently satisfied with my weight explanation.

"Minor injuries. Jason took the worst of it." I kept my tone casual. "Just some recent trouble that's been resolved."

Sean's relief was palpable. "What kind of trouble?"

"The kind that requires federal intervention," I said vaguely. "But it's handled now. Just... if anything weird happens in the next few weeks, call Mike instead of me directly. I might be busy with other projects."

Mike, who'd been observing our reunion with sharp eyes, stepped forward. "Your brother's lucky to have someone like you looking out for him," he said. "Most people don't come back from the kind of trouble that makes national news."

"About that," I said, turning to face him fully. "What's our official position on the death rumors?"

Mike's smile was pure professional polish. "What death rumors? You were never officially declared deceased. The media ran with speculation based on an unconfirmed incident. Now that you're obviously alive and well, those rumors will naturally die down."

"Good. But I think we should make one public appearance—something visible enough to put the speculation to rest permanently."

"I can arrange that," Mike agreed. "There's a charity gala this weekend. Perfect venue for a casual 'resurrection.'"

"Make it happen."

Three days later, I stood in Maria's private salon, submitting to the ministrations of her personal stylist. The black silk gown hugged every curve while maintaining an air of lethal elegance—perfect for someone rising from the dead.

"You clean up nice for a corpse," Maria commented, adjusting my diamond earrings.

"Flattery will get you everywhere," I replied, checking my reflection one final time.

The charity gala was a typical high-society affair—overpriced drinks, pretentious art, and enough plastic surgery to stock a medical supply warehouse. But it served its purpose. Within an hour of my arrival, photos were circulating on social media with captions like "Amelia Colt ALIVE at charity gala!"

By morning, the internet had moved on to more pressing concerns—specifically, wild speculation about my mysterious boyfriend.

"Amelia didn't die—her boyfriend did! Well, almost. Sources say he threw himself over her during the crash."

"Who IS Amelia's mystery man? Rumors suggest government connections—possibly the intelligence community!"

"Eyewitness reports describe her boyfriend as 'tall, dangerous-looking, and definitely armed.' CIA? FBI? We may never know!"

"According to inside sources, this guy might actually be a federal agent. Explains how they both survived what should have been a fatal crash."

I scrolled through the theories while sitting beside Jason's hospital bed at IBRA. The speculation ranged from mildly accurate to completely insane.

"Enjoying your fifteen minutes of fame?" I asked Jason, showing him my phone screen.

He grimaced, shifting carefully against his pillows. "I preferred being anonymous."

"Too late for that now, Agent Redmond. You're officially my mysterious government boyfriend." I set the phone aside. "But I have good news. The Shadow Curators situation is permanently resolved."

Jason's eyebrows rose. "Resolved how?"

"Someone raided their headquarters. Turns out Alexander's coin reserves were significantly exaggerated. He can't afford the payment." I allowed myself a small smile. "Anyway, your bounty is officially lifted. You can stop looking over your shoulder now."

Relief flooded Jason's features. "Any idea who hit them?"

"Does it matter? Your biggest problem just solved itself."

Before Jason could respond, Alex burst through the door, clutching a tablet.

"You need to see this," he announced. "It's the analysis of Joker's body. I've found something that changes everything."