For a moment, silence hung in the cathedral — heavy, electric, and terrifying. Even the organist stopped mid-note.
The billionaire’s jaw tightened. His pale knuckles gripped the coffin edge as he looked at the small boy in disbelief.

“Mr. Dalton,” the priest began nervously, “this is absurd—”

But Richard’s instincts screamed otherwise.

“Everyone step back,” he ordered. His voice trembled, but his eyes were cold steel. “Open it.”

Gasps erupted through the room.

“Sir, you can’t—” the funeral director protested, but Richard’s glare stopped him cold.

“I said open it!”

The guards hesitated for a second, then unlatched the coffin lid. The hinges creaked as the cover lifted slowly, revealing Emily’s still, pale face beneath a layer of white roses.

The scent of lilies and perfume filled the air.

For a second, nothing happened.

Then—

Her lips twitched.

It was barely visible — a small, involuntary movement — but Tyler saw it first. “There! See? She moved!”

A collective gasp filled the cathedral. Someone screamed.

The funeral director stumbled back. “That’s impossible. She was declared clinically dead!”

But Richard was already kneeling beside the coffin, shaking. “Emily… Emily, can you hear me?”

Her fingers twitched again — this time, unmistakably.

“Call an ambulance!” Richard roared. “Now!”