The top floor of Zhang Industries' HQ was quiet in the way only true power could afford to be. Behind thick glass walls and carved wooden doors, the city's noise was reduced to a distant murmur, like waves breaking far below a cliff. Zhang Tengfei's office carried the weight of tradition.
Heavy rosewood furniture dominated the space, every edge carved with dragons, clouds, and ancient symbols of authority. Deep reds and shadowed maroons soaked into the walls and curtains, while brush-painted calligraphy hung in solemn rows, each character insisting on discipline, legacy, and restraint.
Zhang Tengfei sat behind his massive desk, sleeves rolled neatly to his wrists, pen moving across documents without pause. The stack before him shrank slowly, but the next pile was already waiting.
Without lifting his head, he asked, "What did she ask for this time?"
Yang Yichen stepped forward, smoothly replacing the completed stack with another. "She asked me to recommend a new personal assistant. I sent several profiles to her, but in the end, she only chose one. I assumed she wanted to replace all three people she dismissed, but she said one person was enough for now." He hesitated briefly before continuing, "She chose my distant nephew from the Philippines; branch. He's educated, eager to work, but lacks experience. He started last week and has already moved into the penthouse. I scolded him for freeloading, but he said it was the Young Miss's instruction."
Zhang Tengfei's pen paused for a fraction of a second.
"Let her handle it herself," he said calmly. "She's been asleep for a year. I won't interfere in small matters." His shoulders sank slightly as a breath slipped from him. "What else?"
"She's renovating the entire penthouse. The place is apparently quite chaotic right now. But despite that, she hasn't missed a single physiotherapy session. Her doctors say her recovery is progressing faster than expected. She's… very focused."
A flicker passed through Zhang Tengfei's eyes. "Good. That's good." Another file slid open under his pen. "Has she asked for anything? Money? Assets? Properties?"
"No, President."
Zhang Tengfei finally looked up, brows knitting faintly. "Nothing at all?"
Yang Yichen shook his head.
"That's strange," Zhang Tengfei muttered, leaning back slightly in his chair. "I expected a shopping list. A mansion. A shopping spree to make up for lost time."
Yang Yichen cleared his throat. "Madam Song has called several times requesting you buy the Young Miss a private jet or a yacht. Preferably both. As a celebration for surviving."
Zhang Tengfei's pen hit the desk with a sharp click. His eyes closed slowly, fingers rising to pinch his temple. "A reward for surviving… Does that woman think this was a competition?" His voice lowered, carrying restrained fury. "Does she think nearly dying is some kind of victory sport?"
Yang Yichen lowered his gaze. "The request came from Madam Song alone. The Young Miss never mentioned wanting a plane or a yacht."
Silence filled the room for a moment, deeper than before. Yang Yichen shifted slightly, then dared to speak again. "If I may be frank, President… I believe the Young Miss has changed."
Zhang Tengfei let out a soft, dry chuckle. "People always change after stepping past death's door."
Yang Yichen nodded slowly, but his unease remained. "It's more than that. Every time I speak with her now, it feels like I'm facing a different person. Her tone, her eyes, even the way she negotiates. She's calm, precise, and businesslike. No tantrums. No demands. To be honest… It's quite unsettling."
Zhang Tengfei leaned back fully this time, shoulders resting into the chair's dark leather. "Isn't that better?"
His gaze drifted to the ceiling. "If she truly grew up, I'd finally be able to sleep without worrying what scandal she'll drag home next. I only hope it's not just a phase…"
His voice softened, almost imperceptibly. "I never had great expectations of her. The elders wanted me to cut her off long ago. But she carries the Zhang blood. No matter how disappointing she is, she's still my daughter. I care. But my care has limits. The clan comes first. Always."
Yang Yichen listened without interrupting, then carefully asked, "Does Mr. President plan to visit the Young Miss?"
Zhang Tengfei stared at the stack of documents in front of him. Time passed. The hum of the air conditioner filled the pause.
Finally, he spoke. "No. If she wants to see her father, she knows where to find me."
Yang Yichen nodded and bowed. "Understood."
The pen resumed its steady scratching across paper.
*
As the morning light spilled across the glass walls of the penthouse, Elena sat on the edge of the training mat, breathing steadily this time, sweat dampening her temples but no longer drowning her lungs. Three months ago, standing for ten minutes had left her shaking. Now she could finish an entire light workout without collapsing.
"Again," she told herself quietly.
Her legs trembled as she rose, the muscles protesting but obeying. One slow step. Then another. She made it to the window and placed her palm against the cool glass, watching the city stir below. Cars streamed through the streets like veins filling with blood. Life moved whether she kept up or not.
One flight of stairs still left her winded.
That annoyed her.
She hated weakness more than pain.
Later, as the elevator doors opened into the penthouse, the scent of fresh wood polish and clean fabric greeted her. The renovation was finally done. Workers were gone. The noise had faded. What remained felt… quiet. Clean. Controlled.
Gone were the neon chandeliers. Gone were the glitter-coated walls. Gone were the hot-pink sofas and mirrored panels that once screamed for attention like a nightclub frozen in permanent daylight.
Now the space breathed of warm-toned wood, soft ivory walls, and deep charcoal accents. Furniture chosen for comfort instead of shock value. Even the air felt calmer, as if the walls themselves had exhaled.
Xie Mei stood near the doorway, hands folded, eyes shining faintly as she looked around. "The penthouse finally feels like a home now," she couldn't help but comment.
Elena only nodded.
She walked past the living room and entered the new library.
Floor-to-ceiling shelves rose like quiet towers around her, every inch packed with books. Chinese. English. German. Russian. Philosophy beside science. Medicine beside engineering. History beside psychology. Some of them had been shipped in under false purchase names. Some had traveled halfway across the world through private hands.
She ran her fingers along the spines.
Old companions.
Beyond the bookshelf, a black glass door rested flush against the wall. No handle. Only a hidden keypad that responded to her fingerprint and password. Inside, the air hummed faintly with power.
Seventeen monitors glowed softly in standby mode. One entire wall was layered with screens. Consoles lined the desks like a spaceship cockpit waiting for a pilot. Wires ran hidden beneath the floor panels in perfect order.
No one else entered this room.
And no one ever would without her say.
"Boss," Simon Lau's voice called from the other room, half-amazed, half-overwhelmed. "You… uh… might want to come see this."
She turned and stepped back into chaos.
Cardboard boxes were stacked everywhere, some open, some half-unpacked, some overflowing with glittering debris of a former life. Shoes wrapped in crystal. Dresses stitched with sequins and sheer fabric. Belts like chains. Purses that looked better suited for display cases than practical use.
Simon stood in the middle of it all like a man lost in a treasure vault, holding a pair of seven-inch rainbow metallic heels with both hands.
"Boss," he said slowly, eyes huge. "These shoes… cost more than my entire life."
Elena glanced at them once. "Put them in the discard pile."
His hands trembled. "Discard… as in… throw?"
"Sell. Donate. Burn them if you like."
Simon choked slightly on air. Around him, the servants were equally stunned, frozen between horror and awe.
"These are all branded," one of them whispered.
"All of them," Simon echoed weakly. He picked up a crystal purse as if afraid it might vanish. "Boss, I swear, if I owned just one of these, I'd lock it in a glass case and pass it down through my descendants."
Elena watched this scene with quiet amusement.
"You don't like these anymore?" he asked carefully. "These were your favorites, right?"
"They belonged to someone else," she replied. "Not me."
Her tone ended the discussion.
Simon hesitated, then scratched the back of his head. "Boss… I, uh… I've got a lot of female relatives back home. My mom, my sisters, my aunts, and my cousins. Some of them might actually fit these." He glanced at her quickly. "If you don't mind, I mean."
She paused, then nodded. "Send whatever you want to your family."
Simon stared in surprise.
"You're serious?" he asked.
"Yes."
His mouth fell open. Then his eyes reddened. Then he suddenly clasped his hands together and bowed so hard his forehead nearly met the floor.
"Boss! I swear I'll serve you until I grow old and toothless! Thank you! Thank you so much!"
Xie Mei nearly laughed, seeing this 7-foot muscled guy acting like that.
Simon then shot upright and clapped his hands loudly. "Everyone, come! The boss gave full permission! Choose whatever you want!"
The servants hesitated.
"Go on," Elena said.
That was all it took.
Laughter filled the room as the women carefully selected shoes, dresses, and bags, bowing repeatedly in thanks. The atmosphere shifted from shock to joy in minutes.
Simon turned back to her once the energy settled. "I'll send the best pieces to my family and list the rest online. I'll handle it."
"I trust you," Elena said.
He straightened immediately. "You won't regret it, Boss."
As she turned away, Elena glanced once more at the mountain of discarded glamour.
The old image was being stripped away piece by piece.
And what remained…
It was finally hers.