Silence crushed the conference room the moment the final numbers faded from the screen. No one dared speak. The air felt thin, tight against the lungs.
A few executives covertly wiped sweat from their brows. Others reached for their water only after their trembling hands could no longer hide.
The ones who had presented sat stiff-backed in their chairs, faces pale, eyes dulled from surviving question after question that felt less like a business review and more like judgment.
At the head of the table, Jin Di/Boss Di sat perfectly still.
He had not raised his voice once. He did not need to. His cold and precise gaze alone carved through people, measuring worth with a glance. His suit lay flawless against his tall frame, every line sharp, every detail controlled. Power clung to him so naturally that it felt less like status and more like gravity.
People did not admire him openly, though.
They merely survived him.
"Dismissed."
Just one word.
And the chairs scraped back in perfect disorder. Everyone stood in unison, backs bent low as Jin Di rose and strode out without a backward glance. The door opened before he reached it.
His assistant was already there, waiting for him to follow.
Only when the sound of his footsteps disappeared into the distance did the room finally exhale.
Relief fell like a wave.
Inside the top-floor office, the world widened again. Glass walls framed the city beneath, traffic reduced to distant noise, people reduced to motion without voices. The room itself was carved from wealth.
Jin Di then leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled loosely at his chest, eyes half-lidded as Ryan Zhao, the assistant, opened the file in his hands.
"The girl has woken up," Ryan said quietly.
Nothing changed on Jin Di's face, though.
Meanwhile, Ryan continued. "Miss Elena regained consciousness three days ago. No complications detected beyond muscle deterioration from long-term immobility. Neurological tests show no damage. The recovery pace is faster than doctors predicted. Six months for full physical rehabilitation, assuming no setbacks." he paused before adding, "Psychological counseling was advised. She declined, however."
A slow silence stretched.
"Visitors?" Jin Di asked.
"Her mother was first. Arrived on the second day. After that, her manager and assistants came. All four were dismissed immediately from their positions without warning."
For the first time, Jin Di's brow lifted slightly.
"And Zhang Tengfei?"
"No personal visit. Only sent an assistant."
A faint curve flickered at the corner of Jin Di's lips. It did not reach his eyes.
"He sealed the news," Ryan Zhao continued. "Media blackout. Staff silenced. Compensation issued. Everything is handled through his people. Miss Zhang appears to be unaware of it."
"Is he reopening the investigation?"
"At present, no signs of that. Even if he does, nothing remains. Your instructions were executed thoroughly last year."
The faint smile disappeared.
"Good," Jin Di said softly.
He turned toward the glass wall, looking down at the city that obeyed invisible systems of power just like the one he sat atop. "Continue watching her."
Ryan Zhao bowed. "Yes, President."
"And my brother?" Jin Di asked. "Does he know?"
"No indication of contact. If Miss Zhang hasn't reached out personally, he remains uninformed."
Jin Di's fingers tightened slowly against the arm of the chair. "Good."
His voice lowered slightly. "She stays far away from Jin Yang. Far away from Bai Lu. My brother is getting married. The timing is not negotiable."
"You're concerned about scandal."
"I'm concerned about control."
Silence settled again.
"You may go," Jin Di said.
Ryan Zhao bowed and withdrew.
Alone, Jin Di stared at the muted world below.
One year ago, a girl had been erased.
Now she had woken up.
But he did not like variables returning to the board.
*
Gold Heights Condominium glowed like a glass jewel in the night. From the highest floor, the city spread out in rivers of light and moving stars. Inside the penthouse, the white grand piano stood bathed in gold from the ceiling lamps.
Music leapt from the keys.
Fast. Bright. Precise.
Elena sat straight-backed before the piano, long fingers gliding with effortless confidence. Her shoulders moved gently with the rhythm. Each note landed clean and sharp, never hesitating.
Xie Mei stood near the doorway, hands folded in front of her apron, watching without blinking.
The Young Miss had always owned a piano.
But she had never truly played it.
Before, it was furniture. Decoration. Something expensive meant to look cultured in magazine photos.
Moonlight poured in through the towering glass windows behind Elena, painting her silhouette in silver. Her black hair fell loose down her back. The city lights turned her reflection into something unreal, as if she weren't sitting in a living room but floating over the skyline.
Xie Mei swallowed at the sight.
When the final note struck and faded, the room fell into a quiet so deep it almost rang.
Only then did Elena lower her hands.
Xie Mei took a careful step forward. "Young Miss… dinner is ready."
Elena turned from the piano and looked at her calmly. "Thank you for your hard work," she said.
Simple words.
Xie Mei's chest tightened anyway.
Three months ago, this moment would have been impossible.
Back then, the penthouse had felt like a battlefield. Slamming doors. Flying makeup kits. Shattered tempers over cold tea, overheated soup, or even a wrong-colored dress. Servants came and went like waves crashing into rock. Xie Mei had lost count of how many she had personally escorted out with red eyes and stiff bows.
The Young Miss had ruled like a storm.
And Xie Mei had endured it because Master Tengfei had entrusted the girl to her.
When news came that the Young Miss had awakened from her coma, Xie Mei had stood at the gate with her back straight and heart sinking. She had prepared herself for the screaming, the suspicion, the rage.
But then, as the elevator doors had opened, Elena had stepped out slowly, leaning on a cane, pale and thin.
Then she had bowed her head and said to her, "I'm sorry for troubling you."
Xie Mei had frozen on the spot, not expecting this behavior.
Within days, half the penthouse had been cleared out.
The makeup artist left first.
Then the hairstylist.
Then the stylist, the social media assistant, the diet coach, and the people who had lived off the Young Miss's fame while she lay unmoving in a hospital bed. Every single one has been fired.
"Why dismiss them all?" Xie Mei had once asked carefully.
"They were here for noise," Elena had replied. "I want quiet."
The third time Elena spoke to her gently, Xie Mei had finally broken.
She had clutched Elena's hands and burst into tears. "Young Miss, what happened to you? Did the accident hurt your head too badly?"
Elena had only looked at her and said softly, "I was never good to you. I know that now. I'm sorry."
That apology had shattered something Xie Mei had locked away for years.
After that came the hard weeks of Rehab.
Sweat soaking through clean clothes.
Hands shaking as Elena forced herself to stand, one step at a time.
Sometimes she bit her lip until it bled. Sometimes she collapsed without a word. But she never screamed. Never lashed out.
And every evening, no matter how badly her muscles screamed, she sat before the piano.
At first, the melodies were broken.
Wrong notes. Weak fingers.
Xie Mei would hover nervously nearby. "Young Miss, maybe you should rest."
Elena would smile faintly. "One more try."
One more became many.
The music grew stronger day by day.
So did she.
Now she no longer needed the wheelchair. The cane stood propped beside the piano, forgotten. Her steps were steady. Her posture is straight.
She rose from the bench and rolled her shoulders once. "I'll change first. Please keep the soup warm."
"Yes, Young Miss," Xie Mei replied quickly.
As Elena walked toward her bedroom, Xie Mei watched her back with quiet amazement.
Not spoiled.
Not furious.
Not lonely in the way she used to be.
Just… calm.
And that calm, Xie Mei was certain, was the most frightening change of all.