Victor Lin sat back in his high-backed leather chair, the dim afternoon light casting a golden hue across the sleek, polished surface of his desk. He tapped a fountain pen against his palm, deep in thought, until his assistant, Lin Zixuan, stepped in with a thick folder clutched in his arms. His face was unreadable, as always, but the weight of what he carried was evident.
"Chairman Lin," Zixuan said, bowing slightly as he set the folder down. "These are the detailed reports you requested on Scentra."
Victor opened the folder with the calm detachment of a man long used to dealing with power plays and corporate empires. But as he scanned through the figures, the images, and the analysis, his gaze sharpened. Line by line, the confidence in his demeanor gave way to a rare flicker of disbelief.
"Mae… you really did this," he murmured, almost to himself.
Scentra had exploded across the market. In less than a year, they had launched successful branches in multiple cities. Their revenue had skyrocketed, now approaching a billion. Their marketing strategies were unmatched, and their branding was fresh, elegant, and disruptive. The key player, however—the mysterious perfumer behind their bestselling fragrances—remained elusive.
Victor looked up sharply. "And the perfumer?"
"Encrypted," Zixuan replied, frustration creeping into his normally calm voice. "Every trace ends in a proxy. Whoever they are, they've taken extreme measures to stay hidden."
Victor leaned back in his chair, brows furrowed. Even if Mae's current assets couldn't rival his empire yet, the rate of Scentra's growth was alarming. He wasn't a man easily surprised, but this was different. Dangerous.
"Prepare the car," he ordered, standing up and buttoning his coat. "I'm heading home."
---
The gates to the Lin estate opened with stately grace as Victor's matte black Bentley rolled in. The manor was a sprawling, classic architectural masterpiece nestled amidst lush gardens and opulent courtyards.
The car came to a smooth stop in the marble driveway. A small line of uniformed servants waited near the entrance, heads bowed.
"Welcome home, Chairman Lin," the butler said, stepping forward.
Victor nodded curtly and stepped out. His Italian leather shoes clicked crisply against the stone path. He paused briefly, inhaling the aroma of blooming jasmine vines curling over the balcony rails. As he walked through the massive double doors into the grand foyer, warm light from an ornate chandelier spilled over polished floors and priceless antiques.
His wife, Isabella, reclined in the lounge, a porcelain teacup delicately balanced in her hand. Their daughter, Clarisse, looked up from her magazine with a lazy smile.
"Victor? You're home early," Isabella commented.
Victor gave a small nod and handed her the folder.
"What's this?" she asked.
Clarisse peered over her mother's shoulder. As they flipped through the pages, confusion turned to shock.
"Is this some kind of joke?" Clarisse muttered.
Victor's voice was calm but firm. "No. Mae is the CEO of Scentra. And she's behind one of the most successful fragrance empires in the country."
Isabella's hands trembled slightly. "That lowly woman? It's not possible."
Clarisse jumped to her feet.This must be fake, how can that woman from the countryside achieve all this.
"It isn't." Victor's eyes were icy. "And if she continues at this pace, she'll become a serious threat."
Their shocked silence lingered as he turned and headed for his private study.
---
Meanwhile, at Elara's house, the soft tapping of keys filled the air as she sat in her home office. Her focus was sharp, her screen filled with lines of code, scent composition charts, and business plans. She wore a simple black sweatshirt, her hair tied back in a sleek ponytail.
A knock at the door.
"Come in," she said, not looking away from the screen.
Mae entered, holding a warm mug. "Brought you some chrysanthemum tea."
Elara smiled slightly and reached for the mug. "Thanks."
Mae lingered. "I've handled your school re-enrollment. Everything's confirmed."
Elara blinked, setting the mug down.
"School... right," she said, her tone unreadable.
"You don't have to go," Mae said gently. "But I thought it might be good for you. To close some doors from the past."
Elara gave a soft exhale. "It's fine. I'll go."
Mae patted her shoulder. "Don't overwork yourself."
When Mae left, the room fell into silence again. But Elara's thoughts were no longer on her work.
The past crept back in.
The whispers behind her back. The cruel laughter. Ink spilled across her desk. Being shoved in hallways. Mocked. Left out.
She stared at her screen, unseeing. Then slowly, she stood and walked to the window.
"They think I'm still that girl," she whispered to the night. "Let them find out who I am now."
She clenched her hands.
"Let's go back to school. And this time—I write the rules."
A small smile flickered across her lips.
The game had just begun.