After hours on the road, the car rolled over thick layers of snow and turned into an area surrounded by towering cedars.

When the small white building came into view, it felt as though a hidden labyrinth had emerged from deep within the mist.

The entire top floor was a luxury hospital suite filled with life-support equipment, yet none of it seemed to matter anymore to the elderly man lying on the bed.

No matter how advanced the machines were, they couldn't stop his life from slipping away bit by bit. The steady beeping only intensified the hollow sense of an approaching countdown.

When the monitoring equipment sounded, Julian took Lydia by the arm and guided her to the bedside.

The elderly man slowly opened his eyes, his gaze traveling from head to toe as he studied the overly thin young woman before him.

The clouded eyes gradually lit up, and his lips trembled faintly.

Julian leaned closer and heard the frail voice whisper, "Help me up. Quickly. I want to see her."

At the instruction, several nurses hurried forward and helped him sit up.

The old man's eyes stayed fixed on Lydia as a soft sigh slowly escaped his lips.

"It's her. It's that child."

He took a few sips of water offered by a nurse, easing the sharp pain surging in his chest.

Still staring at Lydia, he said softly, "Come… sit beside me."

Lydia looked at the hand raised with great effort. After a moment of hesitation, she walked over cautiously.

That hand gently clasped hers, and a look of relief slowly bloomed across the aged face.

"My granddaughter… I have finally found you."

The confusion and doubt in Lydia's heart only deepened, and she had no choice but to ask hesitantly.

"Could there be a mistake? My mother never told me anything like this. She always said she was an orphan, with no family. She even took me back to see the room where she lived at the orphanage. It was small and old, but she said it was the only place she'd ever been happy."

Lydia abruptly fell silent. She stared in shock as tears streamed down Richard's face while she spoke.

One trembling hand tried to wipe away the tears at the corner of his eye, yet he asked her urgently, "What else? Tell me more… about your mother."

Lydia hesitated for a moment, then continued. "She stayed at the orphanage until her teens, then someone took her out. After that, she drifted from job to job. She worked as a factory laborer, and later, she even sold drinks."

She left out many of her mother's hardships. She remembered how her mother always brushed those years aside lightly, yet the fingers holding a cigarette would tremble uncontrollably.

Later on, Cyrus, who frequented night venues, launched a fervent pursuit of her.

They fell in love, married, and soon had her. But Cyrus quickly lost interest, constantly entangling himself with all kinds of women.

He carried on a secret affair with Daphne Shaw, whom he had known since youth, and later made no effort to hide it.

On Lydia's ninth birthday, her mother prepared a lavish dinner by herself and stayed with her to blow out the candles.

In the middle of the night, Lydia jolted awake. The wind howled, the curtains billowed, and the floor-to-ceiling window stood wide open.

"Mom!"

She didn't even have time to cry out as she watched her mother step forward without looking back.

Her body fell through the air, hitting the ground with nothing more than a dull thud.

Terrified, Lydia dropped to her knees and looked down.

Her mother's eyes were closed. Her body lay there, as though freed at last, like dust settling back to the ground.

Cyrus never remarried. He simply continued sinking deeper into his ambiguous relationship with Daphne.

Only when drunk would he fix Lydia with a vicious stare and suddenly curse, "Grace Sterling, what did I ever do to wrong you? Without me, you'd still be out there selling drinks and smiles!"

He smashed his glass to the floor, shards flying everywhere. Pieces lodged into Lydia's calf, and she simply crouched down, clenched her teeth, and pulled them out.

As if nothing had ever happened.

Before her mother jumped that day, she seemed to have sat by Lydia's bed for a very long time.

She had said, "Lydia, from now on, you'll be on your own. Live well. And if it ever gets too hard, I will be waiting for you."

Lydia remembered these words clearly, even though she was never certain her mother had truly said them.

Now, she didn't know why she had told so much to a man who was still a stranger.

Her tears kept falling.

Richard's eyes were filled with guilt and regret. With a trembling hand, he carefully wiped away her tears.

"Dear child," he said. "You have a family now. Even if… even if I'm not here anymore, no one will dare bully you."

Julian produced the DNA test results between Grace and Richard.

The sight of it brought Richard to tears once more.

"When I was young, I devoted myself entirely to the family business and neglected my wife in her youth. I left her waiting and waiting, alone, until she fell gravely ill and passed away. I believe she must have hated me to the core, which is why she resolutely sent our young daughter away before her death. I didn't even know your mother existed until more than twenty years ago, when an old acquaintance came to me and told me the truth. By then, regret was already useless, and yet I continued making mistake after mistake."

Only later did Lydia learn that Richard had begun searching for his daughter more than twenty years ago. But with his status growing ever more prominent, and age making him increasingly suspicious and volatile, nothing was simple.

All of it had been carried out in secrecy, yet schemers took advantage of the situation. Every person brought before him came with ulterior motives.

Richard pointed toward Julian. "He's my adopted grandson and calls me Grandpa as well. From now on, he'll do everything in his power to take care of you and support you. Everything I leave behind will be handed over to you."

Lydia looked at Julian in surprise.

He showed no emotion on his face, only a faint smile as he looked back at her.

In the days that followed, Lydia stayed almost constantly in the small white building.

She kept Richard company, occasionally describing her mother's appearance and habits to him.

Richard always looked at her with affection, a smile of unfathomable depth in his eyes. "You resemble her very much."

He gently traced the only photograph he had of his daughter, the one Lydia had reluctantly given him.

In the photo, Grace looked serene and graceful, faint dimples on her cheeks as she held a still-young Lydia in her arms.

Thinking of what Julian had told him earlier with such a grave expression, Richard couldn't help but look up at his granddaughter.

She was bent over, studying the intricate medical equipment, her brow tightly furrowed. The oversized shirt hung loosely on her slender frame.

He frowned. "That man thinks you're dead?"

Lydia froze for a moment. Without turning around, she gave a soft hum in response.

"That's fine then. Consider it a brand-new beginning."

Lydia soon understood what Richard meant by a "new beginning."

Her identity and all related records were completely replaced.

When she received the new identification documents, Lydia looked up at Richard in a daze. "I… I have to change my name?"

"Of course."

Richard forced himself to sit upright, solemnly signing his name across a thick stack of documents.

The two men who had just entered the room were said to be Richard's private attorneys.

"From now on, your name will be Elena Sterling. I know this isn't how it's usually done, but you're the only blood family I have left. I want you to take my name."

As he said this, Richard's expression darkened.

"That so-called biological father of yours doesn't deserve a daughter like you."

He told Lydia that he had already revised his will and completed all notarization procedures.

"Elena, come with me downstairs to sit in the sun."

Outside, the sunlight was perfect, not a single breeze stirring.

Richard sat in his wheelchair. It was the best he had looked in over a year.

He narrowed his eyes slightly, savoring the warmth as it soothed his body.

"Elena."

He called her several times before Lydia finally came over, her face faintly flushed, and crouched down beside him.

"I'm still not used to this name."

"That's alright. You'll get used to it soon."

Richard reached out and gently patted his granddaughter's head. The hollow that had expanded in his heart over decades seemed to be healing, little by little.

He spoke softly. "If time could be turned back, perhaps I should have gone to find my daughter myself. I made the wrong choices in many things. So the regret and pain I feel now are what I deserve. As for the business world, Julian will teach you well. What I can give you may only be these few lessons about life. Don't trust anyone easily. And never forgive those who have betrayed you. But don't let hatred trap you either."

It had been a very long time since Lydia had felt care from family.

Even though there was still distance in her heart, and she couldn't truly forgive the harm Richard had brought upon her mother, at this moment in a foreign land, she chose a temporary reconciliation.

She rested her head against Richard's knee.

She murmured softly, "Are you really going to give everything to me? What if I don't do well? What if all I want is to punish Damien severely? I really hate him, Grandpa. I loved him so much back then, and now it feels like I hate him twice as much."

Richard gently stroked her hair, a trace of a smile in his voice.

"Then punish him. Let him taste a pain that pierces the heart. If everything I leave you can help you easily strike back at those who hurt you, then it's all worth it. If your grandmother had been given such a chance back then, perhaps she wouldn't have given up everything she cherished in such despair."

Under the sunlight that day, Richard spoke at great length.

He said he could finally rest easy now, having handed everything over to his granddaughter, and go without distraction to seek forgiveness from his wife and daughter.

"I just don't know if they'll still be willing to give me that chance now."

His voice gradually slowed, becoming like a drifting feather, rising and falling in the evening breeze that had just begun.

At last, that aged hand slowly fell limp…

Just past midnight that night, two explosive pieces of news left business circles around the world unable to sleep.

First, the world's richest man, Richard Sterling, had passed away due to illness. His funeral would be held privately, with only close friends and family in attendance.

Second, according to Richard's will, all assets would be inherited by his only granddaughter, Elena Sterling.

Social networks both at home and abroad nearly collapsed as everyone fixated on one question.

Who was Elena Sterling?

The cigarette had burned halfway down, ash hanging on the verge of falling, yet Damien seemed completely unaware as he stared out the window.

He felt restless, and this state had lingered for quite some time.

It had been nearly a year since the car accident.

The furnishings of the estate remained exactly as they had been, without the slightest change.

Even after Ava moved in openly and suggested changes here and there several times, Damien had never agreed.

But she clearly hadn't given up.

That evening, the moment he returned, he noticed something was different about the first-floor living room.

The bookcase beside the sofa was gone, and the rug on the floor had been replaced with a new pattern.

Ronan ran around holding a toy gun, making rattling sounds, and crashed straight into Damien's chest.

Tilting his head up, the muzzle pointed at Damien, he shouted in a muffled voice, "Bad guy, hands up!"

Damien had no mood to play along. His nerves felt tightly wound, his entire state off.

Irritated, he loosened his tie and took a long stride toward the sofa, only for his son to grab onto his pant leg.

Ronan refused to let go, continuing to pester him, "Bad guy, hurry up and put your hands up!"

The last shred of patience finally snapped. Damien reached out, grabbed the back of Ronan's collar, and lifted him halfway off the floor.

His voice rose before he realized it, "Where is everyone? Just letting him run wild like this?"

With his other hand, he snatched the toy gun from his son and slammed it hard onto the floor.

With a sharp crack, the toy gun shattered into pieces.

The newly hired housekeeper and the servants rushed out from all directions, while Ava appeared at the top of the second-floor stairs, a face mask still on.

Unhurried, she said, "What's going on? Why are you yelling at our son the moment you get home?"

Damien cast her a cold glance and casually handed the wailing Ronan to the new housekeeper.

"Didn't I say that without my permission, nothing in this house is to be changed?"

Ava clearly understood at once where his anger was coming from.

A look of grievance surfaced on her face, her voice turning timid, completely unlike the composed mistress she had been moments ago.

"Don't be mad. Ronan accidentally bumped into the corners of that bookcase several times. I was just worried he might get hurt. As for the rug, Ronan liked it. He kept insisting on buying it. I couldn't exactly say no to my son, could I?"

There it was again.

Damien had lost count of how many times Ava had used Ronan as an excuse.

He wanted to say something but swallowed it back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the house staff standing around, all ears, waiting.

With a frustrated tug, he pulled off his tie and tossed it onto the sofa, then strode toward the study.

"Put everything back. Exactly the way it was."

But as he passed the corner of the second floor, Ava reached out and grabbed his arm, her eyes timid yet resentful.

"Damien, you're scaring me like this. Do you have another woman?"

Damien pulled his arm back with a cold expression. Just as he was about to leave, she wrapped herself tightly around him from behind.

Hearing Ava's voice on the verge of tears as she repeatedly apologized, his heart softened despite himself.

"No."

Back in the study, he sank into his chair, his emotions tangled and heavy.

He hadn't thought about Lydia in a very long time.

In the days right after the accident, he'd felt a faint sense of guilt. But Ava's tenderness quickly pushed it all to the back of his mind.

He had always been a devoted practitioner of self-interest.

Lydia could have remained his wife in peace, as long as she stayed obedient and compliant.

He had never once thought about divorcing her.

But she had bad luck, just like her mother.

That wasn't Damien's fault.

Lately, though, she surfaced in his thoughts from time to time. He even woke from nightmares more than once in the middle of the night.

Drenched in cold sweat, he recalled how she looked in his dreams, her face drained of all color, her eyes hollow.

Lydia kept asking him over and over, "Why didn't you come? You promised me."

On the living room sofa, she used to curl up there waiting for him, casually flipping through books from the nearby shelf.

Sometimes when he came home, he'd see her curled up fast asleep, a book slipping from her body onto the rug.

Her feet were bare, slippers scattered across the floor.

At the slightest sound, she'd wake abruptly, rubbing sleepy eyes and looking at him with unhidden delight.

Damien didn't want to admit it, but that image had once comforted him through many difficult moments.

Someone who trusted him without conditions, who was willing to wait for him like that, he hadn't been incapable of loving her.

The clouds were thick as the aircraft cut through them, revealing Crownford's dazzling, ornate nightscape below.

Julian adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses and glanced toward Lydia beside him.

She was looking outside, her expression grave.

In the half year since Richard's passing, she had kept herself largely secluded.

Henry Bailey had continued treating her and spoke highly of her cooperation as a patient.

The rest of the time, she immersed herself almost greedily in learning corporate management.

Even now, Elena remained a mystery to the world. She had never appeared publicly at any event.

The only footage journalists had of her came from Richard's funeral.

Dressed in black and sheltered beneath an enormous black umbrella, she radiated an unapproachable sense of distance.

In private, the more Julian learned about her past, the more his heart ached for the person she had once been.

He devoted himself almost entirely to caring for her, just as Richard had said, becoming her strongest support in this world without hesitation.

So when she proposed relocating the company's headquarters to Crownford, he began handling the matter immediately.

Even knowing that her true purpose this time was to make Damien's life a living hell.

So what?

Damien owed her that much.