Resilient.

Amidst the busy routine of G city, a solitary figure stood, casting a long shadow in front of her. Her head lifted, and her gaze fixated on a company building across the now busy road.

In Country R, G city, the bustling noise of vehicles and car horns reverberated through the city, even late into the night. The vibrant energy of the city contrasted with the chilling air that made teeth chatter and formed misty breaths.

Yet, the residents of G city were accustomed to these frigid nights, always prepared with thick coats and layers of clothing to shield themselves from the cold.

As the tall buildings gradually dimmed their lights, companies and local businesses concluded their day's work. People made their way home, seeking respite in the embrace of sleep.

Time ticked by, one hour and then two, but Christy remained steadfast, showing no intention of leaving. her charcoal gray eyes, accentuated by dark circles, scrutinized the inscribed words on the building, moving meticulously from one letter to the next, evoking a sense of familiarity.

Within those eyes flickered a sharp glimmer of anger, pain, and hatred. Intently and unwaveringly, Christy stared at the edifice that had once belonged to her family but was now lost.

Five years had slipped away, yet the memories felt as fresh as yesterday. Much had changed, yet one constant remained—the name of the company, BR Constructions, still stood resolute amidst the transformation.

Under the moonlight, she appeared thin and emaciated. Her worn-out pants and shirt offered little protection against the harsh cold, but she remained undeterred.

Pale skin adorned with goosebumps, while her short, wine-colored hair danced in the breeze, creating a disheveled veil across her forehead. Her countenance had lost the luster and youthful glow it once possessed five years ago.

Beneath the starless sky, she resembled a character straight out of a horror film, her appearance accentuated by the moon's faint light, casting an air of melancholy upon her.

However, nothing could conceal her unmistakable anger and hatred toward the person responsible for her current state.

Christy clenched her hands into tight fists as the memories of losing her family and everything she held dear resurfaced. Now that she had returned, nothing would stand in her way of reclaiming what rightfully belonged to her.

Finally, she departed from that spot and traversed the now tranquil road. Her face remained a canvas of emotions, lips pressed into a thin line.

Her footsteps, slow and hushed, urged her to quicken her pace, ensuring she arrived on time before a certain someone grew concerned about her prolonged absence.

Meanwhile, not far from Christy's location, a Maybach sedan glided along the quiet road. Inside the vehicle sat three men—two in the backseat, with only the driver occupying the front seat.

"Why are you being so stubborn?" a voice tinged with frustration queried. The owner of the voice, sporting a fatigued frown on his forehead, glanced at the nonchalant man beside him.

Sighing, the other man replied, "I can't allow you to resign. Who would take your place?" Miles retorted, countering Noah's question. His gaze fixated on the tranquil night outside the car window.

"Oh, trust me, I can find someone more capable to fill the void," Noah responded with a confident reassurance.

"You're the only one who knows my secret, bringing in a new assistant would entail divulging it to someone else, which I cannot afford to do," Miles explained, his gaze momentarily shifting to the medicine before him—a crucial player in concealing his secret from the public eye. With a deliberate shift in his attention, he redirected his focus back to Noah.

"Believe me, I'll handle it just fine. Besides, I have numerous responsibilities at my father's hospital that require my attention," Noah insisted, his tone resolute.

Lost in their conversation, they failed to notice the driver's peculiar behavior. He incessantly scratched at his reddened and watery eyes, blinking rapidly.

"Why don't I find someone to take over your role at the hospital while you continue as my assistant?" Miles suggested, his gaze relaxed as he subtly brushed his slightly disheveled hair back into place.

"Wow, am I that indispensable? But you know that's not possible. You need to take charge and stop relying on me," Noah provocatively smirked, though Miles remained unfazed.

"You're overthinking it. I'm simply helping you secure a better position," Miles retorted, his hand resting casually on his thighs.

"I don't think there's a better job than being a psychologist. And it's certainly been beneficial for you. I've been a great psychologist, helping you heal..." Noah began, his words trailing off.

"But nothing has changed—I'm still the same. Perhaps you're better suited as my assistant rather than my psychologist," Miles interjected before Noah could complete his sentence.

"I suppose that's your way of saying I've done a commendable job."

"You won't resign as my assistant, and that's final."

"Tch, we'll see who has the last laugh."

CRASH! BANG! SCREECH

Suddenly, the screeching sound of tires against asphalt shattered the tranquil night. The Maybach was struck by an oncoming truck, a collision that unfolded in a chaotic crescendo of noise and destruction.