The fire that had consumed her manuscripts still burned cold in Elvira's chest, fueling her next move.

With her father hospitalized, a power vacuum had opened in the mansion. Elvira avoided returning home to face her stepmother and stepsister—that would only lead to pointless arguments.


Instead, she visited the family's legal advisor, the aging but principled Mr. Chen.

In his office crowded with legal files, Elvira presented her case with calm precision, placing a copy of her mother's will on his desk.

"Mr. Chen, I'm not here asking for favors. I'm here to legally reclaim what's rightfully mine. I need your expertise to make sure everything is airtight."


Mr. Chen studied the changed woman before him, then nodded and retrieved documents that had gathered dust for years.

"Legally, your position is solid, Elvira. But Lillian has controlled things for years. She won't surrender without a fight."


"I'm counting on it," Elvira said, tucking the documents into her portfolio. "That's why we need a strategy."

Through Mr. Chen's network, she discovered Lillian was consumed with preparing for a major charity auction, desperate to maintain her social standing. Meanwhile, Isabel basked in the attention from her "reconciliation" with Cyrus, completely ignoring the family business. The workshop was barely staying afloat on dividends from The Vein. The timing couldn't be better.

Elvira timed her return to the Field mansion for an afternoon when Lillian was hosting potential donors for her charity auction.

The mansion stood as grand as ever, though its grandeur now felt hollow and antiquated.

Lillian Field, having just bid farewell to her guests, spotted Elvira in the foyer. Surprise flickered across her carefully preserved face before settling into her practiced, cool smile. "Elvira? What an unexpected surprise. I hear you've been playing with that little studio of yours. What brings you home?"

"Dad's in the hospital. I came to check on him—and to handle some legal matters." Elvira cut straight to the chase, placing a stack of documents on the coffee table.

Lillian's smile vanished.

She snatched up the papers, scanning them rapidly. Her fingers trembled before she regained her composure. "Elvira! What exactly do you think you're doing? Your father simply needs rest, and you have no right to interfere in family matters! These documents—who can verify their authenticity? I'll need my own attorney to examine them." She switched tactics, her voice dripping with manufactured outrage. "How can you be so heartless? Attacking my daughter and me while your father lies ill in hospital?"

"Lillian," Elvira's voice remained steady, though her eyes cut like steel, "Mr. Chen has already authenticated these documents. I'm concerned about Dad's health too—which is exactly why I can't let my mother's legacy continue to be… mishandled. The workshop has been bleeding money for years, surviving only on dividends. Is this what you call management? I'm not here to dredge up the past, just to fix the present. A quiet handover would be best for the Field name." She stressed the word "name," her gaze deliberately lingering on the charity auction materials scattered across the coffee table.

Lillian's face darkened as the threat registered. If this went to court, the workshop's financial disaster—and their tenuous social standing—would become very public knowledge.

Just then, Isabel came rushing down the stairs in a bathrobe, her hair disheveled, apparently roused by their voices.

Seeing Elvira, her eyes flashed with anger before quickly shifting to wounded innocence. "Mom? What's happening? Elvira, did you come because of Dad?"

She reached for Lillian's arm, but her mother shrugged her off irritably.

"Isabel, go back upstairs!" Lillian hissed.

But Isabel ignored her. She turned on Elvira, her voice rising to a theatrical pitch. "Elvira! Are you here to torment Mom again? Dad's barely holding on, and you're swooping in to steal what's ours? Won't you be happy until you've put him in his grave?" Her attempt to shame Elvira with accusations of filial impiety was transparent.

Elvira gave Isabel a single cold look—the kind one might give a bad community theater performance—before turning her attention back to Lillian.

"Lillian, stalling and accusations won't change the legal reality. My terms are simple: return my shares and surrender control of the workshop. If you prefer to fight this in court, I'm prepared for that. But consider how that might affect Isabel's social calendar and your charity work. People do love to talk."

Lillian's face cycled between crimson and ghostly white.

Isabel's tantrum had only served to highlight Elvira's composure and resolve.

She recognized that Elvira had them cornered. A direct confrontation would be disastrous.

With a deep breath, Lillian forced down her rage and spoke with brittle composure. "Very well, Elvira. You've certainly… matured. I'll review these papers thoroughly. My attorney will contact Mr. Chen about the details. Now, if you'll excuse us." She gestured toward the door, desperately clinging to the last scraps of her dignity.

Elvira, having accomplished her objective, simply nodded and walked out with measured steps.

Behind her, Isabel's shrill protests and Lillian's harsh whispers faded into background noise.

In the weeks that followed, Lillian's lawyers threw up every possible roadblock and delay tactic. But faced with ironclad evidence and Elvira's relentless determination, they gradually gave ground.

A month later, Elvira signed the final papers, officially reclaiming her 15% stake in The Vein and full ownership of the family jewelry workshop.

For the first time as owner, she walked through the gates of the old workshop in the city's east end, with its neglected courtyard.

Sunlight struggled through grimy windows, casting dappled shadows across abandoned workbenches.

The air hung heavy with dust, metal, and aged wood—and beneath it all, the faintest trace of her mother's signature spice perfume.

A handful of aging craftsmen watched her enter, their eyes filled with wary hope.

In the manager's office, she confronted towering stacks of disorganized ledgers. She sat down and began methodically sorting through years of financial mismanagement, her frown deepening with each page.

Frustrated, she stood to search for older records for comparison. Her movement dislodged a dust-covered ledger from the top shelf.

The book crashed to the floor, falling open.

Elvira knelt to retrieve it, her eyes catching on the exposed page.

It documented a massive payment made shortly after her mother's death.

The recipient code was smudged, but in the notes column, two words jumped out like a slap—Gresham Mining.

Elvira's breath caught, her blood turning to ice.

Her fingers tightened involuntarily, nearly tearing the brittle pages. A fortune changing hands, the suspicious timing, and the Gresham connection… What dark secrets lay buried here?

She'd reclaimed the workshop—her first victory.

But this unexpected discovery was like stumbling upon a hidden door, behind which lurked deeper shadows and dangerous truths.

What connection existed between her mother's death and the Gresham family?