Perfection has never been her; it has always been her designs. After all, who among us can claim to be flawless? Miranda's skin was as radiant as silk, her red lips curving into a sensual smile. “So, shall we proceed with the award ceremony now?” The host, still smiling, nodded. “Of course, Ms. Carter. But before we hand over the trophy, the judges and members of the press have some questions for you. You'll need to provide convincing answers, and if you succeed, the award will undoubtedly be yours.” Miranda accepted the challenge with grace. “I'm ready.” The ceremony continued... The award presentation lasted a staggering seven hours. Starting at eight in the evening, it dragged on until well past three in the morning. Many attendees were fighting off sleep, some even openly pleading for the event to end. However, a few stubborn individuals, determined to trip Miranda up, kept the questions coming. Despite this, Miranda showed no signs of impatience. Instead, she remained poised and polite, answering each question with clarity and logic. When explaining the technical aspects of her designs, she was thorough and articulate, occasionally using humor to lighten the mood. Her composure made it impossible for her detractors to find any fault. The more she maintained her calm, the more relentless her challengers became, as if determined to outlast her. Finally, the chairman of the jury intervened. “This has likely been the longest Q&A session in the history of this award. Based on Ms. Carter’s responses, I believe we can all agree on her talent and competence. She is undoubtedly deserving of this award.” The host, struggling to keep going himself, quickly announced, “Ms. Miranda Carter has successfully won the first prize of this year’s Pritzker Architecture Prize,” and hurriedly wrapped up the closing ceremony. Backstage, Miranda’s legs almost gave out beneath her, and she nearly stumbled. Jackson had been waiting by the dressing room door, and he swiftly stepped forward to catch her. “How are you holding up? These Europeans with their sense of superiority really went too far. A whole group of men ganging up on one woman—talk about double standards. They accuse others of discrimination, yet they’re the ones displaying the worst kind of prejudice.” Miranda held onto his arm, steadying herself with a weary sigh. “What can I say? This award was created by them, after all. It’s only natural they’d protect their own. Wherever humans are involved, true fairness is hard to come by. Today’s outcome wasn’t as bad as I expected. I was half-expecting them to dig into my entire ancestry just to find any hint of bias.” Jackson chuckled. “You’ve grown quite sharp-tongued, Ms. Carter.” “I had no choice,” Miranda replied, smiling despite her exhaustion. “I don’t enjoy talking so much—it’s left me parched, and my feet are killing me.” She had been standing in those high heels for over seven hours. Her feet were so numb she could barely feel them, and she had nearly tripped just now. Jackson helped her over to the sofa and knelt down to examine her feet. Miranda recoiled slightly, surprised. “What are you doing?” “Relax, I’m just checking your feet,” Jackson said, his tone firm but gentle. “Did your assistant pick these shoes? They’re way too big. No wonder your feet hurt.” Miranda sighed softly. They were in Europe, after all. Even among young women, her feet were considered small, typically requiring a size 5.5 shoe, and even those were often a bit too large. European high heels, even in the smallest available size, felt like oversized slippers to her. Jackson carefully removed her heels, setting them aside. Her feet were slightly swollen from standing so long, but they were still small, pale, and delicate, like freshly peeled lotus seeds. Jackson began to massage her toes and the soles of her feet. “You’ve got a lot more patience than I do. If it were me, I’d have challenged them to a fight long ago. All that talking is just annoying—sometimes, a good brawl is more satisfying.” Miranda laughed. “If only every problem could be solved with a fight, the world would be a simpler place. Maybe I should learn martial arts at a temple—whoever crosses me, I’ll just take them down.” Jackson grinned. “Big talk, Ms. Carter. Maybe start by taking down that shameless cousin of yours?” “You mean Sophia?” “Who else?” Jackson snorted. “But it won’t matter much longer if you do or don’t. The guy she’s involved with at the nightclub is a real psycho. He’s messed her up so badly she’s practically unrecognizable, and she’s picked up a bunch of diseases. I doubt she’ll last much longer.” Miranda’s expression darkened slightly. “When did this happen? Didn’t that man pay for her treatment?” That man. Jackson’s eyes dimmed a little. Four years had passed, and she still couldn’t bring herself to say his name, resorting to calling him “that man.” It wasn’t detachment; she simply hadn’t forgotten. In these four years, Miranda had changed her appearance, her personality, even her temperament, becoming almost a completely different person. Yet, the one thing that hadn’t changed was her hatred for Vincent Norman. There’s a saying that hatred lasts longer than love. Jackson wasn’t sure whether this enduring hatred was a good thing or not. After all, he was the one who had planted that seed of hatred in Emily’s heart. Even as she transformed into Miranda, that hatred remained deeply rooted, impossible to forget. “By the way, my uncle’s flight should have landed by now. I’ve been tied up here for so long; I wonder if Amy managed to pick him up.” Jackson scoffed. “Don’t get me started on your assistant. She’s hopeless at everything except eating. I still don’t know why you hired her—was it really because of her appetite?” Miranda chuckled. “People who love food are usually good people.” Jackson rolled his eyes. “That’s a pretty flimsy argument, you know. It’s nonsense.” “I just think Amy is a simple person,” Miranda said with a smile. “I envy her, really. She lives a simple, happy life—something I’ll never have. Watching her be so carefree brings me a bit of joy.” Jackson reached for a bag beside him. “Here, I brought you something.” Miranda looked inside and gasped, “Flat shoes?!” “Yep. I know you’re not used to wearing heels, so I went out and bought these. They should be your size. Try them on.” Sure enough, they were her size. A perfect 5.The design was reminiscent of shoes from home—pink and white canvas sneakers. The moment she slipped them on, she felt a wave of relief wash over her. “Thank you, Jackson.”