When Emily walked back into the office, she found a circle of curious colleagues gathered around Amy’s desk. Amy was animatedly recounting Jackson's "difficult rise to be a boyfriend," and everyone was hanging on her every word. Upon seeing Emily return, the group erupted with excitement, instantly closing in around her. “Miranda, can we have a party at your boyfriend's place this weekend? I heard he’s really handsome!” one colleague exclaimed. “I’m kind of obsessed with American guys right now—he’s just so good-looking!” another chimed in. “I want to find an American boyfriend too, someone who’ll shower me with roses and carry me around on his shoulders!” Emily shot Amy a glare, knowing she had gotten a bit carried away. After all, her boss didn’t like to be in the spotlight. But she was just so happy! Jackson had been by Miranda’s side for so long, and now they finally seemed to be making it work. But in her excitement, Amy had said too much, and it was hard to reel it back in. Miranda was busy explaining to the group, “He’s really busy... His looks would only be considered average... He’s a bit childish and loves to have fun...” Finally, after much effort, she managed to send everyone off with polite smiles, rubbing her temples as a headache began to throb. As Amy followed her into the office, she sheepishly asked, “Miranda, are you okay? You look a bit pale. Did Adam give you a hard time?” Miranda retorted, “Adam didn’t give me any trouble, but thanks to you, my dear assistant, your job is to help me manage and filter work, and now it took me half an hour longer to resolve this mess!” Feeling a bit wronged, Amy pouted, “I’m sorry, Miranda! I think I got you into trouble again.” It was hard for Miranda to stay mad at her. She pointed to a cup on the corner of her desk, saying, “Go make me a cup of coffee.” “Okay!” Amy perked up, happy to have a task to make up for her mistake, and rushed out to prepare the coffee. Miranda shook her head with a smile. She was starting to wonder if she should bring Amy back to the States.With Amy’s level of naïveté, it would be far too easy for anyone to pry information out of her. And back in the States, there were so many people she used to know… It wouldn’t be easy to keep her identity hidden, especially since… it seemed like Satan was starting to suspect her. She felt a headache coming on. This time, the Great Wall Group had approached Stardream for collaboration. Was it for the project, or was it… for her? Thinking this way felt a bit narcissistic, but knowing Satan, it wasn’t entirely impossible. Three years had passed, and although she had made peace with her past, the thought of facing it all again still sent chills down her spine. Lying on that cold operating table, hope had been shattered as her unborn child was lost forever, never to wake again… just thinking about it made her shiver. “Miranda, coffee’s here!” Amy burst through the door, setting a steaming cup of rich coffee down on her desk. “Just made it! Try it!” Miranda took a sip and immediately grimaced. “Amy, did you forget to add sugar?” This coffee was bitter. She wasn’t a fan of black coffee; life was bitter enough, and she preferred it sweet. Two creamers and three sugar cubes was her favorite ratio, even if Jackson often criticized her for ruining perfectly good Colombian coffee. “Wait, no! I swear I added it—three sugar cubes! I counted, I really did,” Amy insisted, tasting the coffee herself and making a face. “Wow, it’s too sweet! How can you think this is bitter?” “Is it?” Miranda hesitated, taking another sip, but it still tasted bitter to her. Sighing, she said, “Forget the coffee. Can you just get me a glass of hot water instead?” “Sure, coming right up!” It seemed like coffee just wasn’t in the cards today. The projects at Stardream were progressing steadily. The one in Thailand had successfully delivered its design plans last night and was now breaking ground. Everything was on track. Miranda spent the afternoon handling emails as usual, and when it was time to clock out, she left promptly. Not surprisingly, Jackson was waiting for her downstairs. He looked a bit impatient, crouched down and busy with something. Not wanting to interrupt, Miranda quietly approached and was surprised to find he was building a snowman. It was about a foot tall, made of two snowballs, and he was using some twigs he had picked up to create arms while muttering to himself, “You are just too ugly; not even close to my Emily’s pinky.” Miranda couldn’t help but chuckle softly. Jackson jumped, standing up quickly. “Whoa, you walk without making a sound!” Miranda pointed to her high heels. “They make a sound; you just didn’t hear it.” Jackson didn’t want to argue about that. He frowned slightly, “In this cold weather, why are you wearing those? Aren’t your feet freezing?” “I’m fine,” she replied. “Fine? No way! It’s snowing! Your feet are exposed; how can that be comfortable?” He pulled her over to a nearby bench, gently took off her high heels, and wrapped her cold feet in his hands, trying to warm them with his body heat. Miranda tried to pull away, but he held on tighter, frowning. “Stay still.” He pouted, “Does your company require you to wear heels?” “Yes,” Miranda explained. “I think most companies have dress codes, while it’s a bit more relaxed back home.” “We should go get you a pair of heeled boots; they’re still heels, right?” Miranda laughed at the absurdity. “How would that even match with an A-line skirt?” “Why not? As long as it keeps you warm, it works! Those British people are so rigid; they have no idea how to be flexible. And if it’s that time of the month for women, isn’t it even worse for their health?” Miranda rolled her eyes. “Maybe British women don’t think it’s a big deal?” “But you’re not a British women! Emily, when are you going to learn to take care of yourself better?”