New York City was especially cold today. Even in the short distance from the car to the company building—barely fifty meters—Emily felt like the chill had seeped deep into her bones. Dylan took off his thick down coat and offered it to her. "Here, put this on." "No need." Dylan insisted. "Please, take it. The weather’s too cold, and you just got back. You probably didn't bring anything warm. I'll have Steven go buy you a coat later. Size L, right?" Emily shook her head. "Size M." Dylan sighed, a hint of sadness in his voice. "So you lost more weight... No wonder the boss was so worried, waiting outside the hotel just to make sure you were okay." Emily followed him into the elevator, watching him press the button for the 42nd floor. "He waited for me outside?" Dylan nodded. "Yes. The fire at room 2307 almost destroyed the entire floor. The 2307 suite was left in ruins, and even after the hotel renovated it, trying to restore it, some things can never go back to the way they were." Emily didn’t say anything. Dylan stared down at his feet, his voice softening. "Madam..." "I'm not—" "Sorry, I haven’t gotten used to it yet. Miranda," Dylan's voice was filled with a quiet plea, "The boss's health isn’t what it used to be. I understand you may have grievances, but please, if you can, be gentle with him. He can’t take any more pain." Emily felt her chest tighten, her heart suddenly aching. "What’s wrong with him?" "It’s all because of that fire. His lungs are severely damaged, most of them have been removed. Now, only a small part functions properly. He can't engage in strenuous activities, and even catching a cold is dangerous." Suddenly, Emily recalled how he'd been standing outside in just a thin suit, his voice almost completely gone. "Dylan, take him to the hospital," she said, concern slipping into her voice."Is the boss feeling unwell?" Dylan asked. "He smoked a lot last night." Dylan’s eyes widened. "Is he out of his mind? He can't... Does he want to die?!" He started frantically pressing the open button. The elevator doors opened on the 22nd floor, and Dylan rushed out, almost colliding with Ken, who was just coming out of his office. The stack of papers in Ken's hands scattered everywhere. "Whoa... Dylan, what's got you running like that?" Ken muttered. Emily hesitated for a moment before stepping out to help him gather the papers from the floor. Ken smiled politely, greeting her. "Good morning, Miranda. You’re in early today. You just got back; you should’ve taken a day to rest and get over the jet lag." Emily forced a smile. "It’s fine. The project is important." Ken laughed heartily. "You're a workaholic too, aren't you? Guess we're done being the most laid-back company in the industry now..." Emily caught onto something in his words. "So there is another workaholic?" "Yeah," Ken said, shaking his head regretfully, "it's because of our boss. After that huge fire, he barely survived, spent over two years in intensive care, and now he's back, working himself into the ground. Thinks he’s made of iron or something. You wouldn’t believe it, but back then, our work hours were pretty flexible. We were all night owls—coming in during the afternoon, working through the night, then sleeping during the day. Now? No way. The boss is here by six every morning, so we can't exactly roll in at noon, can we?" Ken, as always, talked a lot, just like three years ago. "Has he explicitly made you come in early?" Emily asked. "Not really," Ken shrugged, continuing to pick up the scattered papers, "he’s just... well, like a bottle with a wide body but a narrow neck, you know? Holds so much inside but never lets anything out. Miranda, when you work with him, feel free to ask a lot of questions. He’s impossible to read sometimes..." He sighed, then looked back at her. "Miranda, have you eaten breakfast yet?" "No, not yet." "Still some time before the office really gets going. Let me treat you to breakfast. There’s a new breakfast shop nearby—the fried dough sticks are amazing."Emily thought for a second, then nodded. "Sure, thanks, Ken." "Hey, just call me Ken. No need for the formalities. Everyone here does, you know," Ken said, laughing. Emily smiled softly. "If you don’t mind." "Mind? Nah, it’s just a name," Ken said, gathering the last of the papers and patting them into order. "Between you and me, this project—it's going to be a wild ride. This was the boss's wife's project, and he’ll be extra particular about every detail. We’re definitely going to be put through the wringer. So let’s eat well while we can—gotta be ready for the hard days." "Is he really that strict about this project?" Emily asked. "Absolutely!" Ken said, almost shouting in his usual animated way. "Before you, the boss had already fired hundreds of designers. Some of them came up with decent plans, but none of them matched what he wanted, so they all got rejected. Then we heard about your Pritzker win, how brilliantly you handled all those questions. We knew you were the real deal. The boss had Dylan personally try to recruit you, but by then, you were already with Stardream. I thought, ‘Well, that’s it, there goes our last hope.’ And then, boom, the boss announces a partnership with Stardream, and that you’d be coming here to lead the project!" Emily sighed. "Yeah, I didn’t expect it either." "See, life has a fun way of working things out. Maybe my boss's wife knew somehow and wanted you to see it through, so here you are," Ken laughed. "I hope you don't mind me saying this, but from the moment I saw you, you reminded me a lot of her. Same kind of aura." Emily was taken aback. "Maybe... all architecture geniuses give off that vibe," Ken said, spreading his hands. "Our boss's wife was incredible, too. There is only an early draft of this design, and then she refined it all on her own. She never even had formal training, yet her talent was undeniable—she really was a genius."