CHAPTER 195: RECOGNITION

One week later.

Beauty no longer had to stay cooped up in her room all day.

She woke up early in the morning, ready to head to the office.

As soon as she descended the stairs, she spotted Lucas lounging on the sofa, flipping through a financial magazine.

He always rose earlier than her.

Every morning when she came downstairs, he was either already seated in the living room or had left for work.

*Men with thriving careers really do have boundless energy*, she thought bitterly.

No matter how late he kept her up the night before, he could still wake up bright and early the next day.

Last night, Lucas had tormented her until three in the morning.

By the end, she felt like she was on the verge of death—her entire body ached as if she’d been run over by a freight train.

He had made up for all the nights he’d been absent in one go.

The aftermath left her so sore that even getting out of bed this morning was a struggle, her legs trembling beneath her.

"Breakfast is ready."

Lucas’s gaze swept over her, lingering pointedly below her waist before a wicked smirk curled at the corners of his lips.

She nearly grabbed a throw pillow from the sofa and hurled it at him—but she restrained herself.

After breakfast, she rode with him to the company.

Having been absent for days, she immediately ran into several colleagues from the design department the moment she stepped out of the car.

They greeted her warmly, their expressions full of concern.

By the time she turned around, Lucas had already reached the private elevator reserved for executives.

Back when she was his assistant, she could at least hitch a ride in his private lift.

But now that she’d been transferred to the design team, she had to squeeze into the regular elevator with everyone else—lest anyone suspect favoritism.

Every time she crammed into that packed elevator, she felt like she was being flattened, struggling to breathe in the suffocating crowd.

But there was no way around it.

Everyone arrived at the same time, and no one wanted to be late and risk losing their perfect attendance bonus.

Finally, with a *ding*, the elevator doors slid open.

Beauty exhaled deeply in relief.

She suddenly found herself missing that private executive elevator—at least exiting it wouldn’t have left her in such an undignified state.

The design department was buzzing with activity for the jewelry anniversary celebration, and Beauty’s arrival felt like a godsend to the overwhelmed team.

"Beauty, you’re finally here!

We’re drowning in work," a colleague exclaimed.

"Having you join us is a lifesaver.

Here’s the anniversary jewelry series the CEO requested last week.

We’ve been pulling all-nighters, and honestly, I can already see new wrinkles forming.

It’s brutal."

Beauty lowered her gaze, scanning the thick stack of documents, her delicate brows furrowing slightly.

From what she knew, the International Jewelry Group launched three themed collections every year for their anniversary celebration.

Marson Corporation had consistently secured the primary design rights, delegating two collections to subsidiaries while keeping one in-house.

Each year, the jewelry gala becomes a global sensation, setting trends and sparking endless discussions in the fashion world.

"This year’s theme is ’Guardian,’" another designer chimed in, rubbing her temples.

"The manager wants each of us to pitch a meaningful concept, preferably with a compelling story.

We’re all hitting creative walls here.

Any brilliant ideas, Beauty?"

Beauty remained silent for a brief moment, deep in thought about the anniversary theme.

A faint smile touched her lips.

"Not yet, but I’ll brainstorm something.

In the meantime, could you gather the most iconic collections from past years, along with their emotional backstories?

Maybe they’ll spark some inspiration."

"Absolutely!

We’ve been racking our brains but can’t top previous narratives.

The director was furious yesterday," another designer admitted, quickly retrieving past catalogs.

Each jewelry piece in the albums came with a story—some sweet and romantic, others poignant and tragic.

Beauty studied every design and its accompanying tale with intense focus.

When inspiration struck, she sketched rough outlines on a blank sheet, though her strokes remained sparse.

For a junior designer like her, crafting a flawless collection was daunting enough.

Creating something both universally appealing and utterly unique?

Nearly impossible.

Time slipped away unnoticed as she immersed herself in work.

The phone on her desk had rung multiple times before she finally snapped back to reality.

Picking up the phone, Lena’s voice came through immediately.

With an indifferent tone, she said, "Beauty, President Marson wants to see you in his office."

"Alright, did he mention what it’s about?

I’ve got quite a bit of work on my plate right now."

"We never question the president’s orders.

Just come up.

No matter how much work you have, nothing takes priority over the president’s business."

With that, Lena hung up abruptly.

Beauty could only let out a long sigh.

Every conversation with Lena was like this—terrace and to the point.

Her efficiency was razor-sharp, and Beauty couldn’t help but admire her for it.

After all, anyone who could stay by Lucas’s side and climb to such a position had to be exceptionally capable.

Her work style was strikingly similar to Lucas’s—perhaps a result of spending so much time around him.

Carefully setting aside the catalog she’d been working on, Beauty exchanged a quick word with her colleagues before striding out of the office on long, graceful legs.

The moment she stepped out, whispers erupted behind her.

"Seriously, what’s the deal between Beauty and the president?

She doesn’t seem like some adopted girl—more like a kept woman."

Another voice chimed in, "Is there even a difference?

Didn’t some drama recently have a CEO raising a little girl only to marry her later?

Men love younger women.

But honestly, Beauty and President Marson do make a striking pair—talent and beauty, a feast for the eyes!"

"You must not have seen Beauty when she first started here.

Rumor has it she was just some scrawny girl with no style.

President Marson polished her up.

Tsk, tsk... Some people just have all the luck, huh?

A sparrow turned phoenix overnight..."

Their gossip was cut short when the office door swung open.

The supervisor stormed in, face dark with disapproval.

His icy glare swept over them as he bit out,

"Who gave you permission to discuss the president’s private life?

One more word, and you’re all out!"

Silence crashed over the room, so absolutely you could hear a pin drop.

Everyone immediately clamped their mouths shut and buried themselves in work, as if they hadn’t been whispering moments before.

Meanwhile, Beauty stepped out of the elevator, stunned.

It had only been a few weeks since she’d last been on this floor, yet everything had transformed beyond recognition—now sleek, opulent, and almost intimidating in its grandeur.

She hesitated, unsure where to even step.