Chapter 478:
“It’s not an injury,” Kim said, her voice raspy but surprisingly steady. “It’s a cure.”
She reached for the jar. The lid twisted off with a soft hiss. The scent was earthy—lavender and something sharper, like crushed nettles.
“I need to apply the second layer,” Kim told the nurse. “Ms. Vance explained that the initial purge leaves the skin raw. This layer seals the barrier and accelerates the regeneration. The heat will intensify before it breaks. I have to trust the process.”
As she dabbed the cool cream onto the exposed skin around her jaw, the heat flared. It wasn’t the searing agony of abuse; it was the constructive burn of a muscle tearing to grow back stronger.
A tiny, almost imperceptible vibration buzzed from her phone on the tray table. A secure text from Aurora.
Hold the line. The media is already turning. You are not a victim anymore; you are the evidence.
Kim set the phone down. She didn’t feel like a monster, despite the bandages. For the first time, the heat on her face didn’t feel like shame.
It felt like victory.
The internet was not a place for nuance—it was a coliseum, and the crowd had found its gladiator. Following the arrest of Zhang Liyan, the digital tide had shifted with terrifying speed. The hashtag #SaveKim was trending globally, displacing the earlier skepticism about the Lumina Cream.
However, the corporate world was a different beast. By noon on the following day, while the public cheered, the establishment struck back.
Outside the Vance-Thorne Tower, the sidewalk was a sea of reporters, but the mood in the boardroom was tense. The “Beauty Association”—a consortium of legacy brands terrified by Aurora’s disruption—had launched a coordinated regulatory attack.
Elias Thorne stood by the window, looking down at the ant-like swarm of media vans. His silhouette was sharp against the grey sky. He held a tablet in one hand, scrolling through the legal threats with a detached, clinical interest.
Discover fresh chapters gαlnσνe𝓁s․com
“They aren’t attacking the efficacy anymore,” Elias said, his voice devoid of alarm. “They saw the raw footage from the gala. They know the necrosis story won’t stick, so they’re pivoting to procedure. Mina from the Association just filed a complaint with the FDA and the FTC, claiming ‘reckless endangerment through unlicensed chemical peeling agents.’ They are arguing that a product capable of stripping skin layers that quickly must be classified as a medical-grade acid, not a cosmetic.”
Aurora sat at the head of the table, legs crossed, a cup of herbal tea steaming in her hands. She looked unbothered. In fact, she looked like a general surveying a battlefield she had already mapped out.
“Mina is predictable,” Aurora said, blowing on her tea. “She’s trying to bury us in paperwork because she knows she can’t beat us in the lab. She’s calling it ‘dangerous traditionalism’ because she can’t patent nature.”
Julian paced the room. He was still using his cane, the rhythm of step-click-step betraying his anxiety. “Aurora, the stock is volatile. We’re up fifteen percent on the hype, but the legal threats are capping the rally. The Board wants a statement. They want us to settle with the Association.”
“No settlements,” Aurora said. She set the tea down. “We double down.”
“On what grounds?” Julian asked, exasperated. “They have lobbyists. We have a cream that makes people’s faces look like they’ve gone through a fire before they get better. The public has a short attention span; if the peeling phase lasts too long, fear will override hope.”
.
.
.