The morning sun filtered through scattered clouds as Elara walked briskly down the city's bustling streets. She wasn't here to admire the view or window shop—she was on a mission. Every step she took today would be a brick laid in the foundation of a future she was building from scratch.
In her satchel were three of her most promising perfume samples, the early stages of her brand's identity design, and a business plan she'd sketched out the night before—lean, strategic, and sharp.
Today, she needed a base.
A place that would become *hers*.
The first storefront she visited was too sterile, boxed into a bland concrete complex. The second was charming but too narrow. She could already envision the chaos of crowded shelves and spilled oils.
Then she saw it. A two-story brick building on a quiet side street with old wooden doors, a faded "For Lease" sign, and ivy climbing one corner like time itself had embraced it.
She stepped up to the front and peered through the dusty glass.
The interior was open and warm, sunlight pooling on hardwood floors, shadows curling across exposed beams. A curved staircase led to the upper floor—perfect for a blending studio or small office.
This… this could work.
No—it was *perfect*.
---
By midday, Elara stood in the cool lobby of the **City Business and Trademark Office**. A sharp contrast to the dreamy storefront, this place hummed with efficiency and fluorescent lighting. The lines were long, but Elara waited patiently, clutching her neatly prepared documents.
Business license? Drafted.
Trademark registration for *Scentra*? Pending.
She even brought an extra vial of perfume. Just in case.
"Next."
The woman behind the desk looked up, her eyes scanning Elara's determined expression. She gestured for her to approach.
Elara handed over the papers. "I'd like to register a sole proprietorship and begin the trademark process."
The woman flipped through the folder, arching a brow. "You're starting a perfume brand?"
"Yes. All-natural scents. Handcrafted. Small-batch releases."
"Huh." The woman tilted her head, intrigued despite herself. "Got a sample?"
Elara offered her a vial with a deep marigold ribbon around the neck.
The woman sniffed once—and then again, eyes widening.
"Oh… wow. This is… evocative."
"It's called *Amber Silence,*" Elara explained. "It's meant to feel like the last warmth before a storm."
The woman blinked rapidly, visibly moved.
"I wore something like this during my college graduation... My mother was there. She wore gold heels and cried like a baby."
Elara smiled. "Good memories deserve a second life."
The woman composed herself and smiled back. "You've got something here. You know what? I'll personally flag this for fast-tracking. And if you ever need a customer, my girls and I are always in the market for new signature scents."
She handed Elara her card. "Let me know when your first collection drops."
Elara's heart soared. "I will. Thank you."
---
By late afternoon, Elara was back at the storefront. She had scheduled a meeting with the landlord—an older man with a thick accent, sun-worn skin, and a practical demeanor.
"You alone?" he asked, glancing around as he unlocked the door.
"Yes. But not for long," she replied, stepping inside once again and letting the space fill her vision.
They walked the property as he pointed out repairs and notes about prior tenants.
"I'm not here to rent," Elara said. "I want to buy."
The landlord froze mid-step. "Buy?"
She handed him a folder—proof of her license approval, ID copies, and a bank account she'd discreetly opened for the business. The funds were there. She had planned this meticulously—using knowledge from both her past life and the world she transmigrated into.
He flipped through the documents slowly. "You don't look old enough to gamble with this much money."
"I'm not gambling," Elara replied. "I'm investing."
He stared at her, as if weighing her soul. Then grunted.
"Alright. Let's talk terms."
They spent an hour finalizing paperwork, clarifying clauses, and negotiating utilities. The man respected how prepared she was. No hesitation. No wide-eyed dreaming. Just strategy.
By the time he handed her the keys, he shook his head in disbelief.
"I've seen flashy business types crash and burn in six months," he said. "But I'll tell you this—if anyone can survive the first year, it's someone who's already lived through worse."
Elara gave him a small nod of gratitude. "You won't regret leasing it to me."
"I didn't lease it," he said with a smirk. "You bought it."
---
That evening, Elara arrived at her mother's accounting firm. The office was modest, with shared cubicles and files stacked in neat chaos. Her mother was still hunched over spreadsheets, her expression tired but focused.
"Mom," Elara said softly from the doorway.
Her mother looked up, surprised. "Elara? Is something wrong?"
"No," she said with a small smile. "But I need you to come with me."
Her mother frowned, eyes drifting to the clock. "I have two more files to process before—"
"You're resigning tomorrow."
Her mother blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I already filed the business registration. Got the trademark in process. Secured a storefront. I even met a trade officer who wants to be our first client."
"Elara…" Her voice was unsteady. "You did all that *today*?"
"Yes. But I didn't do it alone. I did it with every skill you ever taught me. Planning. Calculating. Prioritizing. I want you to manage our finances—officially. Be the CFO. Let's do this together."
Her mother stared at her, emotions flashing behind her eyes.
"Please," Elara added gently. "Come see it."
---
They took the tram as twilight painted the city in shades of gold and ash. Elara didn't say much—she wanted her mother to feel it, not just hear it.
When they reached the storefront, Elara unlocked the door and motioned her inside.
Her mother stepped through, taking in the tall ceilings, the open layout, and the faint scent of vanilla and cedar that Elara had diffused before leaving earlier.
Elara walked ahead, turned, and extended her hand.
"Welcome to *Scentra.*"
Her mother's breath caught. "You… bought this?"
"Outright. We own it. The business is real. The branding is ours. And this time, I'm not leaving you behind. I want you by my side—my mentor and my partner."
Tears filled her mother's eyes as she took a slow walk through the space, fingers grazing the walls, eyes wide with wonder.
"I've spent twenty years crunching numbers for other people," she whispered. "Never thought I'd help build something of our own."
"Well," Elara said with a crooked grin, "you're about to be the most stylish CFO in the perfume industry."
Her mother laughed through her tears and pulled her into a tight hug.
They stood together in the heart of their new beginning.
And for the first time in both their lives, the future didn't feel like something to fear.
It felt like home