"Yes, sir!"

"As for this car..." The squad leader frowned at the Ferrari. Just then, the roar of another helicopter cut through the distance.

Heads snapped up. A massive Mi-26—painted matte black with a silver dragon insignia—loomed in the sky. The police chopper beside it looked like a child next to a giant.

The Mi-26 descended, lowered a hook, and snagged the Ferrari. It hoisted the car effortlessly, like an eagle snatching a field mouse. No surprise—the Mi-26 could lift entire passenger jets.

The four SWAT officers froze, fingers hovering over triggers. Could their rifles even dent that armored beast?

"Don’t shoot. My family sent it," Shuo Ye said casually. She knew their game: hide the car’s custom weapons, then repair and upgrade it.

The officers exchanged uneasy glances, newfound respect chilling their spines.

This Soviet-era Mi-26 was the heaviest helicopter in active service. Its payload matched a C-130 transport plane. Owning one screamed power—connections deep in military and government circles.

Minutes ago, the squad leader had treated Shuo Ye as just another rich Dawn Harbor heiress. Now? She was his sworn empress. *How could this backwater city spawn such a monster family?*

He escorted the three girls to the chopper but didn’t board. Too few seats. He’d wait for backup rather than risk offending them.

The pilot eyed the stunning trio, then lifted off toward their destination.

"Whoa! First time in a chopper!" Bai Xin yelled over the wind, leaving her side door wide open.

Shuo Ye and Lin Mi stayed calm. Shuo Ye rode these daily; Lin Mi refused to gawk over trivialities.

"Hey, if your family’s so powerful," Bai Xin pressed, "why do we handle dirty work alone? Shouldn’t you have minions?"

Shuo Ye shrugged. "First: they won’t let a weakling inherit. They gave me elite training, then dumped me. If I don’t impress them by twenty? Political marriage or breeding stock. Second: I *like* the thrill."

"So you’re basically cut off?" Bai Xin frowned. "Then why the gear support?"

"Basic equipment only," Shuo Ye yawned. "Otherwise I’d roll in tanks and fighter jets. They handle repairs, medical, cash. And if I perform? Better toys."

"You see us as your retainers," Lin Mi observed. "Like a monarch gathering loyalists."

Shuo Ye snapped her fingers. "Bingo! You’ll be my right hand when I rule the Clan."

"But we don’t even know what your Clan *is*," Bai Xin muttered.

"You’ll learn soon enough. We’re here." Shuo Ye nodded toward the window.

Bai Xin finally noticed the chopper slowing, descending. Below lay not a secret base—but Dawn Harbor’s crown jewel: the Eden Grand Hotel. Its rooftop helipad gleamed atop the city’s tallest building.

As a local, Bai Xin knew its legendary status—even if she’d never set foot inside the four-star lobby.

Shuo Ye stepped out and slightly pursed her lips. "No five-star hotels in this city. Pathetic. My bastard father actually stays here."

"How’d you know it’s him?" Bai Xin asked.

"Only that show-off does business in hotels," Lin Mi said. "Clan elders use comms or meet in fortified bases. But my globe-trotting, irresponsible dad? He’s relaxed. Annoyingly strong, too."

A man in a white suit—silver dragon emblem on the lapel—led them to the presidential suite’s private elevator. The pilot departed; his job was done.

They passed through a lavish lounge straight to the dining room door.

"The master awaits inside, Young Mistress." The man bowed deeply, staying behind. Lunch wasn’t for his rank.

Shuo Ye kicked open the gilded door. Bai Xin winced. They entered; Bai Xin gently shut it behind them.

"Yo, old man! What’s the emergency?"

At the long table’s head sat a striking man in his forties—golden hair tied in a sleek ponytail, a rose-gold mechanical watch glinting on his wrist. His bespoke white suit radiated Savile Row elegance. Two scantily clad women giggled beside him.

Pure British aristocracy—until you noticed the escorts.

But another figure stole Bai Xin’s breath: a white-haired girl in cheap mall-bought shirt and jeans. Cold Night Feather. She made the painted escorts fade like faded posters.

"Honestly," Cold Night Feather sipped coffee, "your combat skills surprised me. Expected you’d be messier. This sludge tastes like mud, by the way."

*You complain but sip it like royalty?* Bai Xin thought. "Then don’t drink it! What’re *you* doing here?"

Cold Night Feather crossed her legs, nodding at the blond man. "Mr. Cromwell invited me."

"Good day, ladies." The man rose, executing a flawless bow. "Oliver Cromwell, at your service. Representing the Cromwell Clan." He dismissed his companions with a wave. "Relax. Sit."

As they took seats, five girls in white gowns glided in—silent as butterflies—bearing trays. One carried a bottle of vermouth. They set plates before each girl, the bottle before Oliver, then vanished.

Snow-white fish slices and lobster mousse glistened. Bai Xin’s stomach growled; she’d barely eaten before the morning’s chaos.

"An appetizer," Oliver smiled. "West Coast halibut with lobster mousse. Enjoy."

Only Bai Xin dug in. Cold Night Feather sampled one slice. Shuo Ye and Lin Mi stared hard at Oliver, demanding answers.

"Darling girls," Oliver poured vermouth into slender glasses, "ladies never talk with full mouths. Eat first."