Stole My Rescue, Now Begging for Mercy

As a decorated ace pilot who had earned countless Medals of Honor, even after retiring from the U.S. Air Force, I continued to serve as a top-level contracted member of the U.S. National Rescue Team, contributing to my country.

To ensure I could reach any disaster site at the fastest possible speed, the government had even assigned me the latest model helicopter as my personal rescue aircraft.

One day, I received an emergency call and rushed straight to the airport.

I had just finished taking a quick work log photo and was preparing for takeoff when a woman suddenly kicked open the cabin door, storming inside and shouting at me:

“Who gave you permission to fly my helicopter?!”

“I’m going to the island to sunbathe today—get out, now!”

“And these airport staff are useless! Just letting random nobodies up here to take photos and show off!”

I stared at her in confusion, put away my phone, and replied seriously,

“Excuse me, ma’am, you must be mistaken. This is my helicopter.”

Her flight instructor sneered,

“This is the newest helicopter that Jason Miller gave to our Miss. Stop pretending and get out already!”

I froze for a second.

Jason Miller? My fiancé?

He actually gave away the government-assigned rescue helicopter—meant for saving lives during disasters—as a gift to his mistress?

I almost laughed out of anger.

If it hadn’t been for my family saying Jason looked decent enough and that our families were “roughly” a match, I would never have agreed to this engagement with such a spoiled brat.

If the authorities found out they were misusing rescue resources and delaying disaster response, it would mean at least ten years in prison.

But time was tight—I needed to save lives. I had no patience for her tantrum.

“This is my helicopter. Get off immediately. If you delay a rescue mission, you will be punished!”

I was about to close the cabin door when she smashed a stiletto heel onto my head.

My hand slipped, and the cabin door slammed shut. She smugly settled into the back seat.

Clutching my head, I frowned at her. “Are you insane? Do you have a death wish?”

Seeing me talk back, she slapped me across the face.

“Who said you could steal my helicopter?!”

“This is the newest model. Even my instructor, a first-class retired Air Force pilot, finds it difficult to handle. Who do you think you are to even touch it?”

“You’ve taken your little photo—now get out! Or I’ll have someone strip you naked and throw you onto the street!”

I just stared at her, unmoving.

Moments later, she ordered the airport staff and her instructor to drag me out and throw me off the helicopter.

I hit the ground from several meters high, my whole body trembling with pain.

From the co-pilot’s seat, she looked down at me with arrogance.

“Hmph. That’s what you get for challenging me.”

I gritted my teeth and shouted up at them,

“Are you all blind? This helicopter is mine—I only stored it here! It doesn’t belong to Jason Miller!”

But the staff didn’t know the details. All they knew was that every airport in Washington D.C. was under the Miller family’s control. And Jason often used this helicopter to take Chloe Adams on vacations.

“This is Mr. Miller’s favorite Miss Adams. We may not know you, but we sure know her.”

“If you’re going to lie, at least have some proof. She’s on this helicopter every few days—we’re sick of seeing her. You? We’ve never seen you once.”

My chest tightened with rage.

I should never have listened to my future mother-in-law when she said that after drinking the engagement wine, everything—including property—was shared between husband and wife. Foolishly, I had agreed to leave the helicopter at the Miller family’s private airport.