Annoyance simmered in Stephanie's chest as she dialed Milly. "Forget the Elliott family case. I'm done with them."
Milly's voice crackled with surprise. "What happened?"
Stephanie thought back to the entitled housekeeper and replied, her tone cold, "They're too full of themselves. I'm not interested in working with arrogant people."
She paused, then added with a touch of regret, "It's a shame about the little girl, though. She's in bad shape. I left a prescription behind. Hopefully, someone else can help her."
After wrapping up the call, Stephanie made her way to the pharmaceutical research institute. Every drug she carried in her kit had been developed there, and her research on gene therapy needed her urgent attention. With the new semester at Veridia University fast approaching, she knew she'd soon be pulled away from the institute.
Her promise to attend university wasn't just for herself. It was to honor Sylvia Clayton—Colin's mother, the only person in the Clayton family who had ever shown her kindness. On her deathbed, Sylvia had pressed Stephanie's hand and urged her to get a diploma, no matter how gifted she was.
Meanwhile, Milly came across a new announcement from Waylon. He'd doubled the pay to a staggering one hundred million, determined to track down any doctor who could save his sister. Milly quietly chose not to mention it to Stephanie.
Three days passed, and Stephanie was deep into her experiments when Milly showed up with an ornate invitation—Rory, the infamous arms dealer, was hosting a banquet.
Their supply of weapons and ammunition was running dangerously low, and if Stephanie didn't secure a deal soon, her territory would be vulnerable to takeover.
Saturday evening, Stephanie arrived right on schedule.
The fifth-floor banquet hall buzzed with energy. Inside, two or three dozen people mingled, each one eyeing the competition—potential buyers sizing up the evening's offerings.
At the center of it all stood Rory, surrounded by his usual circle of admirers. The moment he spotted Stephanie, he broke away, heading straight for her with a rare note of respect in his tone. "I've been hoping you'd show. This time, you can't leave without buying from me."
Stephanie offered a cool nod. "Actually, I need to speak with you about something important."
At that moment, Waylon strode into the banquet hall, his suit immaculate and presence commanding.
His eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on Stephanie.
A flicker of surprise crossed his face. Wasn't she the one who'd rescued Raegan just days ago? He'd assumed she'd be older, not a woman who barely looked eighteen. How could someone so young have such extraordinary skill? And what business did she have at a gathering hosted by Rory?
Waylon had just started toward her when the first shots cracked through the banquet hall, followed by a body hitting the floor as blood spread across the tiles.
Panic tore through the room, guests screaming as they dove for cover in every direction.
Scanning the chaos in an instant, Waylon caught sight of a masked gunman at the entrance, the barrel of his weapon trained straight on Stephanie.
He reacted without hesitation.
Another round of gunfire echoed.
"Get out of the way!"
A hard shove sent Stephanie stumbling as pain flared across her shoulder, the bullet narrowly grazing her.
She ducked behind a thick pillar, realizing only then that Waylon had pulled her out of the line of fire.
There was no time to dwell on it, so she steadied her breathing and assessed the situation from cover.
Three attackers moved through the hall, each wearing a scaring mask, their guns still raised.
Something about the attack didn't add up. Stephanie wondered, who would be bold enough to stage an assault at a banquet thrown by Rory himself?
Was the target Waylon? It made sense—his reputation was built on power and ruthlessness, and he'd made many enemies on his climb to the top.
Lost in thought, Stephanie watched as the masked shooters zeroed in on a silver-haired man who looked to be in his seventies.
Gunfire erupted in their direction, and a bodyguard threw himself in front of the old man, only to be struck down on the spot.
At this rate, the elderly guest wouldn't survive much longer.
Spotting a brief lull while one shooter reloaded, Stephanie didn't hesitate. She sprinted across the chaos, snatched the old man from danger, and dove aside, bullets slicing the air around them.
Panic swept the hall as screams rang out, but Stephanie managed to drag the man behind a marble pillar just as another shot cracked through the room.
Stephanie tumbled with the elderly man, sheltering both of them behind the thick pillar.
"You're really looking for trouble!" The nearest gunman spat a threat and lifted his weapon to take aim once more.
Before another shot could be fired, Waylon stepped directly into the line of danger, positioning himself between the shooter and their hiding place.
Stephanie's voice rose urgently. "Waylon, watch out—"
Before Stephanie could finish her warning, a sudden flurry of gunfire ripped through the hall.
In the blink of an eye, the masked attackers crashed to the floor, their fates sealed by well-placed shots.
Waylon remained in front of Stephanie, unflinching, a pistol steady in his grasp and tension radiating from his stance.
Noticing her lingering stare, he met her eyes for a brief moment before addressing his team. "Take care of things here."
He showed not a flicker of emotion, as though the chaos around them was nothing out of the ordinary.
Realizing she'd been staring, Stephanie quickly shifted her attention to the elderly man at her side. "Sir, are you hurt?"
The old man didn't answer right away. Instead, he studied her face with an intensity that caught her off guard. "You look so familiar!"
Stephanie frowned, uncertain. "Familiar how?"
Aaron's eyes widened in disbelief and wonder. "Eighteen years. I've been searching for you for eighteen years. You are my granddaughter!"
