C57 Is He Superman??

"Mr. Jimenez, with this Supreme Black Card, you won't pay a dime for anything in my store," Charlotte said with a smile. "And it's not just here—any expenses at my hotels or entertainment venues are on the house, too."

"Really? That's incredible!" Westley's eyes sparkled with excitement.

With this card, he could dine and dash without a care in the world—legitimately!

It was such a practical perk!

Charlotte watched as Westley slid the Supreme Black Card into his wallet and breathed a sigh of relief. She had never before feared someone might reject her gift. But offering a Supreme Black Card to a grandmaster like Westley was a surefire investment.

"Mr. Jimenez, we had no idea you were friends with Boss Powell. We were out of line," Mr. Haris said, his smile sheepish.

He was quick to grasp the situation.

Westley now had a Supreme Black Card from Boss Powell—what did that signify?

It meant Westley and Boss Powell were now allies.

Offending Westley was tantamount to crossing Boss Powell and the formidable power she wielded.

Mr. Haris knew better than to challenge a force like that, so he opted to back down immediately.

Westley was well aware that Mr. Haris's sudden change of heart stemmed from his fear of the Golden Palace.

"So, what you're saying is, if I weren't friends with Boss Powell, I wouldn't be walking out of here today, is that it?" Westley asked, his tone calm but pointed.

Mr. Haris's face fell.

Why wouldn't Westley just let it go?

But he dared not voice his frustration and instead hurried to clarify, "It was all a big misunderstanding! Mr. Jimenez, if there's nothing else, I'll be on my way."

With that, he bolted, faster than a frightened rabbit.

The crowd of fifty dispersed in an instant, with even Baldie sneaking off into the throng.

Westley shook his head, a wry smile on his face at the display of cowardice.

"Mr. Jimenez, it's time for us to head back. We look forward to welcoming you again," Charlotte said, batting her eyelashes.

"Definitely," Westley nodded in agreement.

Charlotte turned and sashayed back to the Golden Palace, while Rashawn approached Westley and murmured, "Mr. Jimenez, do you need me to take care of Desmond?"

As he spoke, a barely contained murderous aura emanated from him.

"No need, thanks for the offer. But this guy isn't much of a problem," Westley dismissed with a wave of his hand.

"Alright then!"

Rashawn nodded and quickly made his way back to the Golden Palace.

Westley was set on hailing a taxi to return to Aristocratic Villa.

Despite being a puppet, he still had to maintain appearances. He needed to go home.

Reaching the intersection, Westley was just about to signal for a cab when a sports car roared by.

It was a Mercedes-Benz Maybach S650 convertible.

Behind the wheel sat Vaden, and beside him, his internet-famous girlfriend.

In the back, Rollen occupied the left seat, while a girl in a hoodie slumped on the right.

The girl's head was cocked to the side, as if inebriated, her long hair obscuring her face.

Westley's expression turned grave when he noticed the red string on the girl's wrist.

It was Aimee!

The red string was adorned with a zodiac sheep pendant, a unique gift custom-made by Rodin, irreplaceable throughout China.

"Why is Aimee in Vaden's car?"

"Drunk? No, that can't be. She doesn't drink."

"Could it be..."

Thoughts raced through his mind as Westley's foot hit the pavement, sprinting after the car.

Inside the convertible, Vaden drove with one hand while his other roamed over his passenger.

With a victorious grin, he boasted, "Young Mr. Freeman, see how potent this drug is?"

Rollen glanced at the soundly sleeping Aimee, a thrill of triumph surging within him. "You've outdone yourself this time!"

"Hahaha, then let me be the first to congratulate you. Soon, I might be addressing you as the Rogers family's second son-in-law," Vaden guffawed.

"Don't say that; I'm not worthy of the title yet," Rollen demurred, though his face radiated smug satisfaction.

"Don't be modest. I'll drop you off at the Hilton Hotel later. Then, it'll just be the two of you. Anything goes. But I'm telling you, this drug is potent. You might want to go easy," Vaden advised with a gleeful twinkle in his eye.

"My health is pretty good; I can go three or four times a night," Rollen said, licking his lips.

"I'm seriously jealous. You get to be with Aimee on her first night. You're the groom tonight," Vaden roared with laughter.

"I do feel incredibly lucky," Rollen cackled in response.

Drugging might be a low move, but it sure was effective.

What mattered most to these elite families? Dignity and reputation, without a doubt.

If Aimee were tarnished by Rollen, she'd no longer be pure.

Should the Rogers family seek retribution, Aimee's reputation in Lindzac would be destroyed. Who would marry a woman with such a tarnished name?

Besides, the Freeman family had a massive business empire. They could easily overpower the Rogers family.

If this incident turned the two families into foes, the Rogers family would undoubtedly be the losers.

Thus, the wisest course for the Rogers family would be to stay silent and have Aimee marry Rollen.

That way, Rollen would effortlessly gain a beautiful wife.

The battles among the rich were rife with schemes and savagery.

Rollen thought his strategy was brilliant.

But as he basked in his arrogance, the woman in the passenger seat let out a piercing scream.

Rollen frowned in annoyance and snapped at Vaden, "Doesn't your girlfriend have any manners? What's she screaming about?"

"Can't you see I'm driving? Why the commotion?" Vaden retorted, clearly irritated.

Michelle, the internet sensation, had spotted something that left her incredulous.

"Look."

Her eyes were wide with shock, one hand covering her mouth, the other trembling as she pointed toward the rearview mirror.

Vaden's gaze instinctively darted to the mirror.

In the next instant, he was so startled he nearly lost his grip on the wheel.

A man was sprinting behind their car with the ferocity of a cheetah.

He was gaining on them, closing the gap with each stride.

Vaden took a quick glance at the speedometer.

Their sports car was pushing 90 miles per hour.

Was this guy an Olympic sprinter?

Impossible!

Even an Olympic champion's top speed was only around 40 miles per hour.

This man couldn't possibly be human.

He was absolutely a superhero.