C7 7

"This is absolutely outrageous."

Chloe Bishop's delicate face turned sharp and hard. Her hands clenched into fists. "Call the police. We can't let them get away with this."

Mrs. Bishop shook her head. "It's no use. We don't have any evidence. And your sister is still in their hands. Calling the police will only provoke them."

"Then what are we supposed to do?"

Chloe Bishop's voice burned with indignation. The company was her parents' life's work. How could she just hand it over?

If her father woke up and asked, what would she say?

If he never woke up... she would accept that too.

But it had only been a week!

Arthur Bennett was nothing but an ungrateful wolf. If her father hadn't shown him kindness and given him a decent job back then, Arthur Bennett would have nothing today.

"What else can we do? Your sister is still with them. She's so tiny—how much can she endure?"

Mrs. Bishop was utterly helpless, her whole body trembling. The past few days had pushed her to the brink of collapse.

Looking at her desperate, broken mother, Chloe Bishop's heart twisted in pain.

She reached out and pulled her mother into an embrace, her voice hoarse. "Mom, don't worry. I'll find Lily. And I'll protect Dad's company. What belongs to the Bishop family—no one is taking it away."

Chloe Bishop pulled the hospital's security footage and transferred the video to her phone. Then she reached out to everyone in her circle, asking them to help identify the man in the footage.

She also reassigned personnel to strengthen security at the hospital.

But two days passed. Still no sign of Lily Bishop.

Mrs. Bishop's eyes were swollen from crying. She looked years older.

Seeing her mother's haggard face, Chloe Bishop had no other choice. She dialed Justin Taylor's number. "Justin, come with me somewhere."

Bishop Villa — one of New York City's most prestigious venues.

Chloe Bishop came here to find a man named Quinn. He was powerful in New York City, with connections on both sides of the law, and he had some history with Charles Bishop.

She wanted to hire him—at any price—to help her settle the mess the Bishop family was in.

The elevator rose steadily and stopped at the sixth floor.

Suddenly, a small figure stumbled in. Chloe Bishop reacted quickly and caught him just in time.

He was a little boy—maybe four or five years old. White T-shirt, plaid shorts. His little face was perfectly sculpted, soft and fair. Curly black hair flopped over his forehead like a little puppy's.

"Are you okay?"

A gentle smile tugged at Chloe Bishop's lips.

The little boy had been about to push her away—but the warmth of her smile made him stop. He stared up at her with wide, dark eyes, unblinking.

Chloe Bishop thought he was frightened. She reached out and gently patted his head. "Don't be scared. You're okay now."

The little boy didn't react. He just kept staring at her.

"Thank you."

A deep, resonant voice came from above, and the little boy was lifted out of her arms.

Chloe Bishop looked up—and met a pair of deep, dark eyes.

She didn't know how to describe the man before her. He had the kind of face women would flock to—sharp brows, bright eyes, a straight nose, and tempting lips. It was as if God had carved him with precision, every detail perfect.

But what struck her most was the aura he carried. Regal. Overpowering. Commanding.

It was the kind of presence that belonged to someone who held real power. A man of importance—definitely not someone ordinary.

The man seemed annoyed by her gaze. His thick brows drew together slightly as he turned his flawless face away—dignified and aloof.

Chloe Bishop realized she'd been staring too long. She calmly looked away.

Truth be told, she had only been briefly dazzled. It was simply human instinct.

But whether it was his overwhelming presence or something else, the spacious elevator suddenly felt very small.

The air grew heavy with pressure. She instinctively moved closer to Justin Taylor, putting some distance between herself and the stranger.

Justin Taylor seemed wary of the man. He subtly positioned himself to shield Chloe Bishop—as if afraid someone might covet what was his.

His protective gesture drew a faint, mocking smile from the man. Cold. Dismissive.

What Chloe Bishop found amusing, though, was the little boy standing at the man's feet. He kept sneaking glances at her. Every time she caught him, his little face flushed bright red. It was adorable.

But her heart was too heavy to play along.

The elevator doors opened at the 38th floor. Chloe Bishop and Justin Taylor stepped out first.

The little boy's eyes dimmed as he watched her walk away. But the next moment, he was scooped up into his father's arms and carried out of the elevator.

His eyes lit up. He craned his neck to keep her in sight, not daring to blink.

The man noticed his son's fascination. A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes. He had never seen the little one take such intense interest in anyone—or anything.

They crossed the lobby toward the front desk. Chloe Bishop needed to find out where Quinn was.

Ahead of them, a stunning woman approached the man and his son. Behind her trailed more than a dozen tall bodyguards—an impressive procession.

The moment she appeared, every eye in the lobby turned her way.

Chloe Bishop recognized her immediately. She grabbed Justin Taylor's arm. "That's Quinn's woman. We'll follow her."

Her name was Nightingale — Quinn's partner. Chloe Bishop had met her once before. She was unforgettable—a bewitching, seductive beauty, like a fox spirit reborn.

Rumor had it she was ruthless, managing all of Quinn's establishments. Her looks drew men in, but few dared to cause trouble on her turf.

People who mentioned Nightingale would often say with a knowing sigh: "That's the boss's woman for you."

Nightingale stopped before the man. Her voice was lazy and sultry, like a cat's purr. "Lord Grayson, Brother Quinn has prepared a feast. He's waiting for you in the private room. Please, follow me."

The man gave a faint "Mm" of acknowledgment. His handsome face betrayed no emotion. His height and bearing made him stand out among the crowd like a crane among chickens—noble and commanding, effortlessly dwarfing Nightingale's presence.

The crowd's attention shifted from Nightingale's stunning face to this "Lord Grayson."

The man pressed his son's little face against his chest and strode forward without a sideways glance, utterly indifferent to the stir he was causing.

Nightingale and her team of bodyguards followed closely, their manner deeply respectful.

"Who is that man?" Chloe Bishop murmured. "Quinn's name alone commands respect in New York City—yet he only calls himself 'Brother Quinn.' And just now, Nightingale called that man 'Lord Grayson'..."