Yancy Hastings furrowed his brows. He’d seen that expression many times, typically on women who were seeing him for the first time. But why did this woman, Nia Mitchell, have to be so typical? "Um, are you talking to me?" Nia Mitchell retracted her gaze. This man’s expression is too intimidating. Yancy Hastings answered irritably, turning his head to look at his subordinates. The more I think about this, the more aggrieved I feel. Meanwhile, Mr. Hampton and Hendry Hampton were petrified. The pair sat trembling on the bench, glancing over every now and then. Yancy Hastings strode forward a few steps, his eagle eyes scanning the Hampton father and son. "Yes, er... may I ask who you are...?" Mr. Hampton was still struggling to understand what was going on. How could this have all happened so suddenly? Hendry Hampton, however, was still shaken. He had experienced something similar a few days ago at the Police Bureau. But those men, who had been holding guns, weren’t wearing camouflage suits; they looked more like thugs from the underworld. Yet, the men standing here today—judging by their bloodthirsty aura and their attire—were clearly telling the Hamptons one thing: they were soldiers, serving the nation. The man who had shown concern for Nia Mitchell earlier seemed to be their squad leader. Hendry glanced at Nia again. Does she really have some sort of backing? Nia’s eyes were red. Are these Maxwell Peary’s men? she wondered. Yancy Hastings spat on the ground with a sound of disgust. Do these bastards even deserve to know who I am? To hell with them! I’d rather work myself to exhaustion on the training grounds than waste time with these scumbags. "You’re not fucking worthy of knowing who I am! Now, tell me what’s going on!" I feel like a headless fly that’s just dived in headfirst, knowing nothing, Yancy Hastings thought. That Maxwell Peary just fucking called, saying his wife was being bullied in the hospital and that I needed to bring a team for backup immediately. He said he’d follow shortly. Damn it! I didn’t even have time to process when Maxwell Peary got himself such a mysterious creature as a wife before he fucking hung up! So fucking frustrating! In the past, so many annoying people had pestered me, asking what kind of woman Maxwell Peary liked. I spend all day sweating and bleeding with a bunch of rough men; how the hell would I know? Still, I have wondered what Maxwell Peary’s wife would be like. Hmm? She wouldn’t need to be some three-headed, six-armed creature, but she should at least be special in some way, right? Being exceptionally stupid, foolish, and ditzy definitely doesn’t count as ’special’! That look she gave me earlier could’ve made me snap in an instant! Is Maxwell Peary sure he’s not messing with me? "Fucking speak! What happened?" Yancy Hastings strode swiftly towards the two of them, startling the Hampton father and son. "Well, here’s what happened." Mr. Hampton stood up, striving to maintain his usual composure and appear as magnanimous and dignified as possible. "Cut the fucking nonsense and get to the point!" Yancy Hastings seemed like he was carrying a pack of dynamite, ready to explode. His loud voice, honed by his days in the Army, was deafening when he spoke. Poor Mr. Hampton! Despite his decades of experience in the Shopping Mall, he was still so frightened that his heart seemed to shrink. "Miss Mitchell trespassed into my villa without permission and injured my wife. My wife is currently in surgery." Mr. Hampton spoke succinctly. It wasn’t that he was trying to shift the blame to Nia Mitchell; he genuinely believed it was her fault, as this was what he had always thought and what others had told him. However, seeing that the man in front of him was clearly on Nia Mitchell’s side, Mr. Hampton felt his heart pound nervously after he finished speaking.