I’ve seen shameless people, but never *this* shameless. Nia Mitchell shielded her face with her bag, dodging the relentless camera flashes. "Please, let me through!" Nia Mitchell managed to say, still dodging the flashes. But she was completely surrounded, unable to move an inch. Camera flashes were everywhere, subtly accompanied by verbal attacks. These people seemed to believe they had become warriors of justice, and she was the enemy they needed to vanquish. In the crowd, some started to push her, others tried to pull the bag away from her face, and some even sneakily began stepping on her feet. What they wanted was for Nia Mitchell to lose her temper—preferably by doing something dramatic—so they would have sensational headlines. "What are you doing?" Suddenly, an angry shout came from a distance. Maxwell Peary stepped out of his car. He’d been wondering why Nia Mitchell hadn’t shown up yet; it turned out she was surrounded by this mob. Dressed in a black suit, the hair at his forehead gently stirred by the evening breeze, Maxwell Peary’s chiseled profile was exceptionally captivating under the neon lights. It was like a scene from a fairy tale; Nia Mitchell looked up at the man whose arm was now around her waist. From her perspective, his slightly pursed, crimson lips were his most striking feature. "Maxwell... Young Master Peary!?" Every journalist present recognized Young Master Peary. They all wanted to dig up news about him, yet no one had ever dared to actually try. It was rumored that no woman had ever appeared by Young Master Peary’s side. Spotting Nia Mitchell’s unique presence at the banquet today, they had decided to take the risk, especially since Young Master Peary had already left and the woman was alone—it seemed like a golden opportunity. But none of them had expected Young Master Peary to return. Nia Mitchell buried her head in his chest, her body still trembling slightly. The scene just now had been too terrifying, something she had never experienced before. Maxwell Peary gently stroked her back, his touch warm and comforting, soothing the startled little Rabina Mitchell. "Are you okay?" Maxwell Peary carefully looked down at the small woman in his arms, but could only see the top of her dark hair. "I’m fine. Let’s go home." She wrapped her arms tightly around Maxwell Peary’s lean waist, her ear pressed against his chest, listening to his heart. The steady, reassuring rhythm of his heartbeat filled her ears, one beat after another, and the unique scent of his cologne filled her nostrils. So reassuring. Without another word, Maxwell Peary scooped her up into his arms and turned to leave. The journalists left behind were stunned. Wasn’t it said that Young Master Peary was impervious to feminine charms? Why was he so gentle just now, even giving her a princess carry! However, despite their shock, smiles soon spread across their faces. Each of them grinned at their cameras. They had taken plenty of photos of that woman; tomorrow’s headlines were set! Their story would undoubtedly cause a sensation throughout Capital Town, and sales would soar. Suddenly, a group of tall, imposing men in black, brandishing firearms, swarmed the area. Each one of them looked formidable, their eyes glinting with a sinister light. "Hand over all your cameras," the man leading them ordered, casually twirling the gun in his hand as he approached with a smirk. All the journalists looked at each other, their faces pale with fear as they trembled uncontrollably. "Wh-who are you people?" "Cut the crap! Put down the cameras and put your hands up!" the leader barked impatiently. "I’ll let you live if you don’t waste my damn time!" To deal with these petty journalists, one had to be even more brutish and unreasonable than they were. He sneered, "Damn it, do you think I’m f*cking joking with you?" A loud gunshot echoed as the man fired a warning shot into the air. "If any of you dare to dilly-dally any longer," he snarled, "the next bullet is for your heads!" Google seaʀᴄh 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭•𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚•𝕟𝕖𝕥