Emily Green bit her lower lip, her eyes finally showing a hint of pleading.

Christopher Carter chuckled, “That’s no fun. Just now you were like a wild horse—only when you’re tamed does it feel like a conquest. What’s with this white lotus act?”

Emily Green was about to speak when Christopher Carter’s phone suddenly rang, and the ringtone was actually T-ara’s “Loveydovey.” She closed her mouth, and a random thought popped into her mind: I wonder how T-ara’s seniors would feel if they knew they had a fan like this...

Christopher Carter took out his phone and glanced at it, a hint of surprise appearing on his face. He answered solemnly, “Godfather.”

The person on the other end said something, and Christopher Carter’s surprise deepened. He replied, “Alright, I’ll come right away.”

After hanging up, Christopher Carter frowned at his phone, staring at it for over ten seconds before muttering, “Now this is interesting…”

※※※

Emily Green suddenly realized she had been saved just like that. After that guy surnamed Tang took the call, he hurriedly gathered his people and swept out of the nightclub like a whirlwind, disappearing in an instant. She found her father, who had been left in a room nearby—there wasn’t even a guard. The father and daughter looked at each other, and without a word, dashed out the door. It wasn’t until they got into a taxi that they both felt a sense of unreality… Did they really escape just like that?

No matter what, getting out was good enough.

After settling her father into a hotel near the company, Emily Green returned to the dorm and hid under her blanket. Thinking about how she’d been just a hair’s breadth away from losing her innocence, her heart pounded wildly, and her palms were slick with sweat as she gripped the covers.

Looking at the moonlight outside the window, Emily Green let out a deep sigh. Just treat it as a nightmare—now’s not the time to dwell on this. Her new single was being released tomorrow, and there were lots of appearances to make. She couldn’t afford to lose sleep…

※※※

Christopher Carter strode briskly into a large hall, where many people were already gathered. A stretcher was placed in the center of the hall, covered with a white sheet. Godfather Thomas Thompson sat at the head seat, looking down at the stretcher in silence.

When Christopher Carter entered, everyone in the hall nodded to greet him. Christopher Carter walked straight to the stretcher, frowned at the body under the white sheet, and asked, “What happened?”

“It was a sniper rifle. The shooter’s already gone.” The speaker was Thomas Thompson’s eldest adopted son, who was also Christopher Carter’s nominal big brother, James Thompson.

Christopher Carter nodded. They were gangsters, not the police. After something like this, the killer would have vanished—maybe even on a plane by now. Expecting them to catch the culprit was pure fantasy.

“Did number eight offend anyone recently? Haven’t heard anything.”

The dead man on the stretcher was none other than Thomas Thompson’s eighth adopted son.

Since the 1990s, the underworld had been in decline. Most people kept a low profile in public, acting like law-abiding citizens, and even their private feuds had become much more restrained. In the past twenty years, there hadn’t been a single case of someone as high-ranking as the eighth son of a major power being killed… And to die so suddenly—Christopher Carter hadn’t even heard a whisper of any grudge involving number eight.

This meant that everyone present was useless. Today it was number eight lying there; tomorrow, it could be any of them. So, even though the nine brothers had no real affection for each other, no one was gloating or thinking about what benefits they might gain from number eight’s death. Instead, they all felt a guilty, fearful sense of “when the rabbit dies, the fox grieves.”

Including Christopher Carter.

“We haven’t heard of number eight having any conflicts with anyone,” several of the adopted brothers said. “Things have been pretty quiet lately. The only thing that happened was Christopher had a minor dispute with those guys from Busan, but it wasn’t serious.”

“Yeah,” Christopher Carter said. “Just a few Busan guys crossing the line. Nothing major. We only brought knives to the negotiation, and so did they.”

In fact, these days everyone valued their lives—incidents involving guns were rare indeed…

The brothers began to discuss the matter, all agreeing that it was bafflingly abrupt.

Thomas Thompson sat at the head, coldly watching his adopted sons, his eyes filled with deep disappointment.

They were all here, talking like they were Conan, but what good did it do? Did anyone mention going to investigate number eight’s place? Did anyone suggest questioning number eight’s trusted men? No one even asked what kind of sniper rifle was used.

Each one hoped this was just a private grudge of number eight’s. No one wanted to truly pursue the truth—they were afraid that if they did, they’d get burned themselves.

After a lifetime of dominance, was he now so old that not even one person cared to ask about his son’s mysterious death?

Thomas Thompson’s gaze fell on Christopher Carter. At this moment, Christopher Carter wasn’t joining in the discussion with his brothers. He was looking down at number eight’s corpse, stroking his chin as if deep in thought.

Whatever he was thinking, at least it was more loyal than the others, who just wanted to wash their hands of the matter… It was just a pity…

A pity he was Chinese.

“Enough,” Thomas Thompson said wearily. “The police will handle number eight’s case. What we need to discuss now is how to deal with number eight’s assets.”

As soon as he said this, the room fell silent.