After taking a secret route and finally stepping outside the premises, Max turned toward the guard accompanying them.
"I'll make sure they get home safely. You make sure the others focus on taking down the assassins," he ordered, his tone steady and commanding.
Before Max could even finish, five young men and a striking red-haired woman appeared.
The men were impossibly good-looking, their hair tinted in attention-grabbing colors, and their expensive outfits exuded the dangerous allure of men who weren't to be crossed. All a mix of races.
"Boss," they chorused, bowing their heads slightly. One of them handed a black bag to President Smith's guard.
"That's a sniper rifle," Max explained. "Use it to support the others."
The guard nodded briskly and left without another word, while Emma's gaze lingered on Max.
There was something captivating about him, not just his looks, but the way he commanded authority so effortlessly, as if he had anticipated this very situation. His composure, his calm, it drew eyes like gravity. His men, clearly admiring him, grinned in silent reverence, as though they followed not just a leader, but a legend.
Emily wasn't surprised. She'd only recently returned from abroad with her brother and knew exactly who these men were. They looked charming, but beneath that beauty was danger. Even though she wasn't sure what other power Max wielded beyond their family's influence, she just knew that he could be terrifying when he chose to be.
He was dangerous, yes, but also kind. The kind of man who gave people exactly what they deserved, whether mercy or punishment.
"Thank you, Maximilian," President Smith said, his voice low but sincere. His hand still clutched Emma's tightly, unwilling to let go. If anything went wrong, he'd rather die than see harm come to his daughter.
Emma wanted to thank Max too, maybe even apologize for all the chaos, but Honey's voice rang gently in her head.
"The real Olivia Smith would never do that," Honey reminded.
It made sense. To win these people's trust, she couldn't suddenly start behaving out of character. She needed to ease into it, to let them see the change slowly.
If the real Olivia were here, she would've rolled her eyes at her father's gratitude and claimed she could've handled it herself. Emma would never do that. Still, she had to find balance, to play the role while keeping her conscience intact.
She hadn't uttered a single word since they'd fled through the underground exit. She could feel the Smiths' eyes on her, heavy with concern, but they were wisely prioritizing survival for now.
"Should I stay quiet?" Emma whispered in her thoughts.
"It's your choice," Honey replied. "But if you speak, stay in character. They're already confused by your behavior, reassure them. Olivia's life is your mission, remember? Scaring her parents isn't helping."
Emma nodded slightly, then forced herself to think like Olivia. She focused on how the real Olivia would act in this situation and suddenly, vivid memories rushed through her mind.
Images of Olivia fighting like a wildcat, moving with lethal grace, her strikes swift and precise.
"Oh God!" Emma blurted aloud.
Everyone turned toward her, everyone except Max, who remained stoic, refusing to even glance her way. Being near her stirred something in him he didn't like, a strange mix of heat and irritation.
"Are you alright, baby?" President Smith asked, his brow furrowed.
Emma's jaw hung open as her mind replayed Olivia's memories. That girl wasn't just sharp-tongued, she was lethal.
The way she fought was otherworldly. Emma knew she couldn't even slap someone without wincing from the sting, but Olivia's punches dropped grown men like rag dolls. The way she handled knives and guns, smooth, deadly, confident, it was terrifying and mesmerizing at the same time.
Olivia didn't stand behind her guards; she was one of them. She fought, stabbed, and shot without hesitation.
Emma's stomach churned.
How on earth was she supposed to do all that?
Olivia's icy glare during combat, the expression of someone who had killed before, haunted her.
Because Olivia had killed.
"Baby?" Laura's trembling voice pulled her back to reality.
Emma turned to her, startled. Laura's eyes were glossy with unshed tears, filled with fear and confusion at her daughter's strange behavior.
Emma swallowed hard. She suddenly realized something profound.
Being rich wasn't everything.
She used to envy the wealthy, but now, standing in Olivia's shoes, she understood how suffocating it truly was. When she was poor, she at least had peace, no guards shadowing her, no assassins aiming at her life, no fear behind every meal or car ride.
What was the point of luxury when freedom was the price?
What was the point of feasts if you needed someone to taste your food first?
What was the point of sleek cars if you couldn't drive them without fear of being blown up?
Olivia's life looked enviable online, but in truth, she was caged.
Emma had thought her own life was cruelly unfair, but now… she'd trade this gilded cage for her humble freedom any day.
'Honey, please,' she thought with sudden determination. 'I want to finish this mission quickly. I want to go home.'
"Ask me anything, and you've got it," Honey assured.
Emma exhaled and turned toward Laura. "Let's go, Mommy," she said, her tone suddenly composed.
Laura blinked, unsure but relieved. "Are you sure you're okay, baby?"
Emma's gaze lifted to Max and for the first time, their eyes met. Her heart pounded wildly.
"Next time," she said firmly, "don't make me dance with that man."
Max froze, his face turning a deep shade of red.
President Smith and Laura exchanged looks of relief, this was the Olivia they knew: fiery, unapologetic.
But Max's men were dumbfounded. Even the red-haired woman in her scandalous outfit gawked.
Did a girl just complain about dancing with their boss?
Epic.