After a moment of silence, Jessica returned to the bedroom to change into her own clothes, then strode towards the door, ready to leave, without a hint of reluctance.
William didn't stop her again.
For this enraged lioness, any persuasion would only add fuel to the Fire.
Just as Jessica's hand was about to touch the doorknob, she paused but didn't turn around.
"That dinner party."
Her voice came from the doorway, a little muffled.
"When you're ready to go, contact me."
With that, she pulled open the door and disappeared into the dim light of the corridor without looking back.
The heavy sound of the door closing seemed to put a period to their chaotic conversation.
Wilson Fisk.
William showed a bitter smile... The Long Island estate under the night sky was like a giant beast lurking in the darkness.
Every window that emitted a warm glow was like its eye scrutinizing its prey.
The lawn was mowed even flatter than a golf course.
The air was filled with the scent of money and power.
William stood at the entrance of the estate, his arm tightly linked with Jessica's.
Or rather, "clamped" by her.
He could clearly feel that beneath Jessica's expensive, custom-made red gown, every muscle was as taut as a fully drawn bowstring.
Her entire being screamed "unhappy" and "ready to strike at any moment," making her stand out among the chattering, well-dressed guests.
"Remind me again, why am I wearing this ridiculous red cloth?"
Jessica lowered her voice, the words squeezed through her teeth, carrying the lingering taste of whiskey.
"It's so tight I can barely breathe, and the designer of these high heels should be dragged out and shot for five minutes."
"Because red highlights your aura, my Chief Security Consultant."
William said with an impeccable smile, soothing her in a low voice.
"Besides, it makes others think an extra half-second before acting. After all, no one wants to spill blood on such a beautiful dress; it's a pain to clean."
His inner monologue, however, was a different story:
Damn it, I feel like I'm not here for a dinner party, but taking a Godzilla for a walk at a pet store.
If she pulls any harder, this custom suit I just picked up will be ruined, along with my arm.
Just then, his phone vibrated slightly in his pocket.
William subtly glanced at the screen; it was an encrypted message from Matt, with only one word.
[In position.]
Good.
Hell's Kitchen's night vigilante had successfully infiltrated.
A blind man infiltrating a place full of sharp people and surveillance was like a stealth game on Hell difficulty.
One ally and one ticking time bomb that could explode the entire place at any moment.
"Come on, don't stand there like a doorman."
Jessica urged impatiently, pulling him up the red-carpeted steps.
William took a deep breath, quietly put away his phone, and put on his "professional, confident, everything under control" business elite mask again.
His plan was simple:
Go in, find a corner, eat some food, drink some free champagne, check in with Madame Hydra, that crazy woman, to prove he was there, and then find a chance to slip away.
The whole process emphasized "cowardice" and prioritized "safety first."
The moment they stepped into the ballroom, this perfect plan developed its first crack.
William's Mechanical Induction was instantly overloaded.
Within a fifty-meter radius, hundreds of hidden cameras, dozens of security personnel wearing miniature earphones, and even various high-end electronic devices carried by the guests... countless energy flows and operating data, like an invisible net, enveloped the entire space.
And his Danger Prediction, like a faulty alarm, constantly maintained a low-frequency, heart-pounding hum.
There was no clear, personal "malice" directed at him, because everyone here harbored more or less "potential risk" towards everyone else.
This was a party composed of sharks, crocodiles, and venomous snakes.
"Relax, your face looks like you've been constipated for three days."
William gently nudged Jessica with his elbow.
"You're not a private detective staking out an affair right now; you're my expensive female companion, worth fifty thousand U.S. dollars a night."
"If you mention the word 'female companion' one more time, I'll pour this champagne down your nose."
Jessica casually picked up a glass of champagne from a passing waiter's tray and guzzled half of it, her movements as bold as if she were drinking beer.
Her rude behavior immediately drew several undisguised glances of scrutiny and disdain from those around them.
William felt his corners of the mouth twitching slightly.
Just as he was about to pull this troublesome woman to the most inconspicuous corner to hide, an elegant and languid voice sounded from behind them.
"Mr. Rodriguez, I thought you wouldn't dare to come."
William's body stiffened slightly.
He slowly turned around and saw the woman in a black evening gown, holding a Persian cat.
Madame Hydra.
Ophelia Sarkissian.
She stood not far away, a smile playing on her lips, her green eyes like a snake's, observing him and Jessica beside him with interest.
William's attention was entirely on the cat.
If Madame Hydra hadn't held it tightly, the cat might have jumped onto William.
"How could I miss a dinner party personally invited by you, Madame?"
He immediately adjusted his expression.
"After all, assessing the risks of potential business partners is my duty."
Ophelia's gaze lingered on Jessica for a moment, particularly noting her elegant gown, which seemed at odds with her demeanor, and her eyes, which clearly stated, "Don't mess with me."
"This is...?"
"My... colleague, Miss Jessica Jones," William interjected before Jessica could speak. "She's responsible for physical risk avoidance and conflict management. Simply put, she's my bodyguard."
Jessica snorted, which served as her greeting.
The smile in Ophelia's eyes deepened; she seemed very pleased with William's straightforward honesty.
"An interesting combination."
She commented, then gestured with her chin towards the other end of the hall.
"Our host, Mr. Fisk, seems very interested in your 'new face.'"
William followed her gaze.
In the very center of the ballroom, the crowd automatically parted to form a circle around him.
A man so massive he almost obscured the lights stood silently there.
He wore a perfectly tailored White suit.
In his hand, he leaned on a diamond-encrusted cane.
He didn't speak, nor did he make any unnecessary movements, yet the entire ballroom's gravity centered firmly on him alone.
Wilson Fisk.
Kingpin.
At this moment, New York's underground king, from across half the ballroom, watched William with a gaze so calm it was suffocating.
That look contained only an absolute sense of control, seeing everything as mere pawns.
William felt his Danger Prediction emit a piercing shriek at that moment.
He knew his plan of "low-key infiltration, safe return home" could now be thrown into the trash.
-------------------------------
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