The heavy thud of the armored car’s deadbolts engaging sounded like a declaration of victory to Ron. Sitting inside the climate-controlled cabin of the custom-built, multi-million dollar SUV, he finally let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. The tinted, bulletproof glass separated him from the one person who terrified him more than his family’s corporate rivals: his newly appointed bodyguard, Xinnia.

Outside, Xinnia didn’t flinch. She stood on the pavement, her reflection mirrored in the dark glass of the vehicle. Her arms remained casually crossed over her black leather jacket. She didn’t bang on the window. She didn’t yell. She simply tilted her head, a microscopic smirk playing on her lips.

Inside the cabin, Ron groaned, clutching his chest. The arrogant playboy facade melted away, replaced by genuine agony. Using his internal Qi to deliberately damage his own meridians just to trick her into thinking he was weak had been a reckless move. The dull, throbbing pain in his ribs was a harsh reminder that keeping his martial arts mastery a secret from the world was becoming increasingly difficult.

He reached for the ignition button, eager to speed away and leave the intimidating woman in his rearview mirror.

“System override,” a calm, synthetic voice echoed through the car’s premium audio system.

Ron froze. The dashboard screens flickered, turning from their standard blue to a stark, glowing red. The engine, which had just begun to purr, died instantly.

Click.

The heavy, military-grade locks on all four doors disengaged simultaneously.

Before Ron could process the catastrophic failure of his state-of-the-art security system, the passenger side door swung open. Xinnia slid into the plush leather seat with the graceful, fluid motion of a predator settling into its nest. She closed the door softly, pulling out a sleek, silver decryption drive from the car’s under-dash diagnostic port.

“Did you honestly believe a standard Class-5 encryption could keep me out, Mr. Sterling?” Xinnia asked, her voice as smooth as silk but laced with titanium. “I used to break into global intelligence mainframes before I had my morning coffee. Your car is basically a toy.”

Ron stared at her, his jaw slightly unhinged. He quickly tried to mask his shock with his usual brand of arrogance. “Do you have any idea how much this vehicle costs? If you’ve voided the warranty, my father will deduct it from your exorbitant salary.”

“Your father pays me to keep you breathing,” Xinnia replied, turning to fully face him. Her piercing dark eyes locked onto his. “And speaking of breathing, you’re doing it wrong.”

Ron stiffened. “I breathe perfectly fine. It’s an exclusive, high-society breathing technique. You wouldn’t understand.”

“You’re taking shallow, rapid breaths,” Xinnia analyzed, her gaze dropping to his chest. “Your left shoulder is tense, compensating for a sharp pain in your lower right quadrant. The pallor of your skin suggests internal distress, not a simple stumble. When you threw yourself on the floor back at the hotel, you didn’t just fall. You utilized a high-level internal displacement technique to intentionally bruise your own organs.”

The silence in the car grew deafening. The ambient noise of the city outside was completely muted by the armored glass, leaving only the sound of Ron’s irregular breathing.

“You have a vivid imagination,” Ron said, though his voice lacked its usual bite. He winced, a sudden spasm of pain forcing him to grip the steering wheel tightly.

Xinnia sighed, the strictly professional demeanor softening just a fraction. She reached into the inner pocket of her jacket and pulled out a small, intricately carved wooden vial. She popped the cork; a strong, herbal scent instantly filled the luxurious cabin.

“Drink this,” she ordered, holding it out to him.

“What is that? Poison? Are you finally executing the assassination my uncle probably paid you for?” Ron deflected, eyeing the vial suspiciously.

“If I wanted you dead, Mr. Sterling, you would have died the moment I stepped out of the elevator,” Xinnia stated matter-of-factly. “It’s a concentrated lotus extract. It stabilizes internal bleeding and repairs minor meridian tearing. Drink it, or I will pinch your nose and pour it down your throat myself.”

Recognizing the absolute certainty in her tone, and acknowledging the searing pain in his chest, Ron snatched the vial and downed the bitter liquid in one gulp. Almost immediately, a warm sensation spread through his core, easing the sharp ache. He let out a long, shuddering exhale, leaning back against the headrest.

“Why do you hide it?” Xinnia asked quietly. The interrogation wasn’t hostile; it was a tactical assessment. “The stance you took when you almost countered my takedown earlier… that requires at least fifteen years of rigorous, elite training. You are a master-level combatant. Yet, you play the fool. You let the world think you are a spoiled, helpless heir. Why?”

Ron looked out the window, watching the city workers pass by, completely unaware of the high-stakes drama inside the vehicle. The herbal medicine was working, but it was his pride that was currently bruised.

“In the corporate empire my family runs, showing strength makes you a target,” Ron finally spoke, his voice losing the playful, arrogant edge. It was deep, serious, and tinged with exhaustion. “My father is sick. The board of directors is a pack of wolves circling a wounded lion. If they know I am capable, if they know I am a threat, they won’t just try to humiliate me. They will send real professionals to kill me.”

He turned his head to look at her. “I play the useless playboy because a useless playboy is easy to manipulate. They think they can control me when I inherit the company. It buys me time to gather evidence against them.”

Xinnia absorbed this information. The pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. The lavish lifestyle, the obnoxious behavior, the deliberate attempt to drive away every bodyguard his father hired—it was all a carefully constructed camouflage.

“And me?” Xinnia asked. “Why try so hard to get rid of me?”

“Because you’re too good,” Ron admitted, a faint, genuine smile touching his lips. “You noticed my footwork in three seconds. You hacked my car in thirty. If you stay close to me, my enemies will realize I am hiding something valuable enough to warrant the protection of an elite operative. You ruin my cover.”

Xinnia slowly nodded, finally understanding the complex web of corporate espionage and survival she had stepped into. She leaned back in her seat, staring straight ahead through the windshield.

“Your logic is sound, but your execution is flawed,” Xinnia said smoothly. “If your enemies see you constantly firing bodyguards, they will eventually send a hit squad just to test the waters. You need a permanent fixture. Someone who looks like they are just here to collect a paycheck, but can neutralize a threat before it even enters the room.”

Ron raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting a partnership, Miss Qinghuan?”

“I am suggesting that I drive,” Xinnia said, unbuckling her seatbelt and gesturing for him to switch seats. “Your internal Qi is still a mess. If we get ambushed now, you won’t be able to throw a punch to save your life. And I have a spotless protection record that I intend to maintain.”

Ron chuckled, the sound genuine this time. He carefully climbed over the center console, settling into the passenger seat while Xinnia took the wheel. She pressed the ignition, and the massive engine roared back to life under her command.

“You know, Xinnia,” Ron said as she effortlessly merged the heavy armored SUV into the busy city traffic. “For an elite assassin turned bodyguard, you have terrible bedside manner.”

“And for a secret martial arts grandmaster,” Xinnia shot back, her eyes scanning the mirrors for any trailing vehicles, “you complain entirely too much. Now put your seatbelt on, Mr. Sterling. We have a corporate empire to save.”