FAYE BEAUMONT'S POV:

On the way to the institute, a thought flashed through my mind. The manuscripts my birth mother left me. They were the only things of hers I had. I couldn't leave them in that cold house.

"Drake, turn around," I said suddenly. "Back to the Beaumont estate."

He didn't ask why. He just executed a smooth U-turn. The car came to a stop in front of the familiar mansion.

I got out. "Wait in the car. Ten minutes."

He nodded, his eyes scanning the darkness like a hawk.

I used my fingerprint to open the front door. The living room was brightly lit but felt colder than the night air. My mother, Cynthia Beaumont, was sitting on the sofa, her legs crossed elegantly, as if she'd been waiting.

"You have the nerve to come back?" Her voice was devoid of warmth, filled only with suppressed rage. "Do you have any idea what a laughingstock you've made of the Beaumont family tonight?"

I ignored her and walked toward the staircase. "I'm just here to get my things."

"Your things?" She stood up, her voice sharp and shrill. "Everything in this house belongs to the Beaumonts! You shameless girl, publicly abandoned by a man, and you still have the face to return?"

I stopped and turned to face her. For the first time, she looked like a complete stranger. "First, a correction. I dumped him. Second, what I'm here for belongs to My real mother."

Cynthia's face went pale. It was the ultimate taboo between us. My birth mother, the genius physicist whose existence the family had tried to erase.

"You..." She trembled with rage, pointing a finger at me. "You just want to kill me with anger! You're exactly like that crazy mother of yours!"

I didn't have the energy to argue. I turned and ran up the stairs to my room. It was just as I had left it, but everything felt foreign and wrong.

I didn't touch the designer clothes or the jewelry. Instead, I pulled a worn wooden box from under the bed.

I opened it. Inside were all of my birth mother's manuscripts and notes. The papers were yellowed with age, but the equations and theories on them shone brighter to me than any diamond. This was my real inheritance.

I closed the lid and dragged the box downstairs. Cynthia was still standing there. Her eyes fell on the box in my hands, her expression turning to one of utter disdain. "Still clinging to that useless junk at a time like this!"

I didn't answer, walking straight to the door. Just as I pushed it open, a deafening roar filled the air.

A Black Hawk helicopter was descending from the night sky. Its massive rotors whipped up a gale, making the trees on the lawn sway violently. A searchlight beam locked precisely onto me.

Then, several black Chevrolet Suburban SUVs drove up silently, forming a semicircle that blocked the entrance to the estate.

Cynthia was terrified by the scene before her. She rushed to the door, saw the commotion, and clutched her mouth in horror. "My God, Fay, what have you... what have you done? Is this the FBI? Or the CIA?"

She took a startled step back, but when she noticed the agents' eyes were all fixed on me, the fear in her gaze suddenly froze. A few seconds later, that terror miraculously dissipated, transforming into a twisted, malicious glee.

"I see..." she let out a sharp, mocking laugh, pointing at me. "You've broken the law, haven't you? Fraud? Or did you steal some classified information?" ！ I knew it—just after Julian abandoned you, you'd obviously been so shaken that you did some crazy, reckless thing!

She shouted urgently at the agent outside: "Officer! No matter what serious federal crime she's committed, it has absolutely nothing to do with our Beaumont family! We've long intended to throw her out of the house!"

Then, looking down on me with contempt, she added, "I told you—you'd eventually get us into big trouble. Just like your insane mother, you're a curse on this family!"

The SUV doors opened. A team of men in black suits, earpieces in place, their faces grim, quickly got out and established a perimeter around the helicopter's landing zone.

Drake Ryder was suddenly out of the car, standing in front of me, his gaze locked with the lead agent. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.

The helicopter's cabin door slid open. A man in a U. S. Army Class A uniform, with captain's bars on his shoulders, stepped out. He was ramrod straight, his face resolute. He walked directly toward me.

He ignored Drake, who was shielding me. He ignored the dumbfounded Cynthia. He stopped three paces in front of me, stood at attention, and gave a flawless military salute.

"Dr. Faye Beaumont," he said, his voice loud and clear. "I am Captain Marcus Grant. By order of the Joint Chiefs of Staff at the Pentagon, I am here to take over your security detail."

I looked at him and said coolly, "I haven't finished my hot chocolate."

Captain Grant blinked, then a small smile touched his lips. "Ma'am, we have a full Godiva setup on the aircraft for you. Freshly made."

I nodded, satisfied.

Cynthia was completely stunned. She stared at the scene, her mouth agape. "Doc... Doctor? What doctor? Captain... Grant?"

Captain Grant turned and gave Cynthia a polite nod. "Ma'am, due to matters of national security, I cannot disclose any more information. We must escort Dr. Beaumont away now."

Two of his men stepped forward and respectfully took the heavy wooden box from my hands, holding it as if it were a priceless treasure.

I glanced back at Cynthia. The expression on her face was a fascinating mix of terror, confusion, and a flicker of regret.

"Tell Father," I said to her, "that from this day forward, I have nothing more to do with the Beaumont family."

Without another look, I walked toward the waiting Black Hawk, escorted by Captain Grant and his team.

Drake exchanged a few quiet words with Captain Grant, seemingly handing over security details. Then, Drake followed me onto the helicopter. As my personal security, he had the right to accompany me.

I boarded the aircraft and settled into a comfortable leather seat. An attendant immediately served me a steaming cup of Godiva hot chocolate.

The helicopter lifted off slowly. Through the window, I watched the figure of my mother at the mansion's entrance grow smaller and smaller, a ridiculous silhouette against the bright doorway.

FAYE BEAUMONT'S POV:

I sipped my hot chocolate, completely at ease, as if we were in a Manhattan café instead of a military helicopter thousands of feet in the air. The man opposite me, Captain Marcus Grant, seemed far more tense than I was.

"Captain Grant," I said, setting down my cup. My ice-blue eyes met his. "Now, can you explain why you made such a scene?"

He cleared his throat, his posture straightening involuntarily. "Ma'am, it's because of your 'Prometheus' project. It's had a critical breakthrough."

He handed me an encrypted tablet from his briefcase. It displayed a complex data stream, a report on the stable synthesis of a new carbon nanomaterial.

"According to the last data set you uploaded last night," he explained, "we've confirmed that the energy conductivity of the 'Prometheus' material has surpassed the theoretical limit by 300%. This means it's enough to change the global energy landscape."

I merely glanced at the data. "I know," I said flatly. "I just didn't expect your reaction to be this fast."

I could almost feel his internal grimace. The heads at DARPA must have panicked. A top-level meeting convening overnight, with the primary resolution to secure me at all costs. It was predictable.

"Doctor, the strategic value of your research is immeasurable. From now on, your security level is elevated to the highest priority," he said seriously.

"So this is your 'protection'? Landing a helicopter on my front lawn like a Hollywood blockbuster?" I raised an eyebrow, my tone laced with sarcasm.

He had the grace to look embarrassed. "That was... an accident. Our original plan was to contact you at a more discreet location, but your movements last night were... unexpected." The engagement party. Of course.

"Also," he added, "we intercepted some 'unfriendly' communications. It seems an unknown party has also taken an interest in your research. We had to take the most secure measures."

I was silent for a moment, weighing the situation. That part, at least, was useful information. "Fine. Where are we going now?"

"To a completely secure location. But before that, there's one more thing we need your cooperation on, Doctor." He seemed to find the words difficult.

"What is it?"

"To provide a plausible explanation to the public for last night's events, and to 'lure the snake out of its hole,' the Joint Chiefs have decided... you need to hold a press conference."

I looked at him as if he were an idiot. "A press conference? Captain, are you joking? My research is a state secret."

"Of course, no secrets will be involved," he quickly explained. "It's just a PR show. We'll arrange everything. You just need to show up, say a few vague words, and leave the rest to us."

A PR show. A stage. Just like the one I had walked away from hours ago. But this time, the stakes were different. This was a chessboard, and my family, Julian, and all the whispering gossips were merely pawns. The real players were the ones hiding in the shadows, the "unfriendly" communications. And the Pentagon wanted to use me as bait.

The helicopter landed at a secret military base. Captain Grant led me into a prepared conference room where a PR team was already waiting. They had a demure suit and a condescending speech ready for me.

I ignored them and turned to Grant. "Get me a computer with a connection to the 'Athena' system. Five minutes." Athena was my proprietary, encrypted AI assistant.

He hesitated, but a look from me had him complying. I sat down, my fingers flying across the keyboard. Lines of code flashed on the screen. The Pentagon's plan was clumsy. I would refine it.

Five minutes later, I closed the laptop. "Okay, I'm ready."

The press conference was held at the Pentagon. I walked to the podium in the simple white shirt and black trousers I had changed into, no makeup, Captain Grant at my side.

The flashbulbs were a physical assault. The reporters were sharks that had smelled blood.

The first question was brutal. "Ms. Beaumont, are you being investigated for treason?"

I didn't answer. I just stared at him, my silence a weapon, until his own confidence withered under my gaze.

I stepped to the microphone, and my voice broadcast across the world. "My name is Dr. Faye Beaumont. Regarding last night's events, I can only say it was a necessary procedure. As for anything else, no comment."

Just as the reporters erupted into a frenzy of shouted questions, the large screen behind the podium lit up, on my command.

Words appeared, under the joint seal of the Office of the President of the United States and the Department of Defense: "In recognition of Dr. Faye Beaumont's outstanding contributions to the field of New Material Physics, she is hereby awarded the National Medal of Science. A ceremony will be held at a later date."

The room fell completely silent. I had just turned their bait into my throne.