Patricia Torres, the middle-aged housekeeper, waited until Raegan stepped out before turning her sharp stare on Stephanie. She let out a short laugh and said, "Are you just going to stand there all day, country woman? If you think hanging around Raegan is going to get you anywhere with Mr. Elliott, you're wasting your time."

She had watched many women try their luck with Waylon, convinced that a quick wit or a pretty face would guarantee them a comfortable life.

Stephanie ignored her and fixed her gaze on the bleak sky outside the window.

"Raegan vanished just now. You must've had a hand in it, haven't you? If you know what's good for you, leave now before Mr. Elliott loses his patience!" Patricia didn't back down. She raised her voice.

Stephanie finally turned to her, her voice calm but steady. "I'm not going anywhere. The little girl's situation is serious. I was the one who rescued her from certain death, and I need to speak directly with her family."

Patricia couldn't hide her disbelief. The idea that this quiet young lady could pull off something that top doctors failed to do was almost funny.

Waylon had brought in specialists from everywhere, but Raegan never got any better. Patricia saw no reason to believe Stephanie could do what they couldn't.

"Get out, and don't even think about trying to take advantage of the Elliott family. If you're still here when Mr. Elliott shows up, you'll regret it."

Stephanie scoffed, though her worry for Raegan lingered. She replied, firm and unwavering, "Fine, I'll go if you insist. But if Raegan's health takes a turn because you wouldn't listen, nobody can fix that—not even a miracle."

Patricia's patience snapped, and she jabbed a finger at Stephanie. "Who do you think you are, talking like that? Are you trying to jinx Raegan? Somebody get her out of here—now!"

Her shout was the cue for a group of bodyguards, dressed in crisp black suits, to close in around Stephanie. Their heavy footsteps and blank expressions were meant to intimidate.

Stephanie found herself boxed in by the bodyguards, each one standing tall and brimming with confidence from years of training. Their hard stares never fazed her, though. She just measured them calmly, certain that no amount of muscle would make a difference.

Every thought in her mind centered on Raegan's fragile state—no one else there understood what needed to be done.

Stephanie glanced at the bodyguards dismissively, not taking them seriously at all. Before they could act, she moved with speed and precision. In the blink of an eye, the entire group hit the floor, left groaning and clutching at aching limbs.

Patricia could only gape at the scene, her disbelief plain. Even after seeing Stephanie drop a handful of trained men with little effort, she struggled to process it.

"You..."

Without a word, Stephanie pulled a notebook and a pen from her backpack. She scribbled down a careful list, tore out the page, and handed it to Patricia. "If you want Raegan stable, stick to this treatment for now."

Patricia, still stunned, took the paper with a trembling hand, unable to say anything more.

Not wasting another second, Stephanie brushed past her. She walked away with a quiet confidence, making her way to the elevator.

At that moment, another elevator opened across the hall.

A man appeared, gently holding Raegan by the hand as they stepped into view.

He was none other than Waylon Elliott himself.

A custom-made suit fit him flawlessly, and his tall, lean build gave off an air of quiet authority. Sharp eyes sat beneath well-defined features, making him hard to overlook.

When he lifted his hand, the diamond cufflinks at his wrist caught the light and flashed.

Narrowing his gaze, he followed the direction Raegan was looking and asked, "Was that the one who helped you?"

By the time Raegan turned her head, the elevator doors had already slid shut.

Stephanie had been there seconds ago, yet she had vanished without a trace. Raegan instantly knew who was responsible.

Turning sharply, she glared at Patricia and shouted, "Did you force her to leave?"

Panic washed over Patricia as soon as she saw the look on Raegan's face.

Even in poor health, Raegan was sharp-minded. Her temper was well known in the household, and the staff had learned to tread carefully around her.

Only her brother and grandmother ever managed to calm her down.

Flustered, Patricia tried to explain herself, saying, "She-she looked so ordinary. I thought she was here to trick your family out of money, so I..."

Anger surged across Raegan's face as she cut her off. "And who gave you the right to decide she couldn't help me? While you were busy flattering important guests, I collapsed outside the hotel with no one around. If she hadn't stepped in, I wouldn't even be standing here now."

"Is that what happened?" Waylon's voice was ice-cold as he fixed Patricia with a piercing stare.

Patricia shrank beneath his gaze, her nerves betraying her. For a long moment, she couldn't force out a single word.

Without waiting for an answer, Waylon's command was sharp and final. "Take her away."

"Yes, sir." A pair of guards rushed to obey, grabbing Patricia by the arms. Her protests faded quickly as she was led down the hall and out of sight.

Raegan whirled around, urgency widening her eyes. "Waylon, please. You have to help me find her!"

"Don't worry." Waylon softened at the sight of his little sister's distress, his voice gentle for her alone. "I'll make sure she's found."

That promise brought relief to Raegan's face, and she nodded with hope.

Just then, a man hurried in and handed Waylon a slip of paper. "Sir, we found this. The woman who saved your sister left it behind."

Waylon studied the graceful script and the list of instructions carefully written out. Respect flickered in his eyes as he took in the clear, thorough medical notes. Whoever this woman was, her expertise was beyond question.

A sense of hope took root in his chest. If he could track her down, there was a real chance to save his sister.

Annoyance simmered in Stephanie's chest as she dialed Milly. "Forget the Elliott family case. I'm done with them."

Milly's voice crackled with surprise. "What happened?"

Stephanie thought back to the entitled housekeeper and replied, her tone cold, "They're too full of themselves. I'm not interested in working with arrogant people."

She paused, then added with a touch of regret, "It's a shame about the little girl, though. She's in bad shape. I left a prescription behind. Hopefully, someone else can help her."

After wrapping up the call, Stephanie made her way to the pharmaceutical research institute. Every drug she carried in her kit had been developed there, and her research on gene therapy needed her urgent attention. With the new semester at Veridia University fast approaching, she knew she'd soon be pulled away from the institute.

Her promise to attend university wasn't just for herself. It was to honor Sylvia Clayton—Colin's mother, the only person in the Clayton family who had ever shown her kindness. On her deathbed, Sylvia had pressed Stephanie's hand and urged her to get a diploma, no matter how gifted she was.

Meanwhile, Milly came across a new announcement from Waylon. He'd doubled the pay to a staggering one hundred million, determined to track down any doctor who could save his sister. Milly quietly chose not to mention it to Stephanie.

Three days passed, and Stephanie was deep into her experiments when Milly showed up with an ornate invitation—Rory, the infamous arms dealer, was hosting a banquet.

Their supply of weapons and ammunition was running dangerously low, and if Stephanie didn't secure a deal soon, her territory would be vulnerable to takeover.

Saturday evening, Stephanie arrived right on schedule.

The fifth-floor banquet hall buzzed with energy. Inside, two or three dozen people mingled, each one eyeing the competition—potential buyers sizing up the evening's offerings.

At the center of it all stood Rory, surrounded by his usual circle of admirers. The moment he spotted Stephanie, he broke away, heading straight for her with a rare note of respect in his tone. "I've been hoping you'd show. This time, you can't leave without buying from me."

Stephanie offered a cool nod. "Actually, I need to speak with you about something important."

At that moment, Waylon strode into the banquet hall, his suit immaculate and presence commanding.

His eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on Stephanie.

A flicker of surprise crossed his face. Wasn't she the one who'd rescued Raegan just days ago? He'd assumed she'd be older, not a woman who barely looked eighteen. How could someone so young have such extraordinary skill? And what business did she have at a gathering hosted by Rory?

Waylon had just started toward her when the first shots cracked through the banquet hall, followed by a body hitting the floor as blood spread across the tiles.

Panic tore through the room, guests screaming as they dove for cover in every direction.

Scanning the chaos in an instant, Waylon caught sight of a masked gunman at the entrance, the barrel of his weapon trained straight on Stephanie.

He reacted without hesitation.

Another round of gunfire echoed.

"Get out of the way!"

A hard shove sent Stephanie stumbling as pain flared across her shoulder, the bullet narrowly grazing her.

She ducked behind a thick pillar, realizing only then that Waylon had pulled her out of the line of fire.

There was no time to dwell on it, so she steadied her breathing and assessed the situation from cover.

Three attackers moved through the hall, each wearing a scaring mask, their guns still raised.

Something about the attack didn't add up. Stephanie wondered, who would be bold enough to stage an assault at a banquet thrown by Rory himself?

Was the target Waylon? It made sense—his reputation was built on power and ruthlessness, and he'd made many enemies on his climb to the top.

Lost in thought, Stephanie watched as the masked shooters zeroed in on a silver-haired man who looked to be in his seventies.

Gunfire erupted in their direction, and a bodyguard threw himself in front of the old man, only to be struck down on the spot.

At this rate, the elderly guest wouldn't survive much longer.

Spotting a brief lull while one shooter reloaded, Stephanie didn't hesitate. She sprinted across the chaos, snatched the old man from danger, and dove aside, bullets slicing the air around them.

Panic swept the hall as screams rang out, but Stephanie managed to drag the man behind a marble pillar just as another shot cracked through the room.

Stephanie tumbled with the elderly man, sheltering both of them behind the thick pillar.

"You're really looking for trouble!" The nearest gunman spat a threat and lifted his weapon to take aim once more.

Before another shot could be fired, Waylon stepped directly into the line of danger, positioning himself between the shooter and their hiding place.

Stephanie's voice rose urgently. "Waylon, watch out—"

Before Stephanie could finish her warning, a sudden flurry of gunfire ripped through the hall.

In the blink of an eye, the masked attackers crashed to the floor, their fates sealed by well-placed shots.

Waylon remained in front of Stephanie, unflinching, a pistol steady in his grasp and tension radiating from his stance.

Noticing her lingering stare, he met her eyes for a brief moment before addressing his team. "Take care of things here."

He showed not a flicker of emotion, as though the chaos around them was nothing out of the ordinary.

Realizing she'd been staring, Stephanie quickly shifted her attention to the elderly man at her side. "Sir, are you hurt?"

The old man didn't answer right away. Instead, he studied her face with an intensity that caught her off guard. "You look so familiar!"

Stephanie frowned, uncertain. "Familiar how?"

Aaron's eyes widened in disbelief and wonder. "Eighteen years. I've been searching for you for eighteen years. You are my granddaughter!"

Stephanie froze in place as shock ran through her. The elderly man standing across from her carried a calm presence, with eyes that were sharp and steady from years of experience. He gave no sign of having slipped into confusion.

Was it really possible that he was her grandfather?

Without warning, the noisy banquet hall quieted down, as if someone had flipped a switch.

Every head turned toward the entrance at the same time, drawn by the arrival of three young men who had just stepped inside.

They moved forward together, shoulders squared and backs straight, and each step carried an unmistakable sense of authority mixed with a chilling restraint.

Their eyes immediately caught the gun clutched in Waylon's hand and the lifeless bodyguard lying nearby, and they assumed he was the one who had pulled the trigger.

In the blink of an eye, the three men shifted positions and placed themselves in front of the elderly man and Stephanie. One of them raised his gun and aimed it straight at Waylon.

However, the standoff did not last long. In the next instant, the weapon was no longer in that man's grasp. It had somehow ended up in Waylon's hand instead, the muzzle pressed firmly against the man's temple.

That man was Liam Walsh, Aaron's grandson.

Although he held the rank of the youngest major general in the country, his name rarely circulated beyond certain circles.

To be disarmed so effortlessly stunned him. Liam's face hardened as his gaze turned cold, and a dangerous light surfaced in his eyes.

The rumors had not exaggerated anything. Waylon was far more terrifying than anyone had imagined.

Waylon stood rigid, his sharp brows drawn low and his lips pressed into a thin line. The angle of his jaw looked carved from stone, and the oppressive tension rolling off him made everyone nearby hold their breath, too afraid to draw his attention.

"Lower the gun," Aaron said as he stepped forward, his voice steady as he tried to explain. "There has been a misunderstanding. These are my grandsons. They came here because they were looking for me."

Aaron turned toward the three men, and his tone sharpened as he spoke. "If he had not stepped in today, there is a good chance you would never have seen me again."

Liam let out a slow breath, and the tension eased from his face. "This is on me. I misjudged the situation, and I am sorry."

Only after hearing that did Waylon ease his grip and hand the weapon back. Liam accepted it with palms that were damp despite his composure.

Once the danger passed, Aaron could no longer contain himself. Excitement lit his face as he addressed them, "I finally found your sister!"

All three men instinctively turned toward Stephanie, and the resemblance became impossible to ignore the longer they looked.

A smile spread across Liam's face as disbelief and hope mixed together. "Are you really our sister?"

Stephanie stared back at them, completely overwhelmed. She glanced between Aaron and the three men, their excitement only adding to her confusion. "I do not understand. Who are you people?"

Aaron stepped closer, his gaze warm and filled with care. "My name is Aaron Walsh. I am the chairman of the Walsh Group. Eighteen years ago, you were taken away by traffickers. We never stopped searching for you, not for a single day. Meeting you here was fate, and you even saved my life."

His voice trembled as the words left him, heavy with years of regret and longing.

Stephanie looked at the three men again, each of them sharing features that mirrored her own. A thought she never dared to consider took root in her mind. Could she truly belong to the Walsh family, the most powerful family in the nation?

The three brothers felt it too, a strange sense of closeness that made no logical sense yet felt undeniable. She could really be the sister they had lost eighteen years ago.

Owen Walsh stepped forward, his usual stern presence replaced by something softer. "My name is Owen Walsh. I am your eldest brother."

Liam was the next to speak, his posture relaxing as he faced her. "I am Liam Walsh. That makes me your second brother."

Stepping out with an easy grin, the youngest of the trio waved slightly. "Harvey Walsh. We have been trying to find you for a long time."

Stephanie slowly studied the three men standing in front of her.

Their names were not unfamiliar.

In business circles, Owen was a legend. As the current president of Walsh Group, he was known for his sharp judgment and decisive leadership, qualities that pushed his family to the very top of the country's wealth rankings.

Liam carried a different kind of weight. As the youngest major general, his reputation alone commanded respect. A flicker of unease crossed Stephanie's mind as she wondered how he might react if he ever learned her name was flagged within military records.

Harvey, on the other hand, was the rising star of the investment world, gaining attention for bold moves that consistently paid off.

The Walsh name alone was enough to unsettle entire industries.

"My name is Stephanie. I could be the person you are searching for, but I want proof. A test would settle everything." Acting without certainty had never been her way.

Family had never been part of her plans, yet meeting them like this did not feel unwelcome.

Warmth slowly surfaced in Owen's eyes as he looked at her. "Do we really need a test? Your face says it all."

Aaron turned toward her, his expression gentle and hopeful. "We can still do one if that helps you feel at ease. Would you come home with me so we can talk properly?"

"Okay," Stephanie replied after a brief moment, deciding to delay her meeting with Rory and face this unexpected reunion first.

A slight crease appeared between Waylon's brows as he watched the exchange, clearly taken aback by how deeply she was tied to the Walsh family. His eyes sharpened as he reached out and stopped her. "Miss Walsh, could I speak with you for a moment?"